Era of Ashen Origins

Acid rain—again, the acid rain.

The raindrops, as large as beans and tinged with the scent of rust, battered the glass curtain wall of the abandoned office building. The shattered glass emitted a shrill, mournful wail, like the cry of some dying creature. Dirty streams traced down the cracks in the walls, pooling on the ground in frothy, unnatural puddles that reflected the gray, sunless sky.

This was the world after the “Great Rupture,” a graveyard for human civilization.

Tao Zui curled up in a corner on the twenty-third floor, her back pressed against a cold pillar of reinforced concrete. She wore a faded gray work jacket, patched in several places, and her trousers were made of durable canvas, scarred and stained. The combat boots on her feet had long since lost their sheen; the soles were nearly worn flat, offering only the barest grip.

Her face was concealed behind a pure black carbon fiber mask, covering her features from forehead to chin and leaving only her eyes exposed.

And what extraordinary eyes they were.

Even in this oppressive gloom, those eyes shone with astonishing clarity, like obsidian submerged in a cold pool—profound, steady, and carrying an age-worn vigilance that belied her youth. Long lashes cast delicate shadows beneath her lids, trembling slightly at the faintest disturbance, betraying a hint of emotion not easily seen.

Now, she took small, measured breaths through the mask’s filter. The air was thick with the corrosive tang of acid rain, the earthy reek of dust, and a faint, elusive stench—one of rot.