As the saying goes, "Hard times create strong men." It’s a phrase the Valorian nobles love to throw around, a shiny little motto they use to justify their oppression of the lower classes.
Up there, near the sky, where the air is cleaner and the sun actually reaches, they live in their glittering towers, untouched by the rot that festers below. Down here, in the depths, it’s a different story.
Rats gnaw on the corpses of those killed for a few dollars or maybe it was just a bar fight that went wrong, ending with one of the responsables with a bullet to the head. Who knows? Who cares? That’s just life at the lower levels. Brutal, ugly, and short.
I’m one of the lucky ones, if you can call it that. Thanks to my aunt’s tireless efforts, I managed to claw my way into the Valorian Military Academy. Don’t let the fancy name fool you... it’s just a glorified cannon fodder factory.
But hey, at least I get paid while I’m here, and that’s more than most lowlifes like me can say. Still, the question gnaws at me... Will I even live long enough to pay my aunt back for everything she’s done for me?
Cadets like me are sent on patrols to "maintain order" in the lower districts, which is just a polite way of saying we’re thrown into the meat grinder. The mafias down here don’t care about uniforms or badges. They’ll kill you just for looking at them wrong.
And today? Today’s my first time leading a small squad of cadets on patrol. We’ve been assigned to one of the "safest" areas in the lower districts... as if such a place even exists.
The air is thick with the stench of decay, and the streets are lined with hollow-eyed faces that have seen too much and given up on hope. But that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is her....
This cheeto-headed girl!!
