Fallen Sky

Chapter 2 - The Descent Part 2

Kira's pov

The ship shakes violently, rattling the restraints that bind me to the cold metal seat. My heart pounds in rhythm with the tremors, my muscles tense as we plummet through the atmosphere. The roaring outside grows louder, a constant reminder of how fast we’re falling. My stomach flips and twists, the pressure pushing down on me like an invisible weight.

We’ve made it through the atmosphere.

For a moment, I can’t move, barely able to catch my breath. I open my eyes and look around for the first time. There are so many people—kids, really—most of them no older than I am. Some younger. Their faces are pale, eyes wide with fear and confusion. They’re just like me: prisoners, criminals, sacrifices sent to die in a world none of us know.

Guilt grips my chest as I stare at them. They shouldn’t be here. None of us should.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by a loud bang. It echoes through the ship, followed by the sound of metal groaning under pressure. A few kids scream, the noise sharp and panicked, while others sit in stunned silence, too shocked to react.

Then, with a mechanical click, our shackles unlock. My wrists are suddenly free, the cold metal bands falling to the floor with a soft thud. I rub at the red marks left behind, but there’s no time to think about the pain.

A screen flickers to life in front of us, and Commander Lyra’s face appears. Her stern, emotionless expression fills the space, her cold eyes scanning the rows of prisoners like we’re nothing more than tools for her to use.

“Congratulations,” she says, her voice devoid of any real emotion. “You’ve been given a second chance. A chance to pardon your crimes and prove your worth to The Zenith.”

A second chance. What a lie.

They don’t care about us. This isn’t about redemption or forgiveness. They’re only interested in one thing: survival. They want to know if we can live down here, if the ground is safe enough for them to come down. They’re using us as their test subjects. Expendable, just like we always were.

“You will be monitored,” Commander Lyra continues, her voice echoing through the dropship. “This is your opportunity to start fresh. To build a new life. But remember, your actions will determine your fate.”

Her face fades from the screen, and for a brief second, everything is still.

Then there’s a boom, louder this time, and all the electricity shuts off. The hum of the engines dies, and the lights flicker out, plunging us into darkness. I blink, trying to adjust to the sudden change, when I notice movement from the corner of my eye.

A girl—no older than fifteen—stands near the control panel, her small hands still hovering over the wires. Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with a quiet defiance. She’s the one who fried the power.

She just cut us loose.

The air feels different, more real, more alive. It’s hard to explain, but for the first time in years, I don’t feel trapped. There’s no burning sensation, no pressure on my lungs. I’m free.

And Earth—it’s beautiful. More beautiful than I ever imagined.

The door to the dropship hisses open, and light floods in, bathing us in the soft glow of the world outside. I unbuckle my restraints and rise to my feet, my legs shaky but steady enough to carry me forward. The air smells fresh, crisp, nothing like the recycled oxygen of *The Arcanum*.

I take a tentative step outside, my boots sinking into the soft soil. It feels strange, solid, but natural. The wind brushes against my skin, warm and alive. For a moment, I stand there, eyes wide as I take it all in.

We’re home.

I’m home.

For the first time in my life, I’m standing on the ground. No walls, no ceilings, no restrictions. This is a place where no one’s above anyone else. A place without The Zenith’s control, without the constant pressure of rules and survival. Here, I can breathe. Here, I can start over.

But it’s not that simple. The Zenith is still up there, watching. And they will come. I know that much. They’ll come down when they’re ready, when they know it’s safe.

And I’ll be waiting for them.

I won’t let them take this from us. They think they can control everything, but down here, things are different. Down here, we have a chance to be free. But first, we have to survive.

My thoughts are interrupted by a tall boy with raven-black hair and piercing green eyes. He steps out of the dropship, his gaze scanning the horizon before landing on me. He moves with purpose, his expression calm despite the chaos around us.

“Everyone, we need to make camp,” he says, his voice steady and authoritative. “If we want to survive, we have to start now.”

He turns to me, offering a small nod. “By the way, I’m Silas.”

There’s something about him—something confident, capable. The others seem to respond to him, their fear fading as they start to follow his lead. Some of them begin gathering wood and sticks, moving in pairs as they spread out across the clearing. Others stay behind, searching the dropship for anything useful.

I don’t join them. Instead, I walk over to the nearest tree, its bark rough and real under my fingers. I find a small rock on the ground and begin carving my name into the trunk. The letters are jagged and uneven, but they’re mine. Kira Arden.

After a moment, I carve the names of my family beneath mine. My parents. Owen. They should be here with me. They would’ve loved it here—this freedom, this chance to live without The Zenith breathing down our necks.

But they’re gone, and it’s because of me.

I shove the guilt down, forcing it away. There’s no time for that now. Not here. Not when we have a chance to survive.

I stand up, brushing the dirt from my hands, and glance around the clearing. The others are still working, gathering supplies, setting up a makeshift camp. But my eyes are drawn back to the girl who cut the power. She’s sitting alone, her knees pulled up to her chest, watching the others with a wary expression.

I walk over to her, my footsteps soft in the dirt. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low so I don’t startle her.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide and unsure. “Hi.”

I sit down next to her, leaning against the same tree. “That was impressive,” I say, nodding toward the dropship. “With the power.”

She shrugs, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. “It wasn’t that hard.”

I smile, even though it’s small. “I’m Kira.”

“I’m Ella,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Guessing you don’t like The Zenith either, huh?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She scoffs softly, glancing up at the sky. “Does anyone?”

“Only the ones still up there,” I say, and her lips twitch into a small, almost-smile.

There’s something about her—something fragile, like a bird with clipped wings. She reminds me of myself, back when I was her age. Scared, angry, desperate to survive in a world that’s constantly trying to crush you.

I feel a strange sense of responsibility for her, like I need to protect her. She’s young, too young to be caught up in this mess. But we’re all in it now, whether we like it or not.

“Get some sleep,” I tell her gently. “If anyone says anything, you come to me, okay?”

She nods, her eyes softening for just a moment. “Okay.”

I stand up, leaving her by the tree as I walk back to the center of the clearing. The camp is starting to take shape, with small fires flickering to life as the others work together. It’s strange, this sense of unity, of purpose. We’re all strangers, all criminals, but down here, we’re something else.

Down here, we’re survivors.

And this is just the beginning.