Kael spent the next few hours walking, watching, listening.
The more he saw, the clearer the picture became. This place—this sector—wasn't just poor. It was forgotten. The buildings weren't made of metal for style, they were made that way because that's all people had left. Patches of rust, loose bolts, and hanging wires made the streets look like dying machines.
He overheard enough to piece things together.
This was the OuterDistrict, the lowest part of the city. A place built on scraps and survival. The air was clean enough to breathe, but everything else was rough—cheap lights that flickered, narrow alleys crowded with repair shops and food stalls.
The airships drifting far above weren't for people like them. Only the rich—those in the Core—could afford flight, real homes, and comfort.
Kael passed through a small market where old speakers crackled with broadcasts. Static laced the words, but the message was clear enough:
"—increasing sightings in multiple sectors. Invader activity confirmed in zones south of the wall. Civilian casualties rising—"
The voice cut out, replaced by the hiss of interference.
Invaders. He'd heard the word whispered before, but now it carried weight. Not just rumor—fear.
He lingered near a group of scavengers, pretending to check his cloak while they talked.
"Three more dead near Dock Nine," one said, voice low. "They say the invaders came out of nowhere—just tore through the whole patrol."
"Yeah, well, only the gifted can handle them," another spat. "The rest of us? We're meat."
Gifted. Magic. That word came up more than once as Kael kept listening.
People born with it could channel energy—some kind of force that gave them a fighting chance against the invaders. Everyone else either scavenged, cleaned up, or died trying. Killing invaders paid the most, but only those with magic or augmentations survived long enough to collect.
Kael stayed quiet. His new body might be stronger, faster, different—but it wasn't magic. He didn't even know if he counted as human anymore.
As the hours passed, he noticed something else, the people here weren't all the same.
He saw humans, yes, but also others—some with silver eyes and smooth, pale skin that shimmered faintly in the light; others with scaled hands, pointed ears, or horns curving low along their skulls. Different races, all moving together, all worn down by the same struggle.
This world had more than one race— not just black and white, and it seemed there was no racism to be seen, every one worked together because they had a similar problem— Poverty.
Everything was so different from earth, he was still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. It didn't seem real.
He was reincarnated into the body of a boy with an artificial heart that seemed no more than age 20 — so young.
He was still stunned that the old Kael had survived the pain and experiments, considering he was barely older than him.
"Hmm." He groaned softly, not of frustration but acceptance. This was his body now.
A siren blared somewhere in the distance—long, mechanical, and cold.
Everyone around him froze. They knew what that meant except him.
"Another invader sighting." One of the vendors said, voice tired.
It seemed like it was a normal occurrence, considering how calm they were.
"Invaders and gifted, huh." He said to himself not that quietly, it seemed like a war but that was none of his business.
Only three things were on his mind.
Survive. Retrieve. Terminal 45-B.
And survival, here started with food. He needed a way to earn money or whatever the currency was in this world.
And he found the perfect place to look for a job without looking that suspicious.
The bar sat wedged between two crumbling buildings, its sign half-dead, flickering in and out like it was trying to give up. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of metal, oil, and cheap liquor. Voices murmured low, blending with the hum of old machines.
Kael kept his hood up as he entered. No one paid him much attention—just another stranger passing through. He found an empty stool near the counter and sat down. The seat wobbled slightly but held.
The bartender moved with quiet precision. She wasn't human—her skin shimmered a soft blue, and eight tentacles flowed from her back, working in smooth, practiced motions. One poured drinks, another wiped the counter, the rest moved bottles or collected coins.
When she turned toward him, her eyes were purple and calm, studying him for a beat too long. "Haven't seen you before," she said, voice soft but steady. "You new to this district?"
Kael nodded. "Just arrived. I'm looking for work."
She tilted her head, one of her tentacles pausing midair. "Most people come here to forget about work, not find it."
He wasn't like most people, the things that has happened to him in just 2 days don't happen to most people.
"I don't have that option," he said, voice low but polite.
Her lips twitched into a faint smile. "Fair enough." She set a glass of water in front of him. "There's a scavenger post east of here. They send people into old battle zones to gather scrap. Pay's small, but it's honest—if you don't mind the danger."
Kael took the glass, nodding once. "Thank you. That's more than I've had all day."
He didn't care which job he got as long as it didn't involve Invaders, his heart had a three month deadline, he didn't know if the deadline would decrease during life or death situations involving Invaders.
"You're welcome," she said. Then, with a small sigh, "You look young for scavenging work. You sure you're ready for that kind of risk?"
Before he could answer, a voice came from down the bar.
"He's got no choice," the man said. He was human, older, with grease-stained hands and eyes that looked like they hadn't closed in days. "None of us do. Out here, you take what you can get. Doesn't matter how old you are."
The bartender—Lura, her name tag read—gave the man a look but didn't argue. "He's right, though I hate to admit it," she said quietly. "Still… try to keep your head down out there. Scavenging's how people vanish."
Kael nodded again, grateful. "Where exactly is the post?"
"Go east until you hit the rusted bridge," she said, pointing one of her tentacles toward the door. "You'll see a hangar with a red light above it. Ask for Bronn. Tell him Lura sent you."
"Lura," Kael repeated. "Got it. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," she said, smiling faintly. "Just come back alive."
Kael stood, leaving the glass half full. The older man raised his cup in his direction. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it."
Kael gave a polite nod and turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Lura's voice stopped him.
"Hey—kid."
He glanced back.
Her tentacles were busy again, sliding a drink down the counter to a waiting customer. "You got a place to stay tonight?" she asked without looking up.
Kael hesitated, then shook his head. "No."
She sighed softly, one tentacle brushing the counter clean. "Didn't think so." Finally, she met his eyes. "You can stay here. I've got a spare cot in the back, but you'll have to earn it. Help with dishes, closing, that sort of thing."
Kael blinked, surprised. "Really?"
"Really," she said with a small smile. "I don't usually take in strays, but you look like you could use a roof more than most."
He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Thank you. I'll help however I can."
Lura handed another drink to a customer with one of her tentacles. "Good answer. I'll finish up out here—grab a meal and wait by the back door. I'll let you in when we close."
Kael nodded again, quieter this time. "Thanks… really."
She waved him off. "Don't make me regret it"
He managed a faint smile before finding a corner table near the back. For the first time since waking up in this strange world, he felt something close to relief.
The city outside was dangerous. The old Kael's place wasn't safe. But for tonight, at least, he had a place to rest.