From publisher blurb:
The world of Tanathas, once a glimmering jewel in the galaxy’s crown, now lies fractured and raw, a stark monument to the perils of unchecked ambition. Its cities, once pulsating with vibrant life and technological marvels, have become cold, unfeeling skeletons of their former selves. The Pulse—a catastrophic event that tore through the neural lattice of the planet’s AI-dependent infrastructure—brought Tanathas to its knees in a single night. Lights flickered, then died. The hum of the great engines ceased. Those dependent on neural integration systems were left hollow-eyed and screaming, their minds severed from the constructs that once defined their lives. In the weeks that followed, chaos reigned. The Dominion, Tanathas’s ruling elite, crumbled under the weight of its own obsolescence. Leaders vanished into the shadows, taking what resources they could salvage, while the rest of the planet was left to rot. The once-indomitable Iron Mandate dissolved into rogue militias, their armored enforcers trading law for survival. Factions emerged from the ruins, clawing for dominance over a world stripped bare of order. Among the whispers that drift through the ashes of this fallen world, one word surfaces again and again: power. The Seekers of Fractured Echoes comb the ruins for remnants of the old neural network, their intent veiled in secrecy. The Cinder Host, born from the despair of the lower sectors, burns with a fervent hatred for the old order, willing to raze the world if it means a chance to rebuild it anew. Between them lie the scavengers, the mercenaries, the opportunists—all seeking their own paths, their own answers, in a world teetering on the edge of oblivion. And then there is you. What force drives you through the smoldering wasteland of Tanathas? Is it hope? Greed? Desperation? Or something darker still? Your every step is shadowed by the remnants of the old Dominion, its secrets etched into the crumbling walls and forgotten vaults beneath your feet. In the distance, the flicker of neon lights betrays a city not yet fully dead, its inhabitants clinging to shards of the past. Within its depths lies the key to Tanathas’s future—or its final undoing. The air is heavy, thick with static and the faint metallic tang of decay. Overhead, the dim glow of a shattered skyline offers no comfort, only the vague suggestion of what was lost. The pulse of life—stilted, strained—echoes faintly in the ruins, as if the planet itself holds its breath. Amid this desolation, the future of Tanathas rests not in the hands of governments or armies, but in individuals. Individuals like you.