Prologue: Midgar, City of Maki
The city of Midgar loomed like a colossus on the edge of eternity, a sprawling, circular expanse of metal and smoke, suspended high above the earth. Beneath its towering plates, the ground was shrouded in darkness, where forgotten lives struggled to survive amidst the endless hum of machinery. The city was a testament to ambition and exploitation, a crown jewel of technological marvel resting upon the scars of the planet itself.
Neon lights flickered, their sickly glow painting the steel towers and winding streets in hues of green and yellow. Overhead, pipelines coiled like serpents, carrying the lifeblood of the planet—Mako energy—to power Midgar's unrelenting appetite. The distant hum of reactors was a constant reminder of the city's existence, a heart that beat not for life but for consumption.
Midgar was divided into two worlds. Above, the upper plates housed the privileged, those who reaped the benefits of Shinra's rule. Below, the slums sprawled like a labyrinth of poverty, where the oppressed toiled and struggled, forever caught in the shadows of the plate above. The slums were home to the forgotten, where dreams withered and hope was a fleeting luxury.
In one of these darkened alleys, where the faint glow of flickering streetlights barely reached, a lone figure stood. The air was thick with the stench of oil and decay, but amidst the grime, something faintly beautiful shimmered—a soft, greenish glow that seemed almost alive.
Her eyes were fixated on the faint glow at her feet. The faint light wasn't from a neon sign or the refuse of Midgar's machinery. No, it was something deeper, something ancient. It seeped through the cracks in the pavement, delicate and otherworldly—a thread of the Lifestream, the very essence of the planet, whispering secrets in a language older than time.
She knelt, her fingers hovering just above the light, hesitant to disturb it. For a moment, the chaos of the city around her seemed to fade, leaving only the soft hum of the Lifestream's glow and the distant pulse of her heartbeat. The light flickered gently, almost as if it were alive, as if it recognized her presence.
Her lips moved, forming silent words. Was it a prayer? A plea? Or perhaps a question, carried into the ethereal currents of the Lifestream?
The moment broke as a distant sound pierced the silence—a sharp clang of metal, followed by the distant buzz of a train's horn. The city stirred once more, and she rose, brushing dust from her hands. She cast one last glance at the glowing cracks, her expression unreadable, before turning toward the alley's exit.
The street beyond was alive with activity, a chaotic symphony of clanging machinery, hissing steam, and distant voices. She stepped out, her boots clicking softly on the pavement as she moved through the crowd. Around her, vendors shouted their wares, children darted through the narrow streets, and workers trudged home after another day beneath the crushing weight of the upper plates.
As she walked, the world seemed to expand. The narrow alley gave way to broader streets, and finally, she emerged into an open space where the city revealed its full grandeur. Above her, the massive metal plate stretched endlessly, its underbelly dotted with lights that mimicked a false sky. Beyond, towering smokestacks exhaled plumes of black smoke into the heavens, obscuring the real stars.
She paused, her gaze lifting to the horizon where the towering form of Shinra Headquarters dominated the skyline. The monolithic structure stood as a stark reminder of power and control, its spire piercing the heavens like a blade. For a moment, she lingered, her thoughts veiled, before she continued walking, her figure disappearing into the crowd.
Far across the city, another story began to unfold.
In the heart of Sector 1, a train screeched to a halt at a rundown station. Sparks flew from the rails as the massive machine groaned to a stop, its worn exterior covered in grime from countless journeys through Midgar's underbelly.
The doors hissed open, and a single figure stepped out. He moved with purpose, his boots striking the ground in rhythmic confidence. The faint light of the station illuminated his spiky hair and the hilt of a massive sword strapped to his back. He paused for a moment, scanning the area with sharp, mako-infused eyes.
The station was nearly empty, save for a few stray workers and the faint hum of machinery. The air here felt heavier, weighed down by the unrelenting presence of Shinra's influence. Pipes and cables crisscrossed above, carrying the remnants of the planet's lifeblood to power the city's excesses.
The figure adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his posture betraying the tension beneath his calm exterior. He had been here before—this city, these streets—but something about it always felt wrong. The weight of the past, the unresolved echoes of old wounds, lingered in every shadow.
Ahead, a group waited. Their faces lit up as he approached, relief mixed with determination in their expressions. They didn't speak immediately; words weren't necessary. They exchanged a knowing glance, and as one, they turned toward the dimly lit streets that led deeper into Sector 1.
The streets of the slums stretched before them, winding and narrow, alive with the sounds of life struggling to endure. Children played in the dirt, their laughter contrasting sharply with the grim surroundings. Vendors called out, their voices hoarse from the day's toil. Above, the plate cast its shadow, a constant reminder of the weight they all bore.
The group moved with quiet resolve, their steps in sync as they navigated the labyrinth of streets. The air grew heavier as they approached their destination, the faint hum of a nearby reactor growing louder. It was a sound that haunted the city, a reminder of the lifeblood being drained from the planet day by day.
High above, the city remained indifferent. Its towering structures and endless machinery churned ceaselessly, a testament to human ambition and greed. Beneath it all, the whispers of the Lifestream carried on, unseen by most, heard only by a chosen few. And within those whispers lay a warning—a promise of what was to come.
The figure from the train cast a final glance over his shoulder, his expression hardening. In his eyes, the glow of mako reflected not just his own purpose, but the weight of something far greater. He turned back, following the others into the shadows of Sector 1, as the threads of fate began to weave together.
Above, the moon hung in the polluted sky, its light a faint reminder of a world beyond the steel and smoke—a world that might yet be saved, or lost, depending on the choices yet to be made.