Varen feels a slight knot in his stomach, but he keeps running. The clang of metal beneath his feet mixes with the rasp of his breathing and with Alice's brief laugh when she almost slips and manages to grab a hanging cable.
"Almost!" she says, amused.
For her, everything is a game.For Varen, it isn't.
As they move forward, he passes a group of adults gathered around a broken machine. One of them looks up and meets Varen's eyes for a second. He doesn't smile. He only gives a slight nod.
A silent warning.
Farther ahead, a collapsed structure marks the boundary of a sector that is no longer safe. Alice turns sharply, and Varen follows without asking. He trusts her. He always has.
The dump is not just garbage.
It is an invisible map made of dangers, unspoken agreements, and learned routes. Everyone knows how far they can go.
"Not much farther," Alice says, lowering her voice.
Varen doesn't answer, but he feels something different settle in his chest. It isn't fear, and it isn't exactly excitement either.
It's an expectation. Because today is not an ordinary day.
And though he still doesn't know why, as he runs between the remains of the old world and the shadows of the new, Varen has the feeling that Narak, for the first time, is about to change.
The murmur turns into a constant rumble as they approach.
It is not joy. It is not simple impatience. It is hunger.
Hunger for usable metal. Hunger for parts that can be traded. Hunger for anything that might let them survive a little longer in Narak.
The clearing opens before them like an artificial crater, a zone where the ground has been crushed by years of unloading, footsteps, and heavy machinery. Metallic dust floats in the air, suspended like an opaque fog that slips into the lungs with every breath.
Alice does not stop.
She moves forward with determination, weaving between adult bodies, dodging arms loaded with sacks and improvised packs. Varen follows, copying her movements without thinking. Alice knows Narak as if it were an extension of her own body.
"Don't get separated," she tells him without looking back.
Varen nods, though she can't see him.
When they reach the front, the world freezes.
The trucks are bigger than usual. Much bigger. Their surfaces reflect the grayish light of the sky, clean, intact, as if they did not belong in that place. Velkari symbols glow faintly on their sides, etched with geometric precision.
And around them…
Soldiers.
Too many.
They are not relaxed. They are not talking. They are not watching with boredom. They are ready.
They form a perfect ring around the cargo. Full armor covers their bodies, dark and angular, with lines of energy pulsing softly between the plates. Their weapons rest in their hands, not aimed… but ready.
Surveillance drones hover in the air, motionless like insects trapped in amber. Their lenses sweep over the crowd in slow, constant movements, recording everything.
The murmur of the people weakens.
Some adults stop short. Others take a step back. No one dares move too far forward.
"This isn't normal…" someone whispers behind them.
Varen feels the knot in his stomach tighten.
He cannot explain why, but his body reacts before his mind. Something in that formation tells him they did not come today only to watch.
Alice frowns.
"They didn't say anything about soldiers," she murmurs.
Among them all, one figure stands out. He does not need to impose himself. He does not raise his voice. He does not make exaggerated gestures. He is simply there, and that is enough.
His armor is different. Lighter. More polished. The symbols engraved on it are not decorative: they tell a story. Battle scars. Marks of past campaigns.
The murmurs change tone.
"It's one of them…""They say he was in the Belt War…""He's not one of the Ten, but… a hero here?"
For the Velkari and for some humans. For the dumps of Narak, heroes are a dangerous presence: soldiers with superior capabilities, powerful weapons for the Velkari government, classified by their deeds in wars, infiltrations, annihilations of traitors, and other acts deemed worthy of bringing balance to the new world.
The man steps forward. Silence falls like a physical weight.
"Inhabitants of Narak," he says.
His voice is firm, calm. There is no direct threat in it, and that makes it worse. It glides through the crowd with calculated serenity, as if every word had been rehearsed to produce a precise effect.
"Collection day has arrived."
No one answers.
"As always, we come to fulfill our part."
He pauses briefly. His eyes travel over dirty, tired, expectant faces.
"But this time," he continues, "something will change."
The air grows heavy.
Varen swallows.
"Our informants have identified irregular activity in this sector," he says. "Individuals who refuse to accept progress. Who sabotage, who incite, who hide among you."
Some bodies tense.
Others lower their gaze.
"People who prefer chaos to stability," he adds. "Who calls resistance what is nothing more than fear of change?"
Rebels. The word is never spoken, but everyone understands it.
"We know you are here."
An uneasy murmur ripples through the crowd.
