The world above was cruel, but the fall was worse. It wasn’t the wind or the endless dark that hurt the most — it was knowing no one would ever call your name again.

I remember the moment it happened: the crowd’s shouts, the boy’s desperate voice, his wrists bound in chains of accusation. I didn’t even know him. But when he was pushed to the edge, when the pit opened beneath his feet — I couldn’t just watch.

I reached out, hoping to pull him back on the ground.

And for that single heartbeat, our hands almost met — before the ground disappeared beneath mine, too.

We fell together.

The scream left my throat, but the wind stole it away. I remember his face twisted in disbelief, the light fading above us both. Then nothing — only silence and the crushing ache of survival.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

Days bled together in the pit. Hunger clawed at my ribs, my voice cracked from calling into the emptiness. I built fires from scraps, fought off beasts with a broken stick. Every breath was a battle. Every heartbeat whispered: Don’t die here.

And then… he appeared.

A shadow first, then a man — tall, lean, his eyes like flint under faint light. Enjin.

Even through my haze, I noticed it. The way he moved, unhurried, sharp. The faint curve of a smirk that said he’d seen everything this world could offer — and survived it.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming. For another, I hoped I wasn’t.

“You’re alive,” he said, almost surprised. “Barely,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

He studied me in silence. And though I could barely stand, I couldn’t stop staring — not out of fear, but something else. Something I didn’t understand yet.

He extended a hand, rough and warm.

“Come on. You’ve got more fight in you than most.”

That was the first time in days I let myself believe I might live.

The Cleaners’ Base was unlike anything I imagined — metal walls humming with power, laughter echoing through ruins, the scent of oil and food mixing in the air. People who’d fallen, yet stood taller than anyone above.

As I stepped inside, my gaze froze.

A boy stood across the room — dark hair, fierce eyes, a restless energy that felt almost alive. Rudo.

The boy from the fall.

He looked up, just as our eyes met. His expression flickered — confusion, shock, recognition. My heart stopped.

In that single moment, everything came rushing back — the fall, the fear, the desperate reach between strangers.

He was alive.

I exhaled, trembling, a small smile forming