The bus shook as it crawled down the broken road. Kaelen sat by the window, watching the skyline rise in the distance bent antennas, half-fallen buildings, towers like broken teeth. The city didn't stand tall anymore. It sagged like a scar left too long to heal.
Seven years, Long enough to forget the rhythm of the streets, but not long enough to forget the smell. Even from here, he caught it: smoke from old engines, the sour stink of the river, the burnt trash that always seemed to hang in the air. It clung to you, whether you wanted it or not.
The driver shouted something in the local tongue. People gathered their bags and pushed out. Kaelen followed, stepping onto cracked pavement with nothing, but a heavy duffel bag on his shoulder. The bus groaned and rolled away, leaving him at the checkpoint.
There were no gates anymore. Just two leaning towers patched with rusty metal, covered in layers of faded paint and graffiti. A tired-looking soldier leaned on the barrier, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
"Papers," he said without looking up.
Kaelen handed them over. The man glanced, didn't even read the name, only saw the stamp: cleared.
"Welcome home," he muttered, voice flat, waving him through.
The streets felt smaller now. Buildings pressed in, windows bricked up or shattered. People walked fast, eyes down, words cut short. Nobody wanted to be noticed.
He passed what used to be a bakery. Now it was a gambling den, smoke spilling out the door. The smell of bread, once warm and sweet, was long gone. He kept moving.
"Kaelen?"
He froze.
On the steps of a ruined chapel stood Elira. Her hair tied back the same way he remembered, her coat too thin for the cold. She hadn't bowed to the city yet. Her back was still straight.
For a moment, the years vanished.
She stepped closer. "I thought you were dead."
"I was," Kaelen said, voice rough. "Just not buried."
A small smile touched her lips, but it faded. She looked over her shoulder. From the shadow of the chapel, a man in a sharp coat walked out, phone in hand. On his lapel shone the mark of the Governor's office.
Elira's eyes came back to Kaelen softer, but careful now. "You shouldn't be here. Not like this."
"I've got nowhere else," he answered.
The man finished his call and looked their way, eyes sharp. "Elira?" His voice carried command.
She flinched, almost too small to see, then said, "Coming."
Kaelen stayed silent. His chest was heavy with words that could only do harm.
Elira lingered, just a second. Then, low enough only he could hear:
"Don't let him see you."
She walked to the man, her steps tight, her shoulders stiff. Kaelen watched until both disappeared into the shadows.
He pulled the strap of his duffel bag higher, swallowed the bitterness in his throat, and kept walking.
The city hadn't remembered him. It had erased him just like everyone else who ran away or even walked away from it.