Chapter 161: The Mechanics of Moving On
The silence in the small apartment was a living thing, thick and heavy, broken only by the low, perpetual hum of Elora City's life support systems—a sound that was slowly becoming the soundtrack to their new, fractured lives. It had been eighteen days. Eighteen days since they had arrived in this sterile, gleaming city, a world away from the grimy, vibrant chaos of Nova Lumina. The apartment was a standard-issue, two-bedroom, one-hall, one-kitchen, two-bathroom unit. It was clean, functional, and utterly soulless. The furniture was blandly comfortable, the walls a generic off-white, the lighting a uniform, shadowless glow. It was a place to exist, not to live.
A soft, hesitant knock echoed from Kai's bedroom door.
Moon waited, his own breath held. He could feel the weight of his brother's grief through the flimsy metal. After a long moment, there was the faint sound of a lock disengaging, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss.
Kai stood there, a ghost of his former self. The sharp, calculating light in his eyes was dimmed, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. The skin under his eyes was stained with deep, purple bruises, a stark testament to nights spent staring at the ceiling, wrestling with demons only he could see. The faint redness around his lids spoke of a grief so profound it had physically etched itself onto him.
"Kai," Moon began, his voice softer than usual, laced with a concern he didn't try to hide. "Are you sure... are you sure you don't want to join the tournament? It could be a distraction. A way to... feel something again."
Kai's lips twitched, curving into a smile that never reached his eyes. It was the smile of a man who had already lost the most important battle. "Does it even matter, Moon?" he whispered, the words tasting like ash. What difference does it make? He didn't wait for an answer, brushing past his brother and moving into the hall with a slow, weary gait.
Moon watched him go, his heart aching. He followed, settling onto the opposite couch. The air between them was filled with everything left unsaid—the memory of a grave, a mocking message, and the crushing weight of a future they never asked for.
Kai leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and massaged his temples. After a prolonged silence, he reached into the storage ring on his finger. With a faint shimmer of light, a crisp, official-looking document materialized in his hand. He held it out without looking up.
Moon took it. It was a job application form. The header read: MOUNTBATTEN BANK - INTERNSHIP PROGRAM.
"I sent the form five days ago," Kai said, his voice flat. "The interview is today. At 9:00 AM." He finally glanced at the chrono-display on the wall, which glowed 7:30. "I forgot to tell you."
Moon's eyes widened slightly. He looked from the form to his brother's exhausted face. This was it. This was Rivan's command, and Kai, broken as he was, was following through. Without a word, Moon stood up and headed for the bathroom. The message was clear: We're doing this. Together.
The next half-hour was a study in quiet, domestic ritual. The sound of running water from two separate bathrooms. The hiss of the sonic shower. Kai stood under the vibrations, letting the high-frequency waves clean the grime and sweat from his skin, but he knew it couldn't touch the fatigue deep in his bones. He stared at his reflection—the dark circles, the too-pale skin—and mechanically began to dress. He chose a uniform of normalcy: a crisp white shirt, sharply pressed black trousers, and polished black formal shoes. He looked like a candidate. He felt like a fraud.
When he stepped out, Moon was already waiting. He had opted for his own version of armor: a well-fitted black shirt, black pants, and surprisingly, a pair of pristine white sport shoes—a small, stubborn rebellion against the formality of it all.
They didn't speak as they rode the elevator down. The descent was swift and silent, the numbers on the display blinking down. The lobby was a cavernous space of polished marble and softly glowing lights.
Parked in their assigned bay was their transport: a second-hand hoverbike. It was a model that had been popular a few years ago, its sleek black chassis adorned with fading blue racing stripes. It was far from the powerful teleporters they had once taken for granted, a tangible symbol of their fallen status.
Moon picked up the two helmets, handing one to Kai. They settled onto the bike, Kai sliding into the passenger seat behind his brother. Moon was the pilot; in these past eighteen days, while Kai had withdrawn, Moon had ventured out, learning the intricate aerial traffic lanes of Elora City, mastering the feel of the hoverbike's controls.
Kai, on the other hand, had barely left the apartment, alternating between the couch and his bed, the glow of the holoscreen painting his face in shifting colours.
Moon ignited the engine. It purred to life, a low, steady thrum that vibrated through the frame. He glanced back once, a silent question in his eyes. Kai gave a single, shallow nod.
