Chapter 1: The Gates of Orion

 The Gates of Orion

On the outskirts of the city-state of Orion—once called Cape Town—stood a checkpoint that every living soul had to pass through.

From the outside, Orion looked less like a city and more like a fortress ripped from the bones of the earth —walls of reinforced steel rose hundreds of meters into the air, layered with artillery platforms and watchtowers. Floodlights scanned the wasteland beyond like restless eyes.

It had to be built that way.

Five years ago, the world ended quietly, and the city of Orion had no intention of being next.

A long line of survivors stretched across the dust road leading to the gate: Some stood patiently, others leaned against rusted carts or sat in the dirt, conserving strength.

Everyone watched the walls.

Soldiers from the Order of the Veil moved down the line, handing out food parcels from metal containers.

Each portion was the same.

Moss broth, boiled potatoes, and sometimes meat.

Today there was meat.

A man in his late twenties stood halfway down the queue, holding a dented metal bowl in one hand as he ate.

Chunks of potato floated in the green broth.

So did strips of pale meat.

He chewed slowly.

Human again.

The thought passed through his mind without emotion.

Five years ago that thought might have made him sick, now it was just protein.

Wind carried dust across the cracked road, and somewhere in the distance an alarm horn sounded briefly before falling silent again, as the line moved forward. 

The man finished his bowl just as he reached the front when a soldier in black armor looked up from his desk.

“Right hand please.”

The man held it out.

Burned into the skin of his palm was a small mark. A coiled snake.

The soldier raised an eyebrow.

“You’re Veil-user?”

The man nodded and licked the last of the broth from his spoon.

The soldier grabbed his wrist and slid it under a scanning device built into the desk.

A thin beam of light passed over the mark.

The screen flickered—information appeared and the soldier read it aloud slowly.

“Aiden Michael Beukes… age twenty-eight.”

He paused.

Then looked up again.

“S-Rank Veil ability.”

The soldier’s eyes sharpened.

“You’re a private contractor.”

Aiden shrugged.

“Is that a problem?”

The soldier leaned back slightly.

“Your people hired me.”

The man studied him for another moment before speaking again.

“You’re the one they call the Daimon Slayer.”

Aiden laughed.

“I wish.”

The soldier slid a datapad across the table.

“Sign here.”

Aiden signed without reading.

The officer collected the pad but didn’t dismiss him yet.

Instead he asked quietly,

“What’s it like?”

Aiden looked up.

“Out there.”

Aiden turned slightly and looked behind him.

Beyond the checkpoint lay nothing but an endless stretch of cracked earth and windblown dust. 

The remains of a dead world—cities buried in sand, highways broken in half.

And somewhere beyond the horizon…

things that used to be human...

Aiden handed the signed papers back.

“If you’re not Veil-born…”

He stepped past the desk toward the massive gates of Orion.

“…you wouldn’t survive a day.”

The gates began to open.

And somewhere far out in the wasteland—something was watching him.

The inside of Orion looked nothing like the outside.

Beyond the iron gates the city exploded into noise and color.

Lanterns hung from wires stretched across the streets, bathing the market district in warm amber light. 

Vendors shouted over one another while crowds pushed through narrow lanes packed with stalls.

Spices from the eastern trade routes filled the air with sharp, earthy scents.

Bolts of rare textiles fluttered in the wind like flags.

Cages held animals most people hadn’t seen in years—thin goats, nervous birds, even a mangy desert fox.

And in darker corners of the street…

human beings were sold the same way.

Orion survived because it refused to pretend the old world still existed.

Aiden walked through the chaos with calm, practiced ease. He passed a food stall where skewers of fried scorpions crackled over an oil drum fire.

His favorite.

He stopped, tossed the vendor a coin, and took one.

The shell snapped between his teeth. The sting spread across his tongue like lightning.

He smiled slightly.

It reminds you you’re still alive.

He kept walking when he noticed three figures in hooded cloaks following him.

They followed him through the crowd at a distance, but Aiden didn’t react.

Instead he turned casually down another street.

Then another.

Until the noise of the market faded behind him.

He stepped into a narrow alleyway between two stone buildings, thrn he reached a dead end.

Aiden walked all the way to the back wall before stopping.

For a moment there was only silence, then he sighed and turned around.

“You can come out now.”

The Three hooded figures stepped forward.

One of them laughed softly.

“Well… that answers the first question.”

Aiden crossed his arms.

“What question?”

“What kind of man kills Daimon for a living.”

