The haptic buzz against his skull dragged Cole out of the black. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

  His optics cycled on before his conscious mind caught up. A boot-up sequence overlay painted the room in cold data. Green text scrolled rapidly across the view of the Forge-City’s upper spires, sharp and jagged against the morning sky.

  [SYSTEMS ONLINE. VITAL SIGNS STABLE. FOREIGN HARDWARE INTEGRATION: 78% COMPLETE.]

  The pain was a dull, persistent ache at the surgical seams. Cole shifted his weight on the couch and let a low groan slip out. The light filtering through Lia’s armored glass had that specific upper-spire quality. Cleaner. It lacked the chemical orange haze that choked the streets below.

  He blinked the notification icon active in his peripheral vision. Jess.

  She hadn't bothered with text. It was a short, looping holo-vid of her grinning, fanning herself with a thick stack of credit chips. The caption superimposed over the loop was brief: "Hope you’re fine. The Bone Pits were profitable."

  Cole dismissed it with a mental flick and tabbed to the next one. Damian. Timestamped 04:17.

  "Cole, man, sorry I missed you. Woke up in a noodle cart. Again. The vendor says I owe him for 'emotional damages' whatever that means. We gotta link up later, got a line on some pre-war chrome that'll blow your mind. Literal military-grade neural accelerators. Don't ask how."

  Finally, a secure data packet from Senna, which simply read, "I reviewed the logs from your fight with the other Lucent. You're rough around the edges. You fight sloppy. You need to shore up your technique. You're lucky you didn't burn yourself out. Lucky for you all of this is fixable. Figured you could use some software upgrades and a few pointers. Check out the workshop at the address I've pinged. The shopkeepers name is Michael. He's a decent enough guy; mention I sent you. P.S. Relying on desperation worked out this time, but it's a bad habit. It'll get you killed against something smarter."

  Rough. Cole felt a spark of defensive heat in his chest. He hadn’t been that bad. Then the memory of Silas taking him apart with surgical precision flashed behind his eyes. The defiance died. Silas had treated him like a malfunctioning toy.

  The apartment’s mag-seal broke with a hiss. Lia walked through the sliding door.

  The smell hit him instantly. Greasy, fried matter that cut right through the filtered air conditioning. She was dressed down in red shorts and a teal tank top. It was a jarring shift from the ballistic weave she’d been wrapped in the night before. But the city leaves marks. A fresh scorch mark marred her shoulder skin.

  "Morning jog get exciting?" Cole nodded at the burn.

  "Two wannabe muggers with plasma knives," Lia waved it off dismissively. "One of them threw his knife at me when they saw the forge-ports. Terrible throw, just grazed my shoulder. They ran before I could return the favor."

  "Figured you'd be hungry. Ran to a place downstairs around here." Lia tossed Cole a foil-wrapped brick that was surprisingly warm. The wrapper was slick with grease and stamped with heat-reactive ink displaying a freshness countdown. Thirteen minutes of optimal flavor remaining.

  "Half synth-meat, half real. Best burgers this side of the block."

  Cole didn’t wait. He tore into the self-heating packaging. The first bite was sensory overload. The savory, heavy grease of actual animal protein was a luxury item. It made the nutrient paste he usually choked down taste like wet cardboard.

  Lia laughed. "Easy there. Hate to have to do the Heimlich on those new lungs you got. Al would never let me hear the end of it if I broke his work."

  Cole smiled, wiping grease from his chin with the back of his hand. "So… I’ve been wondering, and don’t take this the wrong way, but how did you manage to become the leader of this group? Lucius has to be at least twenty-seven? Maybe twenty-nine? While you’re?"

  "Twenty-three," Lia replied without skipping a beat. "Twenty-three and three months, if we're being precise. No offense taken. I know how it looks. Usually merc group leaders are in their late 30's or early 40's. Have the scars and missing parts to prove their survival skills. Well, I met Senna because she was my neighbor. She'd just moved in, spent three days setting up some kind of rig that made the whole building's lights flicker. I bugged her so much that she eventually let me into her place, and after seeing her setup along with her hacking abilities, I knew we had to team up."

  "Must have been some first impression." Cole leaned back against the couch.

