The city smelled like rain and asphalt, like salt and hot oil, like possibility. Brandon stepped out of his apartment building into the cool evening air, pulling his jacket tighter. Streetlights flickered on one by one, amber lanterns burning through the fog rising off the bay. Steam hissed from the vents, curling around his shoes like tiny ghosts. Somewhere, a violin played; somewhere else, a maglev train whispered past, vanishing into the shimmer of downtown lights. New Ashara was alive tonight.It always was.
Founded over the ruins of two drowned cities, New Ashara had inherited both ambition and superstition. People here said the city hummed because it couldn't stop — because something ancient pulsed beneath its streets. Archaeologists once tried to map the tunnels under Midport, but their data always came back wrong, scrambled, as if the ground itself refused to be remembered. Some swore the foundations sat on the roots of an impossible tree — one older than history, older than the sea itself.
But Brandon didn't think about that. Not tonight.He spotted Maya beneath a streetlamp, waiting with a steaming cup of coffee and that familiar teasing smirk."Finally decided to join the living?" she called."Sleep was overrated anyway," he said, grinning as he crossed the street.
The pulse of the city hummed in his chest — the low, rhythmic vibration of New Ashara's infrastructure, equal parts mechanical and organic. It grounded him. For a moment, the dream — the fruit, the whispering light — was gone.Not tonight.Their friends were already gathered near a tram stop, backlit by the neon glow of an old cinema marquee.
Tariq, loud and perpetually hungry, waved his phone overhead. Beside him, Lena adjusted her camera strap, framing angles even as she talked."Look who emerged from his hibernation," Tariq said, elbowing Brandon.Brandon smirked. "Better late than missing the party.""And the food," Maya added, sipping her coffee. "You'd regret it.""Where to this time?" Brandon asked.Tariq grinned. "The Grid. Downtown. Retro arcade-slash-pizza bar. Place has forty screens, real wood ovens, and rumored ghost sightings in the basement.""Perfect combination," Lena said. "Calories, nostalgia, and mild terror.""That's New Ashara for you," Maya murmured as they started walking.
The Grid sat in Old Arcadia — the city's oldest downtown block, where past and future collided in electric confusion. Gothic facades shared walls with glass panels, and old subway entrances led to mag-tram ports. The street buzzed with Saturday energy: musicians looping chords on digital violins, food stalls cooking open-flame kebabs, holographic ads hovering above fountains shaped like coral blooms.
The building itself was a leftover from before the floods — reinforced, sagging a little, but alive with sound and light. Red, teal, and magenta lights blinked from arcade machines visible through the windows. Inside, every wall was covered with murals — blazing sunsets, old comic strips, and outlines of mythic beasts said to haunt the city's origins.
A metallic dragon coiled around the ceiling beams. Beneath it, people laughed, shouted over the noise, and cheered as 8-bit sounds filled the air.Brandon brushed raindrops from his hair as they stepped in. The place smelled of melted cheese, ozone, and nostalgia.
Maya grinned. "Welcome to paradise. First one to lose buys dessert.""I never lose," Brandon said. "Unless it's karaoke night.""Oh, that's next week," she teased, tossing him a handful of tokens.They started with pizza — thick crust, hot and greasy, topped with wild combinations: mango-habanero chicken, smoked bacon, truffle cheese. Brandon bit into a slice with exaggerated reverence, earning a laugh from Lena."You take food too seriously," Tariq said, shaking his head."Call it passion," Brandon replied, pointing at his phone. "MapList. I'm marking this place."Maya leaned closer, curious. "Still keeping your food pilgrimage alive?"He nodded, showing her the constellation of restaurant pins scattered across digital New Ashara. "Every pin's a story. A flavor. A moment."She smiled softly. "You don't post for attention. You post to remember.""Maybe," he said, his tone quieter now. "Memories fade slower when you taste them again."Tariq laughed. "That's deep, man. You writing poetry or a cookbook?"Brandon chuckled, tossing him a napkin. "Both."
The conversation melted into laughter and noise — air hockey slaps, distant applause from a dance game, Lena showing off a perfect claw-machine win. For a while, it was easy. The city felt infinite, human, harmless.
Until, faintly, Brandon heard it.A whisper — low and reverberating, a sound that didn't belong to the music or the machines. It passed through his thoughts like static, speaking without voice. His hand froze mid-motion, the slice of pizza halfway to his lips. Maya noticed instantly. "Hey," she said, lowering her head slightly toward him. "You good?"He blinked it away. "Yeah, yeah. Just zoning out.""You've been doing that a lot lately."
"Guess I'm tired."Outside the arcade window, lightning rippled through the sky — except there weren't any storms tonight. Only the faint, golden flicker of something unnatural breaking across the high towers. It lasted a heartbeat and was gone.Brandon forced a laugh as Tariq called their names for another game. "Come on," he said. "Let's see if you can survive Galaga without crying."The tension broke. Music rose. Life resumed.
Later, when they spilled back onto the rain-slick streets, the air buzzed with life and motion. Music echoed from rooftop bars, and the scent of sea salt rolled in from the harbor. Puddles mirrored the glow of neon billboards as the group laughed, argued, promised to meet again.Maya nudged him. "Next time, your pick."He grinned, pulling his hood up. "I'll think of something worth remembering."They walked side by side, their words quieter now, a rhythm of easy silence and careful glances that hinted at something simmering beneath friendship.Far away, beneath the steel and light of New Ashara, something ancient stirred again.Not tonight — but soon.
And the city, alive as ever, pretended not to notice.