I take a deep breath of air.
Immediately cough it out.

Yep. Sulfuric and sharp—just how I _didn’t_ miss it. Still, it’s the cleanest breath I’ve had in weeks, so I guess that’s something.

The breeze brushes my face, warm and thin. Not like the old warmth from when the sun actually had bite. This one’s soft. Fragile. Like the light itself might shatter if I breathe too hard.

And the sunlight—gods, the sunlight—barely there, filtered through layers of smog and smoke, still somehow finds me. Wraps around my face in this golden haze that feels more memory than real. I let it sit there. Just for a second. Because it’s been _so_ long.

Which is pretty ironic, considering I’m one of the “Sun-blessed.”
Chosen. Gifted. All that crap.

They say the light lives inside me. But most days, I feel more like a broken solar panel than a beacon of divine power.

I brush the hair out of my face—black and way too long by now—and glance up. The sun looks like she’s hanging on by threads.

She’s dying. Not today, not tomorrow. But soon enough.

Just like everything else.

The air stings in my lungs. Smoke and ash and whatever else we’ve poisoned it with. The streets below are quiet, but not peaceful. Just empty. Another zone cleared out by air-prone sickness.

It’s not even a surprise anymore. Cough up blood? Chest tight? Too bad. No cure. Just keep moving and hope your lungs don’t cave in before next week.

I shift my hood up, blocking out the sun even though I don’t want to.

I still remember what I told them. The council. Sitting on their high seats in that marble room like they weren’t breathing the same filth as the rest of us.

I stood there and said, “You keep talking about divine light and destiny while kids are suffocating in their sleep. Hundreds dying every day from air-prone sicknesses. And you think _your_ magic is gonna fix that?”

They smiled. Actually smiled.

One of them said, “Our Sun-given power will protect the worthy. You could join us, you know. Serve a greater purpose. Use your blessing properly.”

I laughed. Said, “You mean help you build your golden empire while the world burns?”

And yeah, then I spat in their faces. Not my most diplomatic moment.

Didn’t even make it six feet before I was tackled, drugged, and tossed into some underground hole like I was radioactive. No sunlight down there. Just stone, cold air, and the slow echo of a planet collapsing.

But I got out.

And now I’m here, standing on this busted rooftop, letting the sun touch my face for the first time in... I don’t even know. It’s faint. Weak. But it’s real.

It reminds me I’m still here. Still breathing.

A soft hum kicks up behind me.

Mechanical.

Predictable.

Drone.

I sigh and tug the hood lower.

Back to running. Back to hiding.
But at least for a moment, I remembered what it felt like to be alive.