  "She had twenty monitors running breach protocols on practice servers. It was beautiful in a terrifying way."

  "Yeah she sent me an address of someone who specializes on software upgrades, to help me fix my ‘rough around the edges’." Cole made air quotes with his free hand.

  Lia chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like her. She’s got her own rough edges, but trust me when I say that is her way of telling you that she cares. If she didn't, she wouldn't be trying to help you out. She comes from a different world where people tend to be more honest or, as some people call it, extremely blunt."

  "Is she always… like that?"

  "She might soften her firewall once she gets to know you better, but for now? Yeah, pretty much," Lia replied with a soft smile. "After what happened with her parents, she sees everything as a system that can fail. People, tech, plans. When she sees a flaw, a weakness that could get someone hurt, she feels a compulsive need to fix it. Her trying to 'upgrade' you isn't an insult; it's her way of making sure you don't break. You just have to learn to translate 'your code is a mess' into 'I'm glad you're not dead.' It's easier that way."

  "And Lucius?"

  "Ah yeah, we ran into him around two years ago outside the city. He had gone out there half-cocked, as usual, and fully unprepared for his ascension. He was trying to fight a Scrapper Golem with a cattle prod and a bad attitude. Lucky, really, we came along to save him."

  "Yeah, I am a bit shocked he listens to anyone.”

  "He may be brazen, but he is self-aware of how he is. He knows he needs some guardrails to survive out here, and after everything we have all been through…" She paused, her gaze drifting for a moment to the armored window and the sprawling city beyond. In the morning light, Cole could see the faint burn scars on her neck, usually hidden by her collar. "He knows he can trust us. We've bled for each other. That creates bonds stronger than steel."

  "And me? I am not exactly an expert here.”

  "Kai recommended you," Lia stated simply.

  "Come on, it can’t only be that.”

  Lia raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell him I said this, but… he shared his psych-profile on you. No worries, no personal details, just broad strokes of the type of person you are. Your risk-assessment patterns, decision-making under pressure, loyalty indices. The algorithm stuff that predicts how someone handles power."

  "Which is?" Cole asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Lia let out a small, knowing expression. "The type who would sooner risk his life saving his teammates before running. Your self-preservation instinct is strong but subordinate to pack loyalty. It's rare—most people become more selfish as they gain power, not less. Last night proved that. You could have ditched us and found a new crew, and based on our odds, hardly anyone would have batted an eye. We need people we can trust, people who would sooner fight to the end with the rest of us over trying to save their own skin." Lia looked up, her pink eyes meeting his. In the morning light, he could see they weren't purely pink—tiny geometric patterns spiraled through the irises, a sign of deep Domain integration.

  "Rare commodity in this world."

  "Some people would call it dumb," Cole said.

  "Yeah, and those people will have nothing left but hollow lives when they die. The risk we take every day? You can't be thinking if the person next to you will be bolting the first chance they get. That doubt, that fraction of hesitation wondering if you're alone? That's what gets you killed faster than any monster."

  "Well, I appreciate the compliment."

  Just then, a small, pulsing icon appeared in his vision, signaling an incoming call from his sister, Alice. It was her custom icon: a stylized songbird that looked hand-drawn. He recognized her love of retro designs in its simple, generated-free lines.

  "Sorry, one minute, family is calling."

  "Hey, big brother! How are you doing?" Alice chimed, her voice a burst of cheerful energy that felt foreign in the tense world Cole inhabited. The audio quality was tinny—Storm City's infrastructure was older, less maintained than Forge City's corporate-funded networks.

  "Oh, you know, redecorating my insides, nearly dying. The usual," Cole replied with a dry sarcasm she knew all too well.

  "Huh?" Alice asked. "Wait, are you being serious or doing that thing where you make everything sound worse than it is?"

  "It's nothing. Just some hardware upgrades. Occupational hazards. So, what's up? Haven't heard from you in two weeks."

  "Yeah, it has been crazy over here. The music scene in Storm City is exploding right now. We played at the Lightning Gallery. You know, that place that used to be a capacitor station? The acoustics are insane. So, I have a favour to ask."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "Don't give me that. I need a small loan, about 500 credits. I know money is tight with you, but I will take whatever you can get."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "For what?"

