The sky was dim—painted in the dull gray of ash and dust—as a massive armored transport rumbled across the cracked wasteland. Its metal frame groaned with every bump, the sound echoing like the cries of those trapped inside. Around it, a convoy of men on hoverbikes and trucks guarded the vehicle, weapons gleaming beneath the dying sun.
"Finally," one of the guards said with a grin, tapping his rifle. "This batch will make us a fortune. The client promised triple if we deliver before nightfall."
"Yeah," another replied, glancing around nervously. "But if the Council finds out… we'll be executed on the spot."
The leader laughed, his scarred face twisting with greed. "Then we just make sure they don't find out."
Inside the transport, eight young captives sat in silence, wrists and ankles chained to iron rings. Their eyes were hollow—lifeless. They had stopped hoping days ago.
Among them was Aryan.
He sat near the corner, head lowered, chains biting into his skin. His once-clear eyes now reflected only emptiness.
It's useless, he thought. Everything… ended long ago.
His mind drifted back to fragments of memory—his mother's laughter, his father's calm voice, his brother's teasing grin. A perfect family, until that night six years ago. The fire. The screams. The crash. And then—silence.
He was twelve when his world collapsed. Now, at eighteen, he was nothing but another broken soul being sold to the highest bidder.
The transport jolted suddenly. A faint metallic echo rang from outside—footsteps. Not from the guards.
"Hold up," the leader barked. "You two, check that noise."
Two men nodded and stepped out, weapons ready. The wind howled across the barren plains as they moved forward, scanning the shadows.
Then came another sound. Boots. Dozens of them. From the darkness, armored figures emerged—silver crests gleaming on their cloaks.
The Council of Nations.
"Damn it!" the supplier leader cursed. "Everyone, battle positions! Don't let them surround us!"
Blaster fire cracked the air. The Council soldiers moved with precision—shields of light forming in front of them as they returned fire. Within seconds, chaos engulfed the wasteland—bullets, light, and dust clashing like thunder.
At the center of the Council unit stood a man with a crimson insignia on his chest—Council Officer Commander Reign. His calm gaze surveyed the battlefield as he raised his hand.
"Lay down your weapons and surrender!" he ordered. "By order of the Council, you are under arrest for human trafficking!"
The supplier leader spat on the ground.
"Dream on, Council dog! We'll capture you and sell you to our client!"
He charged forward, swinging his blade infused with dark red energy—but Reign moved like lightning. One strike—clean and swift—and the leader's weapon shattered.
Moments later, the battlefield fell silent.
The suppliers were defeated, their weapons scattered, their greed crushed.
Reign turned toward the transport and motioned to his team.
"Open it."
With a loud hiss, the doors slid open. The stench of rust and fear poured out. Inside, the captives stared at the light as if seeing the sun for the first time.
Reign's expression softened.
"You're safe now," he said. "You've been rescued. No one will hurt you again."
His team began freeing the captives, wrapping them in blankets and guiding them out. Aryan blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, unable to process what was happening.
Hours later, the rescued slaves were brought to the Council Office in the city of Valmor. Families rushed in, crying and embracing their lost children.
All except one.
Aryan sat alone on a bench in the corner, his head lowered. The light from the crystal chandeliers cast long shadows across the marble floor.
Commander Reign noticed.
"Where are his parents?" he asked one of the junior officers.
The man hesitated. "Sir… according to our records, they died six years ago. He has no family."
Reign looked at Aryan again, his expression heavy."...Then he's completely alone."
He walked toward the boy, his footsteps echoing softly through the hall.
Aryan didn't look up. He stared at his chained wrists, even though the shackles were gone.
The Commander stopped in front of him. For a moment, he saw it—the same emptiness he'd seen in countless soldiers before battle.
"What's your name, kid?" Reign asked quietly.
Aryan slowly raised his head, his tired eyes meeting the man's.
"...Aryan."
Reign nodded. "So what's your next plan Kid?"
But deep inside, Aryan felt it wasn't over. Somewhere beyond the horizon, the voice from the void still whispered his name. And the darkness inside him stirred—waiting to awaken.