The Grime Under a Fractured Sky
By Jamie F. Bell
The air on Xylos carried a metallic tang, like old batteries and ozone. A sky the color of bruised plums stretched overhead, fissured with lines of pulsing green light that seemed to mend and break anew. Below, the city sprawled, a landscape of polished obsidian and structures that defied terrestrial geometry, leaning into the perpetually dim light. This was not a place built for ease, but for a purpose Joey was only beginning to grasp, and he was quite possibly the only one who truly didn’t belong.
