Created and Written by Mateo WoodsonWritten and Storyboarded by John Fallout
The boat drifted into the docks of New Eden like a feather dropped into a storm. It glided across the cloud-sea in perfect silence, cutting a slow, dreamlike wake through the golden mist. Spires of mirrored crystal reached down from the heavens, warping the sky in reflections. Bridges hummed with light, arching above like glowing veins in a living, breathing machine.
The sun, if you could still call it that, was violet.
And the wind? It hummed — not with movement, but music.
On the deck, Ephraim Boichi was snoring like a man without a care in the world.
He lay sprawled on the boards, limbs outstretched like a fallen starfish, a half-eaten fish roll resting on his chest like some kind of conquered prize. His black-and-white hair fluttered in the wind, wild and defiant. He didn't move until the boat gently nudged the dock with a wooden thunk.
"HEY… HEY! WAKE UP!"
One eye peeled open. A tall man stood over him, arms folded, radiating disapproval like heat off asphalt. His suit shimmered with status — black with gold piping, crimson bionics embedded in the sleeves and shoulders. Money practically leaked from the man's posture.
Behind him, a crowd had gathered. Elegant people in floating cloaks, slow-blinking monocles, and perfectly hovering fashion tech stood in appalled silence.
Then they saw Ephraim.
The silence broke in a chorus of disgusted gasps.
Their eyes traced the outline of his dusty sneakers, ragged black jeans, knapsack bursting with crusty leftovers, and — worst of all — his utter lack of shame.
"Ew! Ew ew ew! A mudblood in New Eden!"
The crowd fled as if he carried plague spores instead of pastries.
Ephraim sat up, blinking against the sunlight. "What the hell was that about?"
He scratched his scalp lazily, slung the knapsack over his shoulder, and hopped onto the dock with the grace of someone who absolutely did not care what anyone thought.
From Dock to Market District
The dock ended in a staircase of memory stone, each step glowing faintly beneath his boots as if remembering everyone who had ever walked there. The scent in the air changed with each tier: roasted meat gave way to hot metal, incense, ozone, and something like crushed mint.
By the time Ephraim reached the top, the sounds of the market had risen to meet him — and what sounds they were.
Market District – New Eden
Color dripped from every corner of the sky. Banners danced in the air without strings. Drones barked prices in rotating languages, arguing with one another between sales. Stalls hovered a few inches off the ground, manned by beings both humanoid and not.
Ephraim wandered through it like a fox in a garden party, hands in his pockets, casually biting into a cold roll from his sack like he'd bought it fair and square.
A vendor caught his eye — or rather, his stall did. Shaped like a golden lotus, its petals opened and closed with a sound like breath.
Behind it stood a man in a high-collared robe, looking as if he'd smelled something rotten.
Ephraim approached.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, "do you know where the Lion's Den Tournament is taking place?"
The vendor glanced down at Ephraim's shoes. Then his eyes drifted up to his face, lingered on the skunk-striped hair, and narrowed.
Without a word, he spat on the ground. The glob landed a finger's width from Ephraim's foot.
Ephraim took a step back, blinking.
"Go back to the sea… mudblood," the man hissed before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
"Damn," Ephraim muttered, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "The people here are spicy as hell. Everybody's got a stick up their ass."
A woman nearby clutched her child's hand and pulled them sharply away from him.
Ephraim waved. "Relax, lady. I don't bite. Unless it's your kid's sandwich."
Toward Highway 85
The vibrant chaos of the market faded behind him as he walked. Towering chrome buildings rose up like walls on either side. The cobbled charm of the district gave way to slabs of steel and glass. The further he went, the colder the city felt — not in temperature, but in tone.
Soon, the buzz of traffic above him turned into a mechanical roar.
He looked up.
Under Highway 85
A floating highway thrummed high overhead — a river of glowing engines, magnetized tires, and lev-trucks speeding along paths of light.
