NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30
Syn's world swirled into a haze as the beer's bitter tide pulled him under, his head crashing against the table with a dull thud. Darkness swallowed him, the raucous cheers of the mess hall fading into a distant echo, and then—a flicker, a shift.
Time unraveled, dragging him back, not to the pirate ship but to a memory buried deep, a dream stitched from the threads of his past. He was a child again, small and wiry, darting through a crowded alley in a place where hope was a scarce whisper.
The alley teemed with life—jobless souls slumped against grimy walls, their eyes hollow with despair; angry fists clenched tight, frustration simmering in shouts that bounced off the cramped buildings; intoxicated figures swaying, their laughter brittle and sharp; and the gaunt, meal-to-meal survivors, too scared to die yet too weary to truly live.
Syn's family sprawled across thirty souls—babies wailing in cracked cribs, elders hunched in corners, and everyone in between packed into a single room.
They slept in a tangle of limbs on thin mats, woke to the same dim glow, shared scant food packets when they came, and lined up for a lone, creaking bathroom that groaned under the strain.
No daylight pierced their world—glass panes high above offered only the eternal black of space, stars glinting faintly through the void, while inside, flickering lamps cast a feeble light, barely enough to see the faces pressed close.
This was 'the Backdrop,' their biome in the Kingdom—a colossal space station orbiting Saturn, a steel behemoth housing two million lives, spinning in sync with the ringed planet around the Sun.
The Kingdom sprawled across eight biomes, a patchwork of engineered ecosystems, with 'the Palace' at its heart—a gleaming haven for royalty, ringed by towering spires for the wealthy and ministers.
Workers and soldiers zipped between biomes in sleek space metros, their lives tethered to the Palace's whims. But the Backdrop was a wasteland—no green sprouted from its sterile dirt, its uniform buildings squat and crumbling, cheap tech flickering in the gloom.
Eternal darkness cloaked the sky, a star-strewn shroud that never lifted, a testament to a place forgotten by light and time.
Here, unemployment was a chain—few bothered with the metros, their lives stagnant, sustained by meager rations some whispered were mere charity to keep them breathing. But Syn, a child then, didn't see the cruelty woven into the fabric of his world.
Hunger gnawed only when food crossed his path; otherwise, he forgot it, his eyes tracing the distant stars when boredom crept in, his small hands chasing games with friends through the alleys, carefree in a way only the innocent could be.
That day, boredom had sunk its claws deep. He'd slipped from his family's crowded room, dodging legs and elbows, and darted to the next chamber, a mirror of his own—dingy, lamp-lit, packed with bodies.
Vera stood outside, her purple hair a vivid slash against the drab gray, her small frame bouncing with restless energy as she waited, her eyes scanning the alley for someone—anyone—to break the monotony.
"Vera!" Syn called, his voice a bright chirp cutting through the hum of despair around them. She spun toward him, her face lighting up with a grin that banished the gloom, her purple locks swaying as she waved him over.
"Look what I've got!" he shouted, racing to her side, his bare feet slapping the dirt. He skidded to a stop, holding out his hands, cupped tight around a treasure.
Slowly, he parted them, revealing a rough-hewn wooden die, its edges chipped from the dead twigs he'd scavenged and carved with a borrowed knife.
Tiny dots marked its faces, etched with a child's unsteady hand—a prize he'd seen the adults wager with, trading favors and scraps in late-night games.
"Woah…" Vera gasped, her eyes widening as she leaned in, her small fingers hovering over it, though she had no clue what it was. "What's this?"
"It's a die," Syn explained, puffing out his chest with pride. "You roll it, and you get a number—the dots on top tell you what it is." He'd watched the grown-ups play, their grunts and cheers a mystery he'd unraveled enough to mimic, crafting his own crude version from the Backdrop's sparse offerings.
"I want to roll it!" Vera said, her voice ringing with excitement as she reached for it, her fingers brushing his.
"Here—take it," Syn said, pressing it into her palm. "Don't throw it—just roll it gentle-like." He mimed the motion, his hands guiding hers, his grin widening as she nodded eagerly.
She crouched, her purple hair spilling over her shoulders as she set the die on the dirt and gave it a careful nudge.
It tumbled, bouncing once, twice, then settled, three uneven dots staring up at them. "One… two… three—I got three! Yay!" she squealed, leaping to her feet, her small frame bouncing with glee as she clapped her hands, dust puffing around her.
"Wait—my turn now," Syn said, snatching the die back with a playful tug, his fingers brushing hers. "If I roll higher, I win." He crouched, ready to toss, when a sharp poke jabbed his back, startling him upright.
"Hey! You forgot me again!" a voice piped up, indignant and shrill. Syn turned, finding Pako behind him, her short black hair framing a scowl, her fists planted on her hips. She barely reached his chin, her slight frame dwarfed by his, though her glare burned fierce.
"You again?" Syn groaned, rolling his eyes as he faced her fully. "Don't you have friends your own age?"
"I am your age!" Pako shot back, her voice rising as she puffed out her chest, her small stature belying her defiant claim.
"Are you sure?" Vera teased from behind, her grin widening as she stepped closer, her purple hair glinting in the lamplight. "You look tiny." She stretched a hand above Pako's head, measuring the gap with a mocking tilt, her laughter bubbling up.
"That's got nothing to do with age!" Pako yelled, her face flushing as she snatched the die from Syn's hand, her fingers curling tight around it. "What do I do with this?" she demanded, turning it over in her palm, her scowl softening into curiosity as she inspected the dots.
"You roll it and count the dots," Syn said, folding his arms as he watched her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Easy," Pako declared, dropping to a crouch and flicking the die across the dirt. It skittered, then stopped, a single dot staring up. "One?" she asked, tilting her head as she squinted at it, her voice uncertain.
Vera chuckled, a sharp, gleeful sound as she pointed at the die. "See? Even your number's small—just like you!" Her teasing lilt rang out, her hands clapping as she doubled over, laughter spilling free.
"Shut up!" Pako snapped, her flush deepening as she leapt to her feet, thrusting the die back at Syn. "What'd you get?"
"Three," Vera said, still giggling as she straightened, her purple hair bouncing with each shake of her shoulders.
"My turn," Syn said, reaching for the die, but Pako's fist clenched tighter, her eyes glinting as she shook her head. "I wanna roll again!" she insisted, pulling it back, her small frame bristling with stubborn fire.
Before he could argue, a low rumble cut through the alley, a mechanical growl that vibrated the dirt beneath their feet. The trio froze, their heads snapping toward the sound—a rhythmic clatter growing louder, closer.
It could mean food packets, a rare lifeline dropped into their starving biome—or something else, something heavier. The alley's clamor hushed, faces turning, eyes widening as a long line of sleek, gleaming vehicles rolled into view, their polished hulls stark against the drab uniformity of the Backdrop.
Syn's breath caught, his die forgotten as he stared, the weight of the moment sinking in. Vera's grin faltered, her hands falling to her sides, while Pako's scowl softened into awe, her fist loosening around the die. The vehicles—fancy, regal, a procession of power—cut through the crowd like a blade, their engines thrumming with authority.
"'The King is here,'" all three whispered in unison, their voices a soft, reverent chorus as the shadow of royalty loomed over their childish game, a specter from the Palace descending into their starlit slum.