She ran.
The sound of screaming metal and pulsing electric whips cracked like thunder in her ears. Zora's bare feet skidded across the oil-slicked floor of the throne room, her breath ragged as lightning-blue lashes danced across her vision.
"NO!" she screamed, her voice splintering the smoke-choked air.
Before her, Mechan Aiden—her father—was on his knees, spine arched as the voltage tore through him again. His arms strained against the iron cuffs binding him to the throne's shattered remains. Blood pooled beneath him, mixing with sparks and oil.
Beside him, her mother—Queen Moira—cried out in anguish. "ZORA, RUN!"
But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
Her hands reached forward, trembling and desperate. Just as she took a step, an arm—rough, metallic, and laced with crimson veins of artificial muscle—snatched her back. The grip around her waist was too strong to fight. She kicked. Clawed. Screamed.
From the shadows stepped a tall, hulking man with a jagged metal crown fused into his scalp—Horam. His eyes, glowing amber with synthetic rage, locked onto hers.
"So young. So soft," he growled, stepping closer. "You were meant to be mine, little dove. I would've made you sing for days. Your cries… would've been music." He chuckles, pulling her in aggressively by the hips."Letting me graze your insides with my cock and making your parents watch would have given me a sense of fulfillment, but too bad there's not much pieces of your father left to watch you suffer"
Zora's heart pounded like a war drum. "Let me go! You monster!"
He leaned in, brushing a gloved finger along her cheek. "Your mother sealed your fate the day she refused to kneel. And now, I shall take what's mine."
Suddenly, Queen Moira roared, stepping forward with her chest heaving. "I invoke a challenge to the death, in my husband's name!"
Gasps echoed across the chamber, even the Mechan guards freezing mid-lash. Tradition bound them—Mechans honored the right to duel.
The battle was short but brutal. Sparks flew as Moira's arm-blades clashed with Horam's mechanical gauntlets. But she was only buying time.
Behind the chaos, Zora felt something jab into her neck—a thin needle. Cold fire spread through her veins. The Top Mechan, hooded and silent, whispered, "Forgive me, Your Highness. You must sleep."
"No… no, I can still fight…" Her body sagged.
As the potion overtook her, Zora's last sight was her father being impaled on a jagged pole. Her mother, screaming as she was dragged toward Horam.
Zora's lips parted in a silent cry.
"Mother… I will find you. I will get vengeance. For our family…"
Darkness.
A jolt.
Her body convulsed.
Eyes wide, chest heaving, Zora sat bolt upright in a narrow glass pod. Condensation clung to the curved surface above her. Alarms beeped softly in the background.
She was alive.
She was awake.
But something was… wrong.
Her right arm felt heavy, unfamiliar. Her legs twitched as if connected to something more than just nerves and muscle. Her breath fogged the inside of the cryo-pod as it slowly slid open with a hiss.
The ceiling above her was low, metallic, and lined with dim yellow lights. Pipes hissed. Screens flickered. The bunker.
"Zora?" came a deep, synthetic voice.
She turned slowly. A tall figure stepped forward from the shadows. His face was partially masked, with gears rotating where his left cheek used to be. His eyes—one human, one a glowing lens—studied her with both awe and caution.
"You're awake… seven years early."
She blinked, trying to focus. Her voice was dry, barely a whisper.
"Where… where am I?"
"In the Regen Bunker," he replied. "You've been asleep since the fall. I am Vektar, your family's Top Mechan. I have been restoring you, piece by piece."
Zora's fingers curled, and she looked down—her forearm was silver, matte, humming quietly. Her heart thundered in her chest.
"Where are my parents?" she croaked.
Silence.
Her eyes narrowed. "Answer me."
Vektar's mechanical fingers tightened. "Your father is gone. Your mother… her fate remains uncertain. She was last seen being dragged into the Eastern Chamber. No one's heard of her since."
Zora closed her eyes. The dream hadn't been just a dream. It was a memory.
She steadied her breath. "And Horam?"
"He rules now. The throne is his. He rewired the kingdom into a den of horror. Songrin is no longer what you remember."
A pause. Then her voice, sharper now:
"Then he'll pay. All of them will pay."
She stepped out of the pod, bare feet pressing against the cold metal floor. The light caught the scar that ran from her shoulder to her ribs—part flesh, part circuitry.
"Seven years," she whispered. "Then we have a lot of catching up to do."