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The world of the Pit (also known as ‘The Ground’ for some reason, according to Enjin) was quiet after a battle. Not peaceful, never peaceful, but quiet in a way that was comforting. The wind scraped across the spare scraps and metal, whistling through holes in steel, carrying the smell of trash throughout the city.
Rudo stood among the debris, his gloves still humming faintly with leftover energy. Around him, the members of the Cleaners packed up after a successful mission. Riyo’s laughter cut through the silence, too loud, too alive for a place like this. Zanka barked at her to focus, and Enjin said nothing at all, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Rudo watched them for a long time before moving.
It was strange how quickly they had become his gravity. Before them, every moment of his life had felt like falling: first, Regto dying, being accused, and thrown into the pit to be left to die.
But when the Cleaners took him in, something shifted. They didn’t offer comfort or empty words. They offered work.
Purpose.
And that was enough.
At first, Rudo thought he didn’t belong. He’d been cast out once before; he’d learned not to expect a second chance. Every harsh word from Zanka reminded him of how he had failed his father and was shown the consequences. Every test Enjin gave him felt like another thing he was destined to fail.
But they weren’t like the people he knew in the Sphere. They didn’t fake perfection or talk about his background. They didn’t waste time with pity. When Rudo stumbled, they didn’t scold him (ignoring a jab from Zanka); they simply pulled him back up again.
Zanka grunted a correction and told him to lift with his legs.
Riyo snorted when he dropped a piece of junk, then helped him carry it anyway.
Enjin only smirked and said, "You're doing fine, kid.”
It was maddening at first. Then it became grounding.
For the first time since his fall, Rudo felt something build instead of break.
Life with the Cleaners wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. It was hard, challenging, and it pushed him to no end. They worked until their bodies screamed, then kept working. Yet, between the challenges, there were moments that were quiet.
Like the way Riyo would lean back after a fight, eyes bright and wild, and laugh just to prove they’d survived.
Or the way Zanka’s constant lectures softened when he was praised.
Or the way Enjin’s voice, always calm, carried barely concealed fondness whenever he said Rudo’s name.
They ate together around the same cracked table every night, bowls of soup balanced on toolboxes. Rudo often stayed silent, just listening—the rise and fall of their voices like a rhythm his heart was learning to follow.
He never said it aloud, but the noise of them—their arguments, their laughter—was the sound of safety to him. It started to feel like home, a place where he belonged, but anytime he felt that way; he could only remember Regto. Regto was home, safe, but he wasn’t here anymore.
There were nights when Rudo couldn’t sleep. The darkness of the Ground pressed too close, and the memory of Regto’s fall still burned behind his eyelids. He would slip out of bed, climb to the roof, and stare at the dim lights below.
He always expected to find himself alone, not that he minded, but one night Enjin joined him. The older man didn’t speak at first, didn’t need to. He just stood there beside him, the hum of the Pit filling the silence.
“You still carry it,” Enjin said eventually. His tone wasn’t judgmental. It was simply true.
Rudo didn’t answer. There were no words for the guilt, the grief, the endless need to prove himself that he could handle things.
Enjin didn’t push. He just looked at him and said, “Good. It means you remember what matters. But don’t let it drag you down. You’ve made it far, kid.”
For Rudo, that sentence hit harder than anything he had heard since he was cast away and into the Pit.
He didn’t know what to say. But when Enjin walked away, leaving only the faint smell of smoke behind, Rudo found himself breathing a little easier.
The mission that changed everything wasn’t supposed to matter. Just a simple clean-up, only a few beasts. But when the ground gave way beneath them, when the floor cracked and swallowed nearly half the team, Rudo didn’t think.
He dove in.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. But he moved anyway. The memory of Riyo’s voice, the sight of Zanka’s hand reaching for help, those pulled him through the fear. He fought with everything he had, every ounce of strength, every memory.
When the smoke finally cleared, they were alive. Barely, but alive.
Rudo’s arms shook as he lifted a fallen heap of trash from Riyo’s leg. His gloves sparked, his breath rugged. Zanka staggered to his feet, bruised, but he scoffed with a look Rudo could interpret as grateful. Enjin threw an arm over Rudo’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, solid and steady.
“Good work,” he said quietly.
He laughed, hoarse, broken, but real.
After that, things changed.
The Cleaners didn’t say much; none of them were really good with words, but the air around them felt different. Softer. Warmer.
Rudo stopped waiting to be pushed away. He started to trust the silence between them, the easy rhythm of their shared days. When Zanka barked orders, he only laughed but followed them. When Riyo teased him, he teased her back. When Enjin told him to rest, he actually did.
He still carried his anger, the need to avenge his fallen father. The feeling didn’t vanish; the ghost of Regto didn’t fade. But it stopped nagging at him that he was all alone.
He wasn’t. Not anymore.
On nights when the Ground is calm, Rudo still climbs to the roof. The city above feels impossibly far, the unseen stars in the night that Rudo wished he could see once more.
But inside the Cleaner base, there’s laughter, challenges, the faint hum of something alive and steady.
He looks down at his hands, the same hands that once threw punches out of rage and fear, and realizes they’re shaking for a different reason now.
He’s not just fighting to avenge Regto, no.
He’s fighting because there are people worth protecting.
People who looked at him even when he was broken and furious and told him,
Stay.