ASHWORLD: The Luna's Legacy

The air in Sector 7 tasted of copper and slow death.

Evelyn Harper felt the shift before the monitors did. It was a phantom pressure in her lungs that ten years of medical training hadn't taught her, instinct had. She stepped into the residential bay, the scent of sweet decay brushing the back of her throat.

Across the room, her father was losing the fight.

Thomas Harper sat hunched in a bolted chair, his thin hands trembling as he clawed at the seal of his respirator. The oxygen monitor on his wrist flickered a frantic, angry blue.

“The air’s thinner today, Evie,” he rasped.

Evelyn was at his side in a heartbeat, her fingers moving with mechanical precision. She adjusted the intake and tightened the seal, her face a mask of calm she didn’t feel. On the Orbit, you learned to move like the machines, or you broke.

“Maintenance backlog,” she murmured, though they both knew better.

“Not backlog,” Thomas whispered, gripping her forearm with surprising strength. “Neglect. Vane is letting the lower sectors suffocate while he fuels the launch bays.”

Evelyn didn’t answer. She knew Director Silas Vane had no intention of fixing their dying station. He was looking down at the Earth they had abandoned. The "Ashworld" was no longer a graveyard to the elite; it was a resource.

Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her shoulder. Beneath the crisp fabric of her officer’s uniform, the silver crescent mark pulsed. It was a subtle, rhythmic heat—a heartbeat that wasn't hers.

Then, for the first time in years, it thumped. A heavy, resonant strike that vibrated through her bones.

The sensation dragged her back ten years, to the night the dream began.

Ten Years Earlier

It started with a sprint.

In the dream, Evelyn was on the surface, her bare feet slipping on earth that smelled of rain and scorched metal. She was being hunted.

Four shadows, eight feet of muscle and predatory grace, closed in. Their eyes were sulfurous pits of agonizing intelligence. She was cornered against a wall of ancient, weeping stone, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she cried out for a father who was miles above in the stars.

Then, he appeared.

He stepped from the darkness with a dangerous, relaxed elegance. He didn't look like a savior; he looked like a king in a child’s skin. The monsters shifted, their snarls turning to whimpers before they melted into the trees.

"You... you scared them," Evelyn breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. "My name is Evelyn."

"Ren," he replied. His voice was a low, subterranean vibration. He didn't turn to face her, his silhouette sharp against the orange moon.

Driven by a pull she couldn't explain, Evelyn stepped toward him. Her foot caught a root, and she stumbled. Before she could hit the ground, he was there. His movement was a blur, his hand catching her shoulder to steady her.

The moment his skin touched hers, the world exploded.

A searing, molten shock; like