Four years later.
The Undercroft. Lower City. Sector 7.
The alarm blared through the cramped apartment—a harsh, mechanical screech that dragged Kaelen from sleep.
He groaned and rolled over on his thin mattress, pulling the ragged blanket over his head. But the sound didn't stop. It never did. The alarm was set to the city-wide work schedule, and in The Undercroft, you didn't get to ignore it.
"Kaelen! Get up, you lazy brat!"
The voice belonged to Mrs. Varen, the landlady who owned the building. She was a bitter woman with a face like dried leather and a voice that could cut through steel.
Kaelen threw off the blanket and sat up, rubbing his eyes. His "room" was barely large enough to fit the mattress—no windows, no decorations, just four gray walls and a single flickering light panel above. The paint was peeling, and there was a permanent stain on the ceiling from a pipe leak that nobody bothered to fix.
This was home.
Or at least, the closest thing he had to one.
He stood and stretched, his joints popping. At four years old, Kaelen looked... wrong. Not in an obvious way, but enough that people noticed. He was taller than other kids his age, his limbs too long, his movements too precise. His hair was silver-white—a color almost no one in The Undercroft had—and his eyes were a pale, unsettling gray.
People avoided looking at him too long.
He'd learned early on that being different wasn't a good thing down here.
Kaelen pulled on his worn clothes—a patched shirt and pants that were two sizes too big—and stepped out of his room.
The hallway was dark and narrow, lit only by dying light panels that buzzed like dying insects. The walls were covered in graffiti and rust, and the air smelled like mildew and something sour he'd never been able to identify.
He made his way down the hall and knocked on the door at the end.
It opened immediately.
"There you are!" Ryker grinned at him, his face smudged with dirt. "I thought you died in there."
Ryker was six years old, shorter than Kaelen but stockier, with messy brown hair and bright green eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something. He wore the same kind of patched clothes everyone in The Undercroft wore, but somehow, he made them look less miserable.
"Almost," Kaelen muttered. "Mrs. Varen tried to kill me with her voice again."
Ryker laughed. "Come on. Mom made breakfast."
Ryker's apartment was only slightly bigger than Kaelen's room, but it felt like a palace in comparison. There were actual decorations—faded photos on the walls, a cracked vase with artificial flowers, a threadbare rug that covered the worst of the stains on the floor.
And there was warmth.
"Kaelen!" Ryker's mother, Mira, smiled as they entered. She was stirring a pot over a small heating coil, steam rising from whatever she was cooking. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
Kaelen hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Liar," Ryker whispered, elbowing him. "You had another nightmare, didn't you?"
Kaelen shot him a look. "Shut up."
"Boys," Mira warned, but there was no heat in it. She ladled gray, lumpy porridge into three bowls and set them on the tiny table. "Sit. Eat."
Kaelen sat across from Ryker, and they ate in silence for a moment. The porridge was bland and tasteless, but it was hot, and that was more than most people in The Undercroft had.
"So," Ryker said around a mouthful of food. "What do you want to do today?"
"Stay inside and not die?" Kaelen suggested.
Ryker snorted. "Boring. Let's go to the junkyard. I heard some upper city traders dumped a bunch of tech yesterday. Maybe we can find something cool."
"Or get arrested."
"Only if we're stupid about it."
Mira sighed. "Ryker, you're not going to the junkyard. It's dangerous."
"Mom, everything's dangerous. We live in The Undercroft."
"Exactly," Mira said firmly. "Which is why you're going to stay close to home today."
Ryker opened his mouth to argue, but Kaelen kicked him under the table.
"Fine," Ryker grumbled.
Mira smiled and ruffled his hair. "Good boy. Now finish your breakfast. Your father will be home soon, and he'll want to see you before he sleeps."
Ryker's father, Dane, worked in the factories on the edge of The Undercroft—sixteen-hour shifts operating machinery that processed waste from the upper city. It was brutal, dangerous work, but it paid enough to keep food on the table.
Barely.
"Mom," Kaelen said quietly. "Thank you. For the food."
Mira's expression softened. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You don't have to thank me, Kaelen. You're family."
The word stuck in Kaelen's chest like a knife.
Family.
He didn't remember his parents. According to Mrs. Varen, they'd died when he was a baby—some kind of accident in the factories. She'd taken him in because the city paid her a small stipend for housing orphans.
She didn't care about him. She just cashed the checks.
But Mira and Dane? They were different. They treated him like he was their own.
And he didn't understand why.
After breakfast, Kaelen and Ryker went outside.
The Undercroft was a maze of narrow streets and crumbling buildings, all packed together so tightly you could barely see the sky. What little sunlight filtered down was gray and weak, choked by the smog and pollution that hung over the city like a burial shroud.
Above them—far, far above—Avalon Prime floated in the sky. The upper city. A gleaming fortress of white towers and crystalline domes, suspended by massive gravity engines.
From down here, it looked like a dream.
Or a taunt.
"Come on," Ryker said, tugging Kaelen's sleeve. "Let's go see if Old Han has any work."