  "After-party after our concert last night got a little too rowdy. Some idiot Domain, Storm type naturally, set my guitar on fire 'for the aesthetic.' Said the flames would make us look more hardcore. I am needing a new one," Alice continued. "The guitar was vintage too, real wood. Dad would've been pissed."

  Cole thought for a minute, then authorized the transfer with a flicker of his finger. A notification confirmed the payment, and he felt the weight of his new payday decrease slightly. 152,100 credits remaining. Still more than he'd ever had at once. "Here."

  Alice let out a whistle. "Someone's flush with cash. Did you rob a bank or something? Please tell me you didn't rob a bank."

  "This week has been a good one, despite some bumps in the road. And no banks were harmed in the making of these credits."

  "This is amazing, Cole. Seriously, thank you! Also, come visit me in Storm City! I miss you. It's been six months since I've seen you in person. We have a gig next week at an underground venue in an old storm shelter. The acoustics are perfect for our sound. Maybe you can spare some of that cash and take the underground mag-train over."

  "Are the tunnel trains still running on schedule?" The underground magnetic railways were the only safe way to travel between cities, carved deep through bedrock to avoid the monsters that owned the surface.

  "Every six hours, on the hour. The journey is only a few hours and since you can actually afford it now, you can take a break from work to see your little sis."

  Cole paused for a moment. "Maybe. Mind if I bring some friends?"

  "Of course, the more the merrier! Anyways, thanks so much again. Hopefully see you soon."

  "Hey, Alice?" Cole added before she could hang up.

  "Yeah?"

  "Be careful over there. Storm City's getting rougher."

  "Says the guy who just mentioned redecorating his insides," she laughed. "I'll be fine. The music keeps me safe. Storm Domains love our band. We're like their personal soundtrack to chaos."

  The call ended, the songbird icon winking out of existence. Cole stared at where it had been for a moment. Six months since he'd seen her. In this life, that could easily become forever without warning.

  "Sister?" Lia asked, not looking up from her forge where she was fine-tuning what looked like ammunition rounds.

  "Yeah. She's in a band in Storm City. Wants me to visit."

  "You should. Family's important."

  "Want to come?" he asked suddenly. "You, Senna, Lucius. Make it a team thing. We could probably use a break after... everything."

  "Storm City's interesting. Different kind of dangerous than here. Less corporate oversight, more Domain gangs. Could be fun." She looked up at him. "I'll ask the others. Senna's always looking for new tech, and Storm City's black markets are legendary for having gear you can't get anywhere else. And Lucius... well, Lucius never says no to potential chaos."

  Cole pushed himself up from the couch. "Well, I think I have overstayed my welcome. I appreciate this, Lia, really. But I have some errands to run anyhow."

  Lia squinted her eyes, crossing her arms. The movement was casual, but it put her inches from the sidearm on her hip. Her forge-ports dimmed slightly—a tell Cole was beginning to recognize as suspicion.

  "Don't be dumb, Cole. You're free to stay here another day or two. Al said 24 hours critical, and it hasn't even been twelve. Your immune system is still figuring out what's you and what's foreign."

  Cole looked at her, he knew that if he told her the truth—that he was planning on seeing Michael for software updates because he felt weak, because he didn't want to be the 'rookie' who needed saving—she'd see it as a reckless risk. Lia would probably wrestle him down to the ground and tie him up with titanium wiring. A part of him wouldn't even mind the contact, but still. His pride was a jagged thing, refusing to let him be the weak link.

  "No worries. I will call an armored taxi, be as safe in it as I am in here. Besides, I have some apartments I want to glance at. Tired of my rat-infested shithole with the grey water that comes from the showerhead. The building's so old it still has lead pipes. My neighbor swears he's growing a third kidney from whatever's in that water. Your place is a mansion compared to mine," he smiled, hoping the half-truth would be enough.

  Lia looked at him suspiciously for a long, silent moment, her eyes scanning him for any flicker of deception. Her eyes narrowed, and Cole wondered if she had some kind of lie detection software installed.

  She finally let out a sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Call me at the first sign of trouble. And if I don't see a certified Neonshield armored taxi pull up on my building's security feed, I am dragging you back up here myself. And trust me, in your current state, I could literally drag you with one hand."

