Exile in the Wastes

The sun hung low in the crimson sky, a dying ember against a sea of ash-colored clouds. Rayn

trudged through the waste, his boots sinking into the cracked, uneven ground. The air was

heavy with dust and the faint, acrid stench of decay. This was the surface—a sprawling,

forgotten world abandoned by those who now dwelled above. For those left behind, survival was

a constant battle, and Rayn had become a master of it.

He paused on a jagged ridge, scanning the barren landscape through the cracked visor of his

helmet. A faint hum droned in the distance—a Skykeep patrol ship. Its sleek silhouette glided

across the horizon, its underside bristling with turreted spotlights. He crouched, pulling his

weathered cloak tighter around him to blend into the rocks. The Skykeep’s watchful eyes rarely

missed anything, and Rayn had no desire to test his luck today.

“Move along,

” he muttered under his breath, his voice muffled by the rebreather strapped to his

face. The patrol ship veered left, heading toward a distant settlement. He waited until the hum

faded completely before rising.

With his path clear, Rayn descended into the valley below, where the remnants of a collapsed

tower jutted skyward like the bones of some ancient beast. Scavenging was a gamble—he

never knew if he’d find something valuable or walk into a trap set by desperate surface dwellers.

But the wastes offered few alternatives.

The tower’s interior was choked with rubble, rusted beams, and shattered glass. Rayn moved

cautiously, his steps silent on the uneven ground. His eyes scanned every corner, every

shadow, for signs of danger. He knew the risks of venturing this deep. Surface scavengers

weren’t the only threats—Skykeep often sent automated drones to strip valuable resources.

His gloved hands brushed against a tangle of wires protruding from a shattered console. He

tugged free a handful, inspecting them with a practiced eye. Copper filament. Worth enough for

a week’s rations if he could find a buyer. As he pocketed the wires, a faint noise reached his

ears—muffled cries carried on the wind.

Rayn froze, his senses sharpening. The cries grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable

clatter of boots and the bark of commands. He crept toward a jagged opening in the tower’s wall

and peered out.

Below, a small group of surface dwellers—men, women, and even children—huddled together,

their faces pale and drawn. Surrounding them were Skykeep soldiers, their polished armor

gleaming unnaturally bright against the wasteland’s gloom. The soldiers’ helmets obscured their

faces, but their movements were precise, mechanical, and merciless.

“Tribute,

” barked the squad leader, his voice amplified by a built-in speaker.

granted leniency before. Not this time.

”

“You’ve been

“We have nothing left!” pleaded an elderly man, his frail hands trembling as he stepped forward.

“Please, spare us. The last storm took everything.

”

The squad leader raised his weapon—a sleek energy rifle humming with lethal power.

has no use for excuses.

”

“Skykeep

Rayn felt his fists clench. He should walk away—getting involved was suicide. Yet as the soldier

leveled his rifle at the old man, something inside Rayn snapped.

“Damn it,

” he hissed, pulling his cloak tighter around him. He slipped his sidearm—a compact

blaster—from its holster and leaped over the rubble.

Rayn’s first shot struck the squad leader square in the chest, sending him sprawling. Before the

other soldiers could react, he dove behind a rusted outcrop, firing with precision. The first few

fell quickly, their armor useless against his armor-piercing rounds. The remaining soldiers

scattered, barking orders as they scrambled for cover.

“Stay down!” Rayn shouted at the surface dwellers. They obeyed, pressing themselves to the

ground as chaos erupted around them.

The soldiers regrouped, their superior training evident. Rayn gritted his teeth as energy blasts

seared past him, one narrowly grazing his shoulder. His years of training kicked in—quick,

calculated movements, exploiting every weakness in their formation. He rolled into a better

position, throwing an improvised explosive he’d rigged from scavenged materials.

The blast tore through their ranks, leaving only a single soldier standing. Rayn wasted no time,

charging forward and slamming the butt of his weapon into the soldier’s helmet. The man

crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the labored breathing of the survivors.

Rayn turned to the huddled group, his weapon still drawn.

“You’re safe. For now.

”

One of the surface dwellers, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, stepped forward

cautiously. Her eyes, sunken with exhaustion, held a mixture of gratitude and suspicion.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“No one you need to worry about,

” Rayn replied curtly, scanning the horizon for reinforcements.

“You’d better move before more of them show up.

”

The woman hesitated, then nodded. She gestured for the others to follow, but a young

man—barely more than a boy—stopped and turned back.

“Wait! T ake this.

”

He held out a small, weathered piece of paper, folded and sealed with a crude wax insignia.

Rayn frowned.

“I’m not interested in your charity.

”

“It’s not charity,

” the boy insisted.

“It’s a message. From someone who said you’d come. They

told us to give it to the one who fights for the surface.

”

Rayn’s brow furrowed as he took the note. The insignia was unfamiliar, but the craftsmanship

was too refined to belong to a surface dweller. He unfolded the paper, revealing a series of

symbols written in a coded script.

“Who gave this to you?” he demanded.

The boy shook his head.

was for the exile.

”

“I don’t know. They came from the north, said it was important. Said it

Rayn’s jaw tightened.

“Go. Now.

”

The group didn’t need to be told twice. They hurried off, disappearing into the wastes.

Rayn lingered, staring at the note in his hands. Its cryptic symbols taunted him, dredging up

memories he’d buried deep. He felt the familiar sting of bitterness rise in his chest.

Skykeep. Even out here, even after all he’d lost, the city still haunted him. He clenched his fists,

crumpling the note. The surface didn’t need heroes—it needed survivors. And yet, as he looked

at the smoldering battlefield and the fleeing figures, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this

message was more than a random plea for help.

He sighed, slipping the note into his pocket.

“Damn it all.

”

The hum of another patrol ship reached his ears, distant but growing louder. Rayn turned and

vanished into the shadows of the ruins, his mind racing.

The surface had always been his prison, but now, it seemed, it might also hold the key to

something greater. Something dangerous.

Something worth fighting for.

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