The sun peeked through the dirty windows of the old loft, casting pale light on the scattered tools and tangled wires. Rian Vale groaned as he rolled off his thin mattress and landed on the cold metal floor. Around him, broken gadgets and an old tablet blinking "Low Battery" made the place look more like a back-alley repair shop than a home.
Lyra sat at a rickety table under a bare bulb, her soldering iron buzzing as she mended a scrap circuit board. Tiny sparks popped onto the tabletop.
"Morning, Lyra," Rian muttered, rubbing his back. "If that thing blows, at least we'll light up the whole block."
Lyra glanced up. "Shut it, Vale. One wrong move and your bed turns into a radio." She gave him a playful glare.
From the kitchenette came Jax's familiar rumble. He yanked open the cabinet and pulled out a protein bar, stuffing half into his mouth. "You still owe me lunch," he mumbled between chews. "And several ramen packs." Crumbs fell onto a chipped countertop.
Milo crouched on a crate near the door, subvocalizing his latest poem. His dramatic lines were interrupted when Rian nudged him off balance.
"Save the recitals for later, bard," Rian rolled his eyes.
Milo flipped a lock of hair. "The world won't save itself, Vale."
Rian grabbed his satchel. "Fine. Just sync your epics to the tablet so I don't trip over your soliloquies." He squeezed past them into the corridor.
Outside, the Market Quarter buzzed with life. Tattered cloth awnings shaded wooden stalls piled with worn books, old handheld screens looping grainy clips, and glass jars of spices filling the air with a warm, familiar scent. Electric carts—plain boxes on wheels—rolled slowly between shoppers, each labeled with a handwritten sign: "Rao's Dumplings," "Mira's Veggies," "Tao's Fix-It Corner." The sizzle of frying pans blended with the chatter of vendors.
Rian approached a canvas stall displaying small projectors. He held up one unit, its casing scuffed but sturdy.
"One credit each," he called. "Perfect for family memories or prank reels."
The stall owner nodded, and a shopper handed over a coin.
As Rian pocketed the credit, a city guard stepped into his space, boots thudding on the wooden planks.
"Badge?" the guard's tone was flat, hand hovering near his sidearm. His scanner gun glowed faintly as he aimed it at Rian's chest.
Rian coughed, voice steady. "Quality Check Officer. Routine inspection." He tapped the plastic badge, trying not to sweat.
The guard jabbed a button on his scanner. It emitted a soft beep—no approval. "Wrong credentials," he said, eyebrow lifting. "Explain yourself."
Rian stammered, then managed a grin. "Commission's new—paperwork's digital. My link's acting up." He slid a finger across a corner of his coat, producing a crudely hidden hacking device.
The guard's scanner flickered, hesitated, then shut down. He glared at Rian. "Next time, carry real ID. Move along."
Rian exhaled, straightened his jacket, and gave a quick bow. Jax grinned and waved from behind a row of spice jars.
"Thanks," Rian muttered under his breath.
A soft beep from his comm-link made him duck behind a stack of crates. Lyra was there, holding a tiny chip.
"Relic auction," she whispered. "Midnight. Once-in-a-lifetime stuff."
Rian's heart thumped. "Sounds like future payday. Let's scope it out."
A soft beep from his comm-link made Rian duck behind a stack of crates. Lyra was there, holding a tiny chip.
"Relic auction," she whispered. "Midnight. Once-in-a-lifetime stuff."
Rian's heart thumped. "Sounds like future payday. Let's scope it out."
They met Jax and Milo by a noodle cart. Steam curled from chipped bowls as a vendor ladled soup.
"Imagine having our own shield," Rian joked, dipping a chopstick into the broth. "Dish duty would be off the menu forever."
Milo smirked. "You'd still find a way to dodge chores."
Two shadowy figures lingered near a cracked pillar, voices hushed as they passed a small scanner between them.
"They're using a forged badge. Must've slipped through the routine checks," murmured the shorter one, tapping a projection of Rian's ID.
His partner frowned, eyes darting to the noodles and then the flyer stuck in Rian's pocket. "They've got that auction invite. Let's shadow them—keep it tight and quiet. We report back if they actually try anything.""
Rian continued laughing at Jax's noodle joke, oblivious to the scrutiny.
That evening, Rian trudged up the fire escape back to the loft, stomach full of noodles and mind buzzing with the auction. At the top landing sat a plain wooden crate. No labels—just a simple emblem carved into the lid and the stenciled name:
Sanctum Shield
Rian crouched, brushing dust from the surface. He cracked open the lid. Resting inside on a bed of black cloth was a smooth disc of metal, glowing softly.
"Did anyone order something?" he muttered.
Lyra peeked over his shoulder. "Wasn't me."
He nudged the disc. It pulsed, filling the loft with a gentle blue light.
Rian pressed a hand to his chest. "Well, that's one way to brighten up our night," he said, managing a lopsided grin.
The crate's glow deepened, bathing the loft in pulsing blue light. Rian's eyes widened as he lifted the Sanctum Shield. Somewhere below, Milo's mock-epic hum faltered, replaced by a whispered, "What have you gotten us into…?"