  Cole let out a dry laugh. "Deal, no worries." With a simple mental command, he was already on the Neuro-Link, bringing up the city transit interface in his vision. The UI materialized in corporate blue, with scrolling advertisements for "Safe Transit in Unsafe Times" and "Your Life is Worth Premium Protection."

  He scrolled past 'Public Mag-Lev' [WARNING: 17% chance of Domain -related incident] and 'Auto-Cab' [BUDGET OPTION: No defensive capabilities] to the 'Secure Transport' tab and selected the glowing Neonshield logo. Two hundred credits to travel a few miles, a small fortune just a week ago.

  Whatever, he thought, as the confirmation chimed in his ear.

  He began to walk out the door before pausing and looking back at Lia. "Really, though. Thanks for everything."

  Lia gave him a single, sharp nod. "Anytime. And Cole? Whatever you're actually planning to do, because we both know apartment hunting is bullshit, be smart about it."

  Cole froze. "I don't—"

  "Your reflection in my window showed you looking at Senna's message about combat software three times while we were talking," Lia said with a slight smirk. "Lucent Domain tip: watch what your reflections are doing. They'll snitch on you every time."

  Cole felt his face flush. "I just want to be better. Useful."

  "You saved our lives twelve hours ago. You're already useful." Her expression softened slightly. "But I get it. Just... don't die trying to prove something that doesn't need proving."

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  "And hey," Lia added, "I will ping you for our celebration drinks. Figure in five days you can stress-test that new kidney."

  "Look forward to it."

  Cole went into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a heavy finality. He watched his reflection as the cab descended. Facing him was a stranger with too much metal under the skin and eyes that saw the world in fractured data streams. Each floor they passed showed a different social strata: luxury penthouses, corporate middle management, the service sector, and finally the fortified lobby where even the rich went through security. The taxi was waiting for him by the time he had reached the bottom floor.

  It looked more like a mobile bunker than a taxi, a construct of sharp angles and matte black armor cutting dark silhouettes against the bright street. The corporate logo pulsed on its flank: "Neonshield - Survival Guaranteed or Your Next of Kin Rides Free."

  He got in, the leather seats automatically molding to his body. Actual cow leather. That detail probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Blue light scanned him from head to toe, and the climate control adjusted with a soft hiss, setting the temperature of the car to exactly how he liked it. His diagnostic readout showed the scanner had also checked for weapons, toxins, and active Domain signatures. An impeccably polite AI voice came on through hidden speakers. At the same time, an augmented reality display bloomed across the armored window, listing the vehicle's security specs in crisp, corporate font.

  The taxi had two feet of ablative plating, an anti-reality-distortion shield, 'For encounters up to Sequence Four Domain phenomena,' the fine print read, and enough automated turret ammo to take out a small city block.

  "Good day, Mr. Walker. Welcome to Neonshield Executive Transport. I am designated AEGIS-7, your protection specialist for this journey. I look forward to being your ride today." The voice was a soothing baritone, professionally modulated. "Current threat assessment for your route: Minimal. Three gang territories to traverse, but all are currently observing a ceasefire. No Sequence Four or higher Domains detected within a two-mile radius."

  "Can I offer you any drinks? Our complimentary menu includes ten-year synth-whiskey, vintage 2095 Alderaanian wine, and a selection of imported beers. For those recovering from surgical procedures, we also offer a selection of isotonic recovery beverages."

  Cole glanced at the menu. "Some pineapple juice for now.”

  A crystal glass emerged from a previously invisible slot in the middle console, brimming with a vibrant yellow liquid. The glass itself was smart-crystal, maintaining the perfect temperature and even adding a subtle carbonation to enhance flavor. Cole took it and was taken aback by the flavor of it all—a sharp, sweet, acidic burst that was a universe away from the vaguely fruit-flavored nutrient pastes he was used to.

  Probably grown in one of those protected biodomes where they could still simulate pre-war sunlight. Ridiculous expense, but he had to admit it was nice.

