Morning fog clung low to the iron girders of Atlas Tower, a cool blue mist rising from the abyss far below. At the edge of the platform — higher than most dared to stand without a harness — sat the Tower Watcher.
Weathered like the beams he patrolled, he sat with his hand resting beside the brass bell console.
A wide net of steel wires and sky-rails stretched into the void before him like a spider's web slung between floating titans.
Three main lines.
Primary – heavy-duty, for carts and human transport.
Secondary – lean and fast, for deliveries and runners.
Danger Line – ancient, rarely used, unreliable... a whisper of last chances.
Then — a click.
Then — a tremble.
The Watcher leaned forward.
From a far pinprick on the horizon, the thick cords of the General Lines began to tighten.
Something was coming. Heavy. Deliberate. Marked. He reached for the brass console and slammed the Red Bell Trigger.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
The bell's cry echoed through the entire tower.
Atlas froze — then erupted into motion.
Inside Sho's Room
Sho lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. It was speckled with age spots and rust halos around ancient bolts — he knew every one of them like constellations in a forgotten sky.
Near his bed, Grandma Tan's cat, now his by unspoken inheritance, pounced lazily on a balled sock, growling at it as if it owed him money.
GONG. GONG.
The cat paused mid-pounce. Sho didn't move.
The door creaked.
Grandma Yuki peeked in, scarf already tied tight and a shopping list in hand. "Milk. We're low. I told you last night."
"Okay."
"I'll be back soon. Don't burn the tower down."
"I'm not even cooking."
"You think that stops you?"
Sho managed a crooked smile. The cat sneezed. She waved goodbye and shut the door behind her.
Grannies in robes and makeshift boots hustled into the stairwell, clutching coins and rolled paper lists. Yuki joined them.
"I need ginger and milk," one old woman said.
"Rice cakes if they aren't sold out again."
"They better not bring those sour dumplings. I still can't feel my gums from last time!"
They all laughed — old laughter, worn from decades but bright nonetheless.
The Market Tram arrived on the main line like a mechanical beetle plated in rusted gold and chains. Steam hissed from its joints as it docked into the open platform — metal clamps latching onto it with a heavy clunk-clunk-clunk. Around it, Atlas residents watched with a mix of hope and unease.
Painted boldly on the side:
PROPERTY OF HOUSE HASEGAWA – SABBATH SKYSCRAPERS
A sigil of a crescent sword curled under the family name, flanked by stylized eyes. The watchers all knew what that meant.
Someone whispered, "Hasegawa again."
"Didn't he sell spoiled fish last time?"
"Who else sends trams up here at all?"
"Don't buy, you starve."
The tram hissed open. Uniformed men in polished boots began setting up awnings and displaying wares — goods packed in velvet-lined crates. Fruit. Preserved meats.
Batteries. Water tablets. Cooking fuel. Fabric. The staples. And always just slightly overpriced.
The crowd surged forward.
Back Inside Sho's Room
Sho rolled onto his side, staring out through the vent slats that opened to the sky. From this angle, he could see the tram just barely — a distant insect at the top deck.
The cat curled up beside him, purring.
Sho sighed.
"Cat," he muttered, "do you think Grandma's right?"
The cat blinked, unimpressed.
The sky shimmered above the mid-tiers of Atlas as the bell towers clanged three times — a signal everyone knew well.
Incoming.
Within minutes, balconies and hanging staircases came alive with footsteps.
Kids with coin purses tied to their waists, adults clutching crumpled shopping lists, and elders hurrying like it was a sacred holiday all surged toward the elevated station hub.
"Hasegawa is robbing us blind again!"
"Yesterday this rice was half the price!"
"Does he think we mine silver in these towers?"
The trader — a balding man in dark layered robes with a pouch-heavy vest and a tongue slick as oil — stood tall amidst the crowd.
"Hey! Hey! Prices rise with altitude, my friends," he chirped.
"Do you know what it costs to ferry this salt from the ground to you angels?" He gestured with a dramatic flourish,
"Do you want your tomatoes soft and rotten by the time they reach your pots, or fresh and bright as hope? Then hush and buy!"
A chorus of grumbles followed, especially from the nosy grandmas, who had a way of ganging up like flocking birds.
"Fresh? This one is bruised!"
"You call this bright? It looks like my husband's big toe!"