Ephraim crouched, then launched himself upward with a flash of essence, feet kicking off the ground like he was born to fly. A burst of wind trailed behind him.
He landed cleanly on the edge of the highway.
Not bothering to pause, he leapt again — this time soaring onto the roof of a hotel shaped like a sleeping rabbit. Its neon ears twitched every few seconds, flickering blue and lavender.
Ephraim stood tall, hands on his hips, scanning the skyline.
"Where is it… where is…"
There.
Far off, wreathed in curling mist and flame, a black coliseum rose like a crown of ash. Behind it, a waterfall twisted upward through the sky like it had made a deal with gravity and won.
"The Lion's Den," he whispered. "Oh, hell yeah."
Highway 85 – Hitching a Ride
Just then, a massive transport truck zipped beneath him — the kind meant for cargo, not company.
He dropped from the hotel roof without hesitation. Mid-air, his palms lit with essence. He caught the side of the truck and swung up onto the roof like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Stretching across the top like it was a bed of clouds, Ephraim let the wind wash over him, whistling through his hair.
The city blurred beneath him as the truck carried him into a different district entirely.
Gaij District – Arrival and Friction
The truck slowed as it reached the Gaij District, pulling into a low-hover fuel station that buzzed with rust and regret.
Ephraim hopped off, stretched his arms, and took in the atmosphere.
It was... less pretty here. The sky was darker, the neon dimmer, and the air tasted faintly of battery acid and bad ideas.
He wandered into the streets, asking for directions along the way.
The answers came in many forms: glares, curses, sideways glances, and the occasional barked insult in a language he didn't speak.
By the fourth rejection, Ephraim didn't bother asking anymore. He flipped the last guy off and muttered under his breath, "Why are these people such assholes?"
His stomach grumbled. He fished out a stale pastry and bit into it without enthusiasm.
From Crowd to Crying – A Shift in the Air
Just as he was about to turn back, something caught his ear.
A faint, desperate meow.
Somewhere near it — a child crying.
Ephraim's head tilted.
"Awwww. Kitty."
Without hesitation, he sprinted down the nearest alley, ducking under a hanging power line and past two arguing shopkeepers.
Alley Near the Gaij Border
The alley opened into a forgotten courtyard, framed by tall ivy-covered stone and humming old lights.
In the center stood a twisted tree — half-dead, half magic — and clinging to its uppermost branch was a trembling orange cat.
Below it, a little girl in a pink dress sobbed into her sleeves.
Ephraim didn't stop to think.
He crouched, then leapt.
The branch creaked as he grabbed it, then balanced himself with catlike precision. He scooped the feline gently and dropped to the ground beside the girl.
Kneeling, he held the cat out like an offering.
"Hey, kid. Is this yours?"
The girl blinked. Her crying stopped. She took the cat with a tiny gasp of delight.
"Thanks, mudblood!"
She turned to run.
"Hey!" Ephraim called after her. "What's a mudblood?"
The girl paused, turned, and smiled.
"It's what you are!"
Then she ran off, giggling.
Ephraim scratched his head.
"Oh. Okay. Whatever."
From Alley to Bus Station
He walked a few more blocks, the city thinning into mist and exposed metal beams. At the end of the road stood a round floating platform, lined with docking clamps and an ancient schedule screen blinking lazily in and out of service.
A bus station.
A large, lumbering hoverbus groaned down from the sky and hissed to a stop. Without a word, Ephraim leapt onto the roof and stretched out across it like it was made for him.
Below, a man with long dreadlocks and a glowing cybernetic eye leaned out of the driver's window.
"Where's this going?" Ephraim asked.
"City of Cloud Falls," the man replied. "Two-day trip."
Ephraim nodded, arms folded behind his head.
"Okay."
He reached one hand toward the heavens, fingers stretching wide before curling into a loose fist.
"I'm almost there."
The driver chuckled, stepping on the ignition.
"The fun's about to begin."
The bus rose, slow and steady, lifting into the purple-tinted sky like a promise.