A soft humming filled the small kitchen as Mom cooked breakfast, a familiar, comforting sound.
"Those bandits raided the village again," Father's voice was a low grumble from the table. "And not a word from the government. The price of oil has skyrocketed. If this continues…" He sighed, the weight of their struggles hanging in the air.
"Thank God they didn't kill anyone this time. But even if they did, what could we do? We mortals have such a small space in this world."
His gaze drifted to the window, towards the hazy border of the Hollows' territory. "On top of that, we're the furthest from the Main City. No one cares about us out here." His expression turned solemn as he finally looked at his son, but this time, the heavy hope in his eyes was mixed with pride.
Mohal straightened the black tie that felt too tight around his neck. The formal black coat, a hand-me-down from his uncle, was stiff in the shoulders, but today it felt like armor. He offered a genuine smile, the first one that hadn't felt forced in years. "Don't worry, Father. It's all fixed now. The acceptance letter came. In three days, my classes at The Tome of Artifice begin, and our new life in the Main City starts."
He glanced out the window himself, his eyes finding the impossible sight on the horizon: a city, flying serenely in the sky. "There," he added, his voice full of conviction. "We'll be completely safe there. No more worrying about being looted by those Hollow monsters."
The letter had been their salvation. The acceptance didn't just promise an education at the greatest school in the world; it came with a scholarship and a small home for his family. It was their one chance to reclaim the life they'd lost after his grandfather's bankruptcy, a chance Mohal had secured.
"Brother, look there!" his little sister cried, breaking his train of thought.
She stood by the table, her pink dress on backwards and her slippers on the wrong feet this was her signature style.
"I know that look," Mohal said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You're planning to steal my piece of bread again, but it's not going to work today. You need a new strategy."
"But I'm hungry!"
"You've had enough," he said, trying to keep a straight face as her lower lip began to tremble. "You'll get as big as that Babloo in the neighborhood."
"But Babloo is so strong! I want to be like him!"
"No means no," Mohal said sternly, though a laugh was threatening to escape.
"Okey..." she mumbled, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes that could melt stone.
"Mom, Dad, come eat," Mohal called, turning to his parents. "After this, I have to go pick up Zayn. We're going to the city to check out the school and the apartment before classes start."
A subtle tension entered the room at the mention of Zayn's name. His mother's smile tightened. "I know he's your friend, Mohal," she said in a low tone as she sat down. "But be careful when you travel with him. That boy… he has a shadow following him."
Mohal didn't argue. He knew Zayn's story was a bitter pill for anyone to swallow. His best friend since childhood, a genius whose mind was as brilliant as his luck was cursed. After losing family after family to tragic "incidents," the villagers saw him as a walking calamity. 'They see a curse,' Mohal thought, 'but I see a survivor. The strongest person I know.'
The sun climbed higher, its warm light spilling into the room. But with the warmth came a sense of urgency. They were parting ways, and even if it was just for a day, in a world like theirs, who knew what the cards of fate held?
After a final goodbye, Mohal left.
He found Zayn waiting outside the mosque, a stark figure in a set of white formal clothes. His dark hair was threaded with streaks of premature white, and the warm smile on his face seemed fragile, like a flower that had survived too many storms. To Mohal, it was just Zayn.
They met with a simple nod, the comfortable silence of lifelong friends settling between them. They started their journey west, towards the Main City.
Five hours later, with backs tied straight to their seats on the public transport, they finally saw it. The Ascending Area.
Before them lay a city unlike any Mohal had ever imagined. It was a sprawling jungle of glass and steel, where impossibly tall towers clawed at the sky, their surfaces blinking with a million frantic lights. Below, rivers of speeding vehicles carved paths through deep, shadowy canyons.
And high above it all, serene and ancient against the chaos, hung his true destination: the floating city. His new home. His future...