He handled them like a seasoned performer. Smiles, distractions, flattery — and always the final word.
But amidst the bartering chaos, his eye twitched. Something... was off.
He snapped his fingers at a younger assistant to take over and turned, marching back toward the tram's hold.
"Don't tell me—" he muttered under his breath, climbing in.
Inside, nestled between burlap bags of ginger root and crushed banana leaves, someone snored. Loudly.
Sakiko.
Draped in a long sleeveless hoodie, cropped tank, combat cargo pants, and noise-canceling ear beads that had long run out of juice, she lay spread like royalty.
Arms across her forehead, a bag on her stomach, and shoes kicked off.
"Hey!" the trader kicked a crate nearby. "This isn't a bloody spa. Get up, ride's over!"
She didn't even flinch.
He tried again, louder. "This is a goods tram, not a damn hostel, come on, I have got sales to make!"
Her hand rose like a lazy cat paw and waved him off. "Ugh. Five more minutes."
He clenched his teeth, tried to yank her foot, and nearly tripped on her bag.
"I should've dumped you halfway at Dream top ."
Sakiko sat up, yawned so hard her jaw cracked, burped faintly, then yawned again.
"Geez, you're so uptight. Don't you guys ever relax?"
"I relax when I have made my sales quota, thank you!"
"You're just mad you couldn't sleep, not many people do, but I do," she said, slipping on her boots lazily.
She suddenly flipped a stack of crisp tower notes in his face.
"Paid. Now. Get over yourself."
He grabbed the money, grumbling.
"...Mouth on you could curdle milk, I hope I never get to see you again."
Sakiko threw a bag on her back and flipped him a mock salute.
"Pleasure doing business, hauler."
She stepped into the light with a dramatic grin.
Sakiko stepped off the tram with two bags on her shoulders, earbuds swinging, chewing something from a silver wrap. She smiled as she scanned the crowd, but nobody noticed her grand arrival.
"Huh. Tough Neighborhood."
She made a show of stretching, cracking her back like someone who'd just woken from a royal nap. With one step into the market crowd, someone collided into her — a short, stooped figure with careful, gentle hands.
"Oh my stars! So sorry dear—"
Sakiko turned, one eyebrow up, a smirk forming. "That's okay, granny. I've had hangovers harder than that."
The older woman chuckled softly. Her silver hair glowed under the morning sun, held together in a tidy bun by a carved wooden pin.
Grandma Yuki.
"You must be new. I haven't seen your face in this section of the tower."
Sakiko's tone shifted just slightly — respectful, but still carrying her fire.
"Yeah. Name's Sakiko. Got shipped from Skyspire. New tenant. Supposed to be staying room A10"
Yuki's eyes widened a touch. Her voice, warm yet melancholic.
"Grandma Tan… She passed three weeks ago. A quiet, wise woman. You'll feel her spirit in that room, I'm sure."
"Oh, I am sorry about that," Sakiko returned.
There was a pause. Both looked at each other. A small silence.
"It's Okay, If you are not in a hurry, I could help you find apartment A10, after I am finished here."
"Thank you, sounds like a plan!" sakiko smiled.
They strolled into the market like a mismatched duo from an old holotape: one young, bold, and chaotic; the other serene and perceptive.
They approached the vendor from earlier, who was now mid-rant with a teenager over the price of peppers.
"Look at this! This is not even red! This is like… orange dying slowly!"
"Color doesn't affect taste! Buy it or go grow your own!"
Yuki stepped forward gently. "Excuse me, kind sir. Could you offer just a little discount for an old woman trying to welcome a new neighbor?"
The vendor softened a bit — until Sakiko stepped up behind her, arms crossed.
"Discount? Pfft. We want the real price. Not this 'because-we're-up-here' scam."
Vendor blinked. "Not You again?"
Sakiko grinned like a wildcat. "Oh yeah. I'm back. And this time I brought backup."
What followed was a hurricane of bargaining.
Sakiko fired verbal salvos. "That's not ginger, that's sadness in root form!"
The vendor fired back. "You wouldn't know quality if it hit you in the—"
Yuki, quietly, gently, would nudge the price down like oil on fire.
"She may be loud, but she's not wrong. Look here—three of these have soft spots."
By the time they were done, the price had dropped by almost half. The vendor looked defeated, rubbing his temples.
"Next time I see you two coming, I'll close early."
They walked away, arms full of goods.