In the late summer of 2187, the wind on the edge of the abandoned city carried the smell of rust and dust, rolling past the mottled iron walls of the Ashes training camp, making a low roar. Meng Liao was leaning on an old bench beside the training ground, holding a low-quality cigarette that was about to burn out between his fingertips. His eyes fell on the teenagers who were running back and forth not far away. Sweat slid down his angular jawline, soaking the washed white gray training clothes, revealing the smooth muscles underneath but covered with old scars - the marks left by fighting in the underground arena when he was young, and later in the training camp.