Another of the hooded figures spoke.

“It’s an honor to finally meet the Daimon Slayer.”

Aiden shrugged.

“I wish people would stop calling me that.”

“What do you want?”

One of the figures stepped forward and lowered their hood.

Aiden blinked.

A woman with fair skin, silky black hair that fell to her shoulders, stood before him.

Her hazel-brown eyes studied him with a sharp focus.

For a moment Aiden about forgot the alley, the city, the war.

She's way too beautiful.

She noticed the pause and smirked slightly.

“I was the one who requested to meet you.”

Aiden tilted his head.

“Lucky me.”

“So what’s the job?”

Without answering, she lifted a heavy sack from beneath her cloak and dropped it at his feet.

The sound of metal rang through the alley.

It was gold coins. 

A lot of them.

Aiden stared down at the bag.

That much money meant only one thing:

This job might actually kill him.

He looked back up at her.

“So…”

He gestured toward the sack.

“What’s the job, Mrs. Prettiest-of-them-all?”

The two men behind her stiffened immediately.

“Watch your tongue—”

She raised a hand and silenced them.

Her eyes never left Aiden.

“I am the Baron of Orion.”

For once Aiden actually looked surprised.

“You’re joking.”

The guards looked ready to draw weapons.

The woman only smiled faintly.

“Unfortunately not.”

Aiden scratched the back of his head.

“Well… this conversation just got expensive.”

She stepped closer.

“One of our northern scouts returned yesterday. He reported a Daimon legion marching toward Orion.”

Aiden’s smile faded.

“How big?”

“Big enough,” she said calmly, “that I’m willing to pay you an entire year’s tax revenue to help us survive the siege.”

Aiden whistled quietly.

“Two days?"

Aiden rubbed his chin, thinking hard about the matter.

Then he sighed.

“If I agree to this…”

He looked at her again with a crooked grin.

“…you’d better throw in a marriage proposal.”

The guards groaned, while the Baron laughed.

“I can’t promise that.”

She extended her hand.

“But win the battle for me…”

“…and maybe I’ll sleep on it.”

Aiden grinned.

“Deal.”

They shook hands.

Far away, beyond Orion’s walls…

The wind howled across the wasteland.

Something far out in the dark was already moving.

 

The Omen of Roses

In the heart of Orion, the military base stretched across a cluster of fortified buildings. 

Its walls were lined with banners of the Order of the Veil, flapping weakly in the dry wind. Inside, it served as both logistics hub and training ground—a place where newbies were forged into soldiers.

Aiden walked alongside the Baron and her assistants, taking in the disciplined chaos. Every soldier, every trainee, bowed or murmured, “My lady,” as the Baron passed.

She tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear and glanced at him.

“What do you think about this war?” she asked.

Aiden blinked, surprised at the sudden question.

He looked at the soldiers practicing their drills—Veil-born trainees, young and fierce, moving like shadows across the dusty ground.

“It’s simple,” he said, his voice low. “It’s a war between humans and Daimon.”

The Baron raised an eyebrow.

The Baron tilted her head. “But… why now?”

Aiden paused. His gaze swept the training yard. The new recruits were still untested, but some did show promise—a hint of what they could become.

“This world,” he said slowly, “has always existed on the edge. We Veil-born are born understanding that edge.”

He opened his mouth to continue, to explain more, when it hit him—a scent that didn’t exist anymore.

Roses taken out from the earth.

He froze as he realized roses didn’t exist here anymore.

The Baron noticed his pause. “What is it?”

Aiden’s chest tightened. His memories shifted to his grandmother’s voice whispering:

When I smell roses… it means death is near.

His eyes widened.

But it was too late.

A scream split the air. The city’s alarm blared, shrill and urgent.

A soldier dashed toward the Baron, brbreathless.There's a  high-level Daimon that's infiltrated Orion! It's —”

Aiden cut him off with a single word.

“I’ll handle it.”

Before anyone could respond, he surged forward, moving faster than any human should.

The Baron barked orders, her voice cutting through the chaos. 

“All available soldiers! Assist with damage control and evacuate as many civilians as you can!”

Her assistants scrambled, shouting commands as terrified citizens ran for cover.

One of them asked her, “Can we trust this man?”

The Baron’s lips curved into a slow, almost manic smile.

“He’s not known as a hero,” she said,

 “He’s the world’s greatest Daimon killer.”

Her eyes glinted as she added, almost to herself, “That’s exactly what we need.”