Old Han ran a repair shop at the end of their street—a cluttered hole-in-the-wall where he fixed broken tech for pennies. He was grumpy and smelled like oil, but he paid the neighborhood kids to haul scrap for him.
They found him bent over a workbench, soldering something with a tool that sparked and hissed.
"What do you want?" he growled without looking up.
"Got any work?" Ryker asked.
"No."
"Come on, Han. We're good workers."
"You're pests." Han finally looked up, squinting at them through thick goggles. His gaze lingered on Kaelen for a moment, then flicked away. "Fine. There's a pile of scrap in the back. Sort through it. Anything useful, bring it to me. I'll pay you two credits."
"Two?" Ryker protested. "That's—"
"Two credits or nothing. Your choice."
Ryker sighed. "Fine."
They spent the next hour digging through a mountain of broken tech—twisted metal, shattered circuit boards, fried power cells. Most of it was junk, but occasionally they'd find something salvageable.
Kaelen was pulling apart a crushed servo motor when he felt it.
A... presence.
He froze, his hands still on the metal.
It was like someone was standing behind him. Watching him.
But when he turned around, there was no one there.
Just Ryker, elbow-deep in a pile of cables.
"You okay?" Ryker asked.
Kaelen hesitated. "Yeah. I just... thought I heard something."
"Probably a rat. This place is full of them."
Kaelen nodded slowly and went back to work.
But the feeling didn't go away.
That night, Kaelen lay on his mattress, staring at the ceiling.
The nightmares had been getting worse.
Every night, he dreamed of fire. Of a world burning. Of a voice—deep and cold—whispering his name.
Aelion.
He didn't know what it meant. He didn't even know if it was a name.
But it felt... important.
"Can't sleep again?"
Kaelen's heart jumped into his throat. He bolted upright, looking around the dark room.
And then he saw it.
A shadow in the corner.
No—not a shadow. A shape. Vaguely humanoid, but wrong. Too tall. Too thin. Its edges seemed to blur and shift, like smoke.
"Who—" Kaelen's voice cracked. "Who are you?"
The shape didn't move. But when it spoke, its voice was everywhere and nowhere at once—deep, ancient, and faintly amused.
"You already know who I am, little god."
Kaelen's blood ran cold.
"I don't—"
"You do. Deep down, you remember. You remember the fire. The screams. The taste of divine blood on your tongue."
Images flashed through Kaelen's mind—burning cities, falling towers, a man with silver hair dissolving into light—
He gasped and clutched his head. "Stop—"
"You cannot run from what you are, Aelion. You cannot hide from me. I am a part of you now. Sealed within your soul. Bound to you for eternity."
"My name is Kaelen," he whispered.
"Is it?"
The shape leaned closer, and for the first time, Kaelen saw its eyes—burning red, like molten metal.
"You destroyed a world, little god. And now you've been given another chance. The question is... what will you do with it?"
Kaelen's hands were shaking. "I don't understand—"
"You will. In time."
The shape began to fade, dissolving back into the darkness.
"Sleep well, Kaelen. Tomorrow, your real life begins."
And then it was gone.
Kaelen sat there in the dark, his heart pounding, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning.
Kaelen woke to the sound of screaming.
He bolted out of bed and threw open his door. The hallway was full of smoke, and people were running, shouting, panicking.
"Fire!" someone yelled. "The building's on fire!"
Kaelen's heart stopped.
Ryker.
He ran.
The smoke was thick and choking, but he didn't care. He shoved through the crowd, ignoring the heat, the flames licking at the walls.
He reached Ryker's door and pounded on it. "Ryker! Mira! Open up!"
No answer.
Kaelen grabbed the handle—it was burning hot—and yanked it open anyway.
The apartment was full of flames. The walls were collapsing. And in the corner, huddled together—
Ryker and Mira.
Trapped.
"Kaelen!" Ryker screamed. "Help!"
Kaelen didn't think. He ran into the fire.
The heat was unbearable. His skin blistered. His lungs burned.
But he didn't stop.
He reached them and grabbed Ryker's arm. "Come on!"
"I can't!" Ryker sobbed. "The beam—Mom's trapped—"
Kaelen looked. A burning support beam had fallen across Mira's leg, pinning her to the floor.
"Go, Kaelen," Mira said, her voice shaking. "Take Ryker and go—"
"No."
Kaelen grabbed the beam.
It was too heavy. Too hot. A normal four-year-old couldn't possibly lift it.
But Kaelen wasn't normal.
And deep inside him, something stirred.
"Do it, little god. Show them what you are."
Kaelen gritted his teeth and pulled.
The beam moved.
Not much. But enough.
Mira gasped and pulled her leg free. "How did you—"
"Move!" Kaelen shouted.
They ran.
The building collapsed behind them as they burst out into the street, coughing and gasping.
Ryker stared at Kaelen, his eyes wide. "You... you lifted that beam. How did you do that?"
Kaelen looked down at his hands.
They were glowing faintly.
Just for a second.
And then the light faded.
"I don't know," he whispered.
But that was a lie.
Because deep down, he did know.
And for the first time since waking up in this world...
Kaelen remembered.