  The car glided into traffic with perfect smoothness. The ride was so stable that the juice in his glass didn't even ripple. Military-grade gyroscopic stabilizers, probably. As he watched the neon-drenched streets of Forge-City blur past, Cole stared at Al's name in his contact list. The old chrome doc's profile picture was him giving a thumbs up next to a display case of cybernetic eyes, captioned "I've seen some shit."

  He could do the weekly installments, but the weight of the debt felt like another piece of foreign hardware grafted onto his life. He wanted his debt cleared for the guy who saved his life. He brought up his new credit account, took a deep breath, and initiated the transfer. For a sum this large, his neural-link demanded secondary confirmation: a retinal scan and a whispered mental passphrase.

  "Fractured but whole," he subvocalized, the phrase he'd chosen after his ascension. The payment went through, 55,000 credits covering the blades and the previous night's impromptu surgery.

  Cole watched the number shrink in his vision. "Down to 94,900 credits already."

  He got a ping a few minutes later from Al. It wasn't a simple text, but a full-fledged AR message: a miniature hologram of Al giving a thumbs-up. The hologram was smoking a cigarette that produced smoke in Cole's visual field—a nice touch.

  "Thanks for the timely payment, kid. You're one of the good ones. Most wait until I send the repo-bots. You wouldn't believe how many people think they can run from someone who literally installed tracking chips in their organs."

  The message dissolved and was immediately replaced by a slick, animated catalogue of recommended cyber parts he could add to help enhance his Domain abilities. Each item floated in the air in front of him, a 3D model he could rotate with a flick of his wrist. The total bill was around 60,000 credits for everything.

  Guess the old saying is true, he thought, the more money you make, the more you spend. Or as Damian always said, ‘In this city, you're either upgrading or you're dying.’

  He glanced at the list. They actually weren’t bad recommendations: a set of legs that could project a 30-foot reflective field where there were no reflective surfaces; upgraded chest and back plates that would not only help reflect regular attacks but also had strong decay resistance against temporal and void-based attacks; and upgraded audio implants that would allow him to perceive and process sound in a ten-foot radius even around a Silence Domain.

  Each one was an answer to a problem that had nearly killed him in the last 48 hours. Al had clearly reviewed his combat logs and identified every moment where better equipment could have saved him pain. It was thoughtful, in a morbid, capitalistic way.

  "Mr. Walker," AEGIS-7's voice interrupted his thoughts, "we're approaching the Industrial Sector. I should inform you that this area has a 34% higher Domain incident rate than city average. My defensive systems are now at yellow alert."

  Looking out the window Cole watched the spires give way to buildings belching smoke and steam. This was where cyberware was forged and monsters were processed into usable materials. Where the real work which fuelled the city happened. The streets were narrower here, darker, with fewer corporate security drones overhead.

  The taxi stopped, its gyros whining softly as it came to a perfect halt in a grimy industrial side street. The building they'd stopped at looked like it had been through a war—blast marks scarred the concrete, and at least five different gang tags had been burned into the wall with Domain powers.

  "Have a good day, Mr. Walker." The taxi's AI tone remained professionally pleasant. "We appreciate your business. Your biometrics suggest mild anxiety. Would you like me to remain on standby for extraction? Only 100 credits per hour."

  "No thanks," Cole forced confidence into his voice, though the offer was tempting. Couldn't afford to look weak in this part of town.

  As he stepped out, the taxi's parting words followed him: "Remember, Mr. Walker—survival is a luxury worth paying for."

  Cole watched the vehicle drive away and he could feel its promise of safety leaving with it. He was alone now, in a part of the city where corporate oversight was more suggestion than law.

  Time to get better, or die trying.

  Velaria: Reborn as a King

  (A Kingdom-Building Isekai Novel)

  Tyler Grant died on Earth with nothing to his name but a hoodie, a playlist, and a bag of snacks.

  Now reborn in Velaria as Kael Drayke—the third son of a royal bloodline—he’s thrown into a world ruled by ancient magic and the Seven Deadly Sins.

  What starts as a village becomes a beacon of hope.

  Rival factions stir. Nobles take notice.

  And the more Kael builds… the more he has to lose.

  Perfect for fans of *Tensura*, *Re:Monster*, and *Shield Hero*.

  Genres:

  Action ? Adventure ? Comedy ? Fantasy

  Read Now