With a gentle surge, the hoverbike lifted off the ground, floating smoothly out of the bay and into the vast, structured chaos of Elora City's morning traffic. They weaved between sleek corporate skiffs and bulky transport vessels, two small figures in a river of metal and light, heading towards an uncertain future, the wind whipping past them, carrying away the silence, if not the pain.
The journey through Elora City's meticulously organized aerial lanes was a silent one. Moon navigated the hoverbike with an innate, fluid grace, weaving between the sleek, impersonal traffic with a focus that belied the tension of the morning. True to his word, they arrived at the soaring, crystalline spire of the Mountbatten Bank headquarters with nearly fifteen minutes to spare.
The parking bay was a symphony of automated efficiency. Their second-hand bike looked decidedly out of place among the gleaming corporate skiffs and luxury personal transports. After securing it, they walked towards the main entrance, their footsteps echoing in the vast, cavernous plaza. The entrance wasn't guarded by the expected advanced robot, but by a sharp-eyed human in an impeccably tailored security uniform.
"State your business," the guard said, his voice neutral but his gaze missing nothing.
Kai, without a word, produced the printed interview summons from his storage ring. The guard took it, scanning the holographic seal and details with a small device.
"Interview for the Internship Program. Proceed to the Central Atrium and wait for your names to be called," he instructed, pointing towards a grand archway that led into the heart of the building.
The Central Atrium was a breathtaking space, reaching up dozens of stories, with light filtering through intricate architectural patterns. But it was also eerily quiet. They had expected a room buzzing with nervous candidates, a hive of competitive energy. Instead, they found only a handful of plush, empty seating areas. The silence was unnerving. Had they gotten the date wrong? Was this a test?
They chose a secluded corner and sat down, the plush fabric sighing under their weight. They waited in patient silence, the minutes stretching out. Finally, after precisely fifteen minutes, two sleek, humanoid robots glided into the atrium on silent repulsors. One stopped before Moon, the other before Kai.
"Candidate Moon, please follow me."
"Candidate Kai,please follow me."
With a shared, brief glance—a silent wish of good luck—they stood and were led down separate, sterile white corridors.
Moon's Interview Room
A bald, muscular man with a scar over his eye sat behind the desk. He looked more like a soldier than a banker.
"You Moon?" the man, whose nameplate said 'Rorke', asked.
"Yes. May I?" Moon replied.
Rorke nodded. He looked at his datapad. "Says here you were a King-level Hunter. That means you can handle yourself. Good." He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Now, listen close. This is the only question that matters."
"If you're guarding a debt collector, and the guy we're collecting from—some poor guy who lost his business—starts crying, begging, saying his kids will starve... will you still do your job?"
Moon didn't even blink. "Yes."
Rorke stared at him for a long moment, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Good. Don't need a soft heart. Need a strong arm." He made a note on his pad. "Alright, that's it. You can go."
As Moon stood up to leave, Rorke looked up again. "Hey, one more thing for the paperwork. Your file just says 'Moon'. What's the full name?"
Moon paused. "Is it needed?"
"Yeah, of course. For the official record. Can't have just one name," Rorke said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Lunaris," Moon said. "Moon Lunaris."
Kai's Interview Room
Kai sat across from a severe-looking woman named Director Shale.
"May I?" Kai asked.
"Proceed," she said, not looking up from his file. After a moment, she closed it and looked straight at him. "Your test scores are sharp. But this job isn't about tests. It's about doing what needs to be done, even when it's ugly."
She folded her hands. "Your debt collector is reclaiming a family's spaceship, their only source of income. The wife is on her knees, sobbing. What do you do?"
Kai, his face a mask of exhaustion and emptiness, gave the only answer that made sense in their world.
"You make sure the collector takes the ship," he said, his voice flat. "My job is to protect the collector, not their conscience."
Director Shale gave a single, curt nod. "Practical. Ruthless. Exactly what we need." She gestured dismissively. "That will be all."
As Kai reached the door, her voice stopped him. "A formality, Mr. Kai . Your full name for the database. 'Kai' is insufficient."
Kai didn't even turn around, the name feeling like a brand.
"Caelith.Kai Caelith."
Out in the hallway, their eyes met. No words were needed. The deal was done. They had sold a piece of their souls for a foothold in the enemy's fortress. The path was set, and it was uglier than they had imagined.
To be continued…