Arachis

The city of Arachis was massive, grand, awe-inspiring, magnanimous, making Iron Vale look like a rundown, backwater village. Sleek towers of polished metal stood beside ancient stone structures, blending the past and present into something breathtaking.

Drake pressed his face against the barred train window, taking it all in. The automated voice spilled on about the city's rich history and importance but Drake barely listened. A few minutes later, the Iron Meadow screeched to stop at the station.

*Ding! *

The doors slid open, releasing a flood of passengers into chaos. The station was packed with more people than Drake had ever seen in one place, it looked like half the world had decided to visit today. Yet despite the crowd, order prevailed. Black-armored soldiers moved through the masses, their watchful presence keeping trouble at bay.

 Drake stepped out and immediately got elbowed by a woman hauling three oversized suitcases. No apology. Just a sneer as she looked him up and down.

"Watch it, gutter rat." She snapped.

Drake simply ignored her as he followed the flow of passengers through security checks, gritting his teeth as inspectors pawed through his belongings. The whole process felt like an overkill to him.

Finally emerging into open air, Drake inhaled deeply only to freeze when a voice spoke directly behind him.

"Are you Drake Jagger?"

The voice was flat, lifeless. Drake spun around, putting distance between himself and the speaker. People stared.

The man looked ordinary, gray hair, fifties, wearing a suit with the Arachis crest stitched on the breast pocket. But something about him set Drake's nerves on edge.

'Great, First Duron with his predator's grin, now this walking corpse in a suit. Did Arachis recruit its staff from horror novels?' Drake thought.

"Are you Drake Jagger?" The man repeated.

"Yeah, I have this card...."

"No need." The man said.

"Come." He added.

The man pushed Drake's luggage toward a black car. Drake sighed but followed.

...….

Elsewhere, two sharp knocks echoed against an old wooden door.

"Come in."

Sir Duron entered, squinting his eyes in the dim lit room. At the room's far end, behind a massive desk sat a dark-skinned man whose gray hair cascaded over broad shoulders. His hazel eyes pinned Duron in place with unsettling focus.

"You called for me, sir."

"What do you think of the boy?" The man asked, his voice calm but layered with something deeper.

"Pathetically weak." Duron answered without hesitation. "I sensed nothing from him during the entire trip. No Aether. Like he is empty inside."

"Because he is," The man confirmed." Born without a Core. A defect."

Duron stiffened." Then why bring him here, sir? The houses will see this as an insult – first admitting a commoner, and a broken one at that."

"I'm aware of the risks." The man exhaled slowly. "But I owe a debt. This is how I repay it."

"And when the houses object?"

"Let them complain to me directly." A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes just for a moment.

"You're playing a risky game, sir."

"I know. But that is not why I called you here." Xavier Winston leaned forward. "I need his record buried. Only basic information gets out."

"Yes, sir."

"And hurry, Shelby's people are already snooping."

As Duron slipped silently from the room, Winston returned to his book, murmuring to himself.

"You'd better have one hell of an explanation for this, old friend."