Chapter 43
[Velmora – Lower Sector Streets]
The streets weren't as loud as before—too many windows shattered, too many vendors gone. Where once House El'Vertigo's banners rippled with pride, now tattered remnants clung to buildings like old wounds. Smoke drifted from half-burned homes, and the air buzzed with tension. Armed rebels in patchwork gear replaced the old patrols, but their stares held the same suspicion.
Kiro moved like a shadow, hood low, coat trailing dust.
Pablo walked beside him, his coat covering the bandages around his torso. Every step made him wince, but he kept his head up—eyes scanning every face, every crumbling building, every child begging for synthbread on the corners.
"Is this... what we protected?" he muttered.
Kiro didn't answer.
A family huddled beneath a collapsed awning. A woman with a synthetic lung whispered lullabies to her children, even though her own breathing was broken.
Pablo clenched his fists.
"Back at the Keep... we were told we were saving the city. That El'Vertigo's rule brought stability. But these people... they don't look saved."
"They weren't," Kiro said softly. "They were controlled."
They passed a rebel ration line. A man shouted about distribution scams, another accused a rebel of hoarding supplies. A fistfight broke out. No one stopped it.