Welcome to Nyxia, I Guess

"How can you move in this?" Aria groaned, resisting the urge to pull on her tight Nyxian dress.

It was a sleek bodysuit like Neon, and slapped tightly on every inch of her body. It felt... suffocating. 

Then she suddenly came to a stop, distracted by something else. 

The towering skyline of Nyxia stretched before them, a labyrinth of steel and glass that pulsed with artificial light. Aria stood frozen, overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of it. 

 In Militia, castles and spires were the tallest structures in the whole nation, their grandeur built upon the sweat of craftsmen and the weight of history. But this was something else entirely. The city breathed with an eerie, mechanical precision. There were no uneven roads, no crumbling stone, no marks of time or age. Just towering structures of glass and metal, their mirrored surfaces reflecting streaks of neon in colors she had never seen before.

It looked more perfect than human.

The streets throbbed with artificial energy. People moved in perfect synchrony, their paths guided by unseen sensors and glowing strips embedded into the ground. No one stopped to talk, no one dawdled. They walked with purpose, their steps aligning with the pace of the automated walkways. And then, suddenly, the ground beneath her feet shifted.

Aria gasped, stumbling as the walkway began to move on its own. Instinct kicked in—her hand shot out, fingers clutching Neon’s arm. He barely reacted, only glancing at her with mild amusement.

“Relax,” he said, effortlessly adjusting his stride to the motion. “Just let it carry you.”

She tried, but it felt unnatural. Back home, walking was a deliberate action, dictated by the rise and fall of cobbled paths, by weathered streets shaped by centuries of footsteps. Here, the city decided where you went. 

The ground itself was alive, guiding people forward with an impersonal efficiency. She swallowed hard and forced herself to move in step with it, though the unease remained.

Above them, sleek hovercrafts wove through the air, soundless and precise, gliding between skyscrapers without pause. There were no horses, no carts, no mud-splattered wheels creaking over uneven stone. Just metal and air. 

The buildings were uniform in their perfection too, stretching endlessly into the sky, their glass facades shimmering with projected ads. Aria watched, entranced and unsettled, as moving images flickered across the surfaces—faces promoting things she had never heard of, text flashing and disappearing quicker than she could read.

“Is there anything real here?” she murmured under her breath. The air smelled too clean, too filtered. The people moved like cogs in a machine. Everything was structured. Efficient. Soulless.

Neon didn’t answer, only gestured for her to follow as they stepped off the walkway. The district they entered was bathed in the glow of neon signs, their colors shifting hypnotically. 

Restaurants and eateries lined the streets, their doors opening automatically as patrons approached. The smell of food should have been thick in the air, rich with spices and oils, but instead, Aria smelled nothing. No roasting meats, no freshly baked bread—just the faint sterility of purified air.

They entered a restaurant, and at once, she was struck by the unnatural perfection of it all. The tables gleamed under cold, artificial lighting, untouched by fingerprints or spills. Holographic menus hovered above each seat, adjusting automatically as new patrons arrived. The quiet sounds of automated service filled the space, punctuated only by the soft chime of notifications. There was no clatter of cutlery, no laughter, no warmth. Every element was optimized for function, stripped of excess.

They sat, and moments later, their meals arrived—delivered on sleek trays, contained in precisely portioned compartments. Each element of the dish had been calculated to the microgram. Aria hesitated, poking at the food with a wary expression. There was no steam curling from the plate, no vibrant colors from natural ingredients. Just muted tones and uniform shapes, designed for maximum efficiency.

She took a bite. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was... empty. 

Bland. 

A carefully calibrated blend of nutrients, with no indulgence, no artistry. She cast a glance at Neon, who ate methodically, unfazed. It was as if he had long since stopped expecting food to be anything more than fuel.

Aria sighed, setting her utensils down. “Is everything here like this?” she asked. “Perfect, but lifeless?”

Neon smirked slightly but said nothing. Instead, his posture suddenly shifted. His shoulders tensed, his head lowered slightly, and his hand instinctively pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. 

Aria followed his gaze across the restaurant.

In the far corner, a group of three sat huddled together, their presence sharp and distinct against the sterile atmosphere. Their movements were less controlled, more natural. Neon’s grip on his fork tightened slightly. He focused on his food, shoulders hunched, willing himself to be invisible.

“You... know them,” Aria murmured, not taking her eyes off the group.

“I know of them,” he corrected, his voice clipped. “And I’d rather they not know me.”

The air between them thickened. Aria didn’t press further, but she made a note of it.

They finished quickly, and as soon as they stepped back onto the street, Aria turned to him. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“No.”

She frowned but let it go. For now.

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Neon’s home stood in stark contrast to the towering city. The room was barely larger than a storage unit, the air thick with the lingering scent of metal and old circuits. A single mattress, sunken from years of use, was pushed against the far wall. The counter overflowed with tangled wires, half-dismantled tech, and scattered ration packs. A dim overhead light buzzed softly, flickering in and out like it, too, was on the verge of giving up.

Aria surveyed the space, unimpressed, then stepped inside with her arms folded and her expression flat. “I expected something grand.”

Neon shrugged, kicking off his boots. “I don’t need grand.”

She snorted but said nothing.

As they sat, the weight of their earlier battle settled over them. Aria leaned forward. “Those soldiers we fought... they weren’t normal.”

Neon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “No. They weren’t.” His tone was unreadable, but tension laced his words.

“They used both magic and technology,” she continued, meeting his gaze. 

“We’re lucky to be alive.”

Aria frowned, shaking her head. “It wasn’t just magic, though. Not the usual healing. It was... different. They could do more.” 

A heavy silence followed. Outside, the city pulsed with cold neon light, its glow seeping through the cracks in the blinds, painting jagged lines across the floor. A world alive, uncaring of the war waged within its streets. Within them.

“There has to be someone who can help us,” Aria pressed, watching him closely.

Neon’s jaw tensed. “There is.”

She straightened. “The group from before? Then let’s go to them.”

His fingers curled into a fist at his side before he forced them open. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He met her gaze, and for the first time, something raw flickered behind his otherwise steady expression. “Because I left them behind.” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, sharp and final. “I don’t associate with them anymore.”

Aria studied him for a long moment, searching for cracks in his resolve, but he had already buried whatever emotions lurked beneath the surface.

"Anyways," he decided jumping on his mattress and throwing an extra pillow straight at her. "since you´re the guest, you take the floor. I get the cozy place. Good night, dear princess."

She stared but didn´t argue, laying down gently.

"Talking rudely to me is a crime, you brat," she slowly whispered, yawning, as sleep finally came over both of them.