"And so, we will give you an option."
Varen feels Alice shift uncomfortably beside him.
"You have twenty-four hours," the man says. "Tomorrow, at exactly eleven thirty, we will return."
He marks the time with inhuman precision.
"We will wait for you to hand over the traitors voluntarily."
The silence is absolute.
"And if you do not…"
He does not raise his voice. He does not harden his tone.
He simply leaves the sentence unfinished.
The message settles into their bones.
"This dump will cease to exist as a refuge."
Some muffled gasps. No one speaks.
The man watches the reaction with clinical attention. Then, as if he has completed his duty, his posture relaxes slightly.
His expression changes.
A smile appears on his face. Correct. Practiced. False.
"But not everything is punishment," he says. "We recognize your effort. Your usefulness within the system."
He gestures with one hand.
The trucks roar.
The rear hatches burst open, releasing a metallic thunder that makes the ground vibrate. Tons of scrap pour out in cascades: gleaming parts, nearly intact structures, remnants of advanced technology that should never have ended up there.
The crowd reacts with a contained murmur.
Desire. Need. Survival.
"This shipment comes directly from the great human and Velkari cities," he announces. "First-class material."
He makes one final pause.
"Enjoy it… while you can. As long as there is progress, better things will come—"
The soldiers part just enough.
The man turns and walks away, escorted.
For a few seconds, no one moves.
Then, slowly, people begin to advance.
Cautiously, Varen does not move. He watches the mountains of metal fall, the trembling hands reaching out, the eyes shining at the promise of something better.
But there is no excitement in his chest.
Only a strange feeling.
As if something invisible had passed through Narak.
As if, without knowing it, the dump had just been marked.
Alice leans toward him.
"Let's go," she whispers.
"Why…?" Varen begins.
She looks at him, and for the first time since he has known her, she does not smile.
"Because today," she says, "we're not just collectors anymore."
And she pulls his arm.
As they move away from the crowd, Varen looks back one last time.
The trucks.The soldiers.The scrap falling like a poisoned gift.
He does not understand everything.
But he knows something has begun.
And Narak never gives anything back without charging for it later.
The restraint lasts very little.
Far too little.
When the last soldier withdraws far enough, and the echo of the hatches finally fades, the crowd surges forward like a released wave.
There is no order. Only bodies crashing together. Hands are stretching desperately. Cries rise when someone finds something valuable. Insults, shoves, falls.
The metal still falls hot in some places, and even so, people throw themselves at it without hesitation. Plates, tubes, dead energy cores, fragments of Velkari machinery, and human remains mix into an impossible chaos.
Varen stays still for barely a second.
Alice is already moving.
"Come on!" she shouts without looking back.
Varen reacts and runs after her, pushed by the mass. The noise is deafening: metal against metal, bones colliding, ragged breathing. An adult falls nearby, and no one stops to help. In Narak, stopping means losing.
Varen is still thinking about the man.
About his calm voice. About his clean armor. About that smile that never reached his eyes.
He shakes his head. Not now.
He crouches and shoves his hands into the rubble. He finds thick cables, too heavy, and drops them. A fractured plate, still useful, but an adult yanks it from his hands without even looking at him.
"Get lost, brat."
Varen steps back, but he doesn't leave.
He looks for something small. Something the grown-ups won't consider worth enough.
A blow to his shoulder makes him stagger. Then another. Alice shouts his name from somewhere, but the noise swallows it.
An adult shoves him to the ground.
"Out!"
Varen's elbow hits a hard surface. He feels the burn race up his arm, but he doesn't let go of what he has seen.
An artifact.
Small. Metallic. With Velkari symbols almost worn away. It does not glow, but it vibrates faintly, as if something inside it is still alive.
Valuable.
The man notices.
"That's not yours."
A large hand closes around the collar of Varen's shirt and lifts him slightly off the ground. The smell of stale sweat and rusted metal fills his nose.
Varen struggles, bends his leg, and kicks with all his strength.
The scream is immediate.
The adult releases him with a choked howl, clutching his groin. Varen falls badly, rolls, and feels a sharp blow to his face; a white flash crosses his vision.
But he doesn't stop.
He gets up however he can and runs.
He runs without looking back, dodging bodies, leaping over scraps of metal, feeling something hot trickle down his left cheek. His eye burns. He blinks. Everything is blurry.
It doesn't matter.
He keeps running.
He doesn't stop until the noise is far behind him.