|Location: Wasteland, Heart|
-NUK-
From a distance, the silhouette of the signal tower rose tall against the inky black sky, standing like a silent sentinel watching over the forest. There was something unsettling about it—an eerie presence that sent a wave of repulsion through me, even from so far away. The tower's shadow seemed to stretch toward me, cold and forbidding, as if warning me to stay back.
Yet, deep inside, a quiet voice whispered insistently to move forward. To go closer. Not to ignore the pull.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to pierce through the heavy fog and darkness that blurred the horizon. The tower's massive frame was undeniable, yet hazy—like a ghost lurking just beyond clear sight. How had I never noticed something this enormous before?
Impatience flared within me. Without drawing Dia's attention, I subtly raised my hand and whispered softly, careful not to let the words escape beyond my lips.
"SAI, could you magnify that?"
Almost immediately, a cold, mechanical voice echoed inside my mind.
[initiating retina @#$@% error]
[Error: signal disturbance detected; system functions compromised]
[Host, please exercise caution]
And then the voice faded, leaving an eerie silence within my thoughts.
Frustration tightened my chest. My enhanced vision—usually so sharp and reliable—was useless here. The darkness and thick haze swallowed every detail that my eyes could have seen, and the strange ambient high concentration of this energy that hung in the air — this Sertium, it interfered heavily with SAI's systems, even I can deduce that just from observing. I could barely make out the rough shapes of the terrain and the silhouettes of the forest,
It slowly sank in to me that in a way this was a hard lesson that even my abilities had limits, whispering under my breath I said exaltingly. "I should take note of this in the future"
Thankfully, Dia's lamp cut through the dark, casting a narrow, gleaming source that traced our path through the dense forest. That small circle of light is in a way, a fragile comfort, a beacon that keeps the suffocating shadows at bay just enough for us to transverse.
I stayed close behind Dia, trusting her knowledge and instincts. Walking with her was a relief—she knew where to step, which paths to avoid, making the journey less chaotic for me, though a bit disappointing — I want that little thrill, but trusting her right now should be for the best.
The further we ventured, the clearer it became that this place was long neglected—a wasteland that nobody wants. The soil was dry and weak, littered with countless ashed twigs and dead leaves. Darkness clung to the land like a shroud, as if sunlight had never truly reached this ground.
The forest was unnervingly silent, save for the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional snap of a twig. The air itself felt heavy, thick with a strange energy called Sertium that pulsed faintly, almost like a living thing. Even I could sense how inhospitable this place was.
Most wouldn't call it habitable.
Yet, some had chosen to settle here, so I stared at Dia. Their people decided to make this place their home —perhaps because no monsters or apostles dared to enter. This land was a refuge by default, a place avoided by all but the desperate.
Still, I found myself wondering: what was it about this particular wasteland that made even the monsters they call 'god' steer clear? Did something happen here or is there something causing it to be.
My thoughts began to wander, pulling me away from the steady rhythm of our steps. I fought the urge to drift mentally and decided to speak—partly to break the silence, partly to satisfy my growing curiosity.
"Dia?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. "You mentioned a shelter before. What's it like? Did something happen that's why you guys choose to live here?"
She stopped walking. The lamp in her hand trembled slightly as she tightened her grip. The forest seemed to still, the silence stretching long before her breath echoed softly into the night.
She took a slow, deep breath, then turned to face me. Her expression was conflicted, flickering between hesitation and resolve. She avoided my gaze at first but finally answered.
"It wasn't much different from the norm," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Our defenses weakened, and scavengers started raiding us."
She said 'norm' like it was a bitter truth—her reality so different from mine. Their world was harsh, shaped by survival and loss, a landscape I was only beginning to understand.
It reminded me how much I still had to learn—not just about this land, but about the people who called it home.
I needed to understand. To learn what made me different, and maybe find ways to control the impulses that often pushed me blindly forward. But I knew better than to rush.
"Scavengers?" I pressed gently. "After that, how did you survive?"
Dia's eyes widened in surprise. She seemed caught off guard by the question, unsure how to answer. For a moment, she just stared at me, silent. Then, without another word, she turned and pressed deeper into the forest.
"Before? Not much," she said at last, her voice low and distant. "We shared our shelter with another tribe."
There was a slight hesitation in her tone, a shadow of discomfort. I caught a faint scent of dark hyacinth drifting from her, subtle but unmistakable.
"But after the incident, we decided to split. We were still young then, so I don't really remember much. Then…"
She led me over a boulder and down a short cliff. I carefully stepped where her shadow fell, cast by the flickering lamp—a small, wavering guide in the endless dark.
"I see," I murmured, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Our eyes met briefly, but she glanced away quickly.
"Then at some point, we spent almost a year wandering from place to place," she continued, her voice low and smoky, "before we accidentally came across the wasteland."
I could sense relief in her tone, as if finding this place had been a blessing despite everything.
"And finally, they found somewhere to settle. It's been five years since then."
"Oh." I let the information settle. So that's how they came here—this tribe of scavengers, desperate and nomadic, like pirates or outlaws forced to claim a forsaken land. I wondered if I'd ever encounter one of them.
But something felt missing from her story. I couldn't quite place it, so I responded vaguely. "That's quite… um…"
"Sad?" she cut in sharply, finishing my sentence for me.
Though it wasn't exactly what I'd been thinking, I simply nodded. "In a way. But at least your tribe found this place after a long search."
"After a long time?" Dia scoffed, stopping in her tracks and looking at me with a frown. Her eyes held a sharp edge, as if I'd somehow offended her. "You know you're weird."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Sometimes you act like you care, and the next second you don't."
Her words stung, though I wasn't sure why. She was the one accusing me, yet she took offense when I responded. I wished I could grasp these moods better—understand what people really thought or wanted.
"What…" I began, scratching my head. "You think I don't care?"
She studied me carefully, eyes narrowing as if searching for hidden meanings.
"Is it personal?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you act this way?"
"No. What?" I replied quickly, caught off guard.
She looked me up and down in silence. Then, bluntly, she said, "Tell me honestly, Zero. Who are you?"
Her question hit me harder than I expected. Since waking, I'd never cared much about who I was or where I came from. Exploration and knowledge were my priorities.
Identity had always been a vague, distant concern.
"I can't say," I admitted, my voice uncertain.
"What do you mean?"
Maybe it was time to share what little I knew. But the truth was complicated. Still, I owed her something—she had shared a part of her past with me.
"Only my name," I said quietly, taking a deep breath. "That's all I know. I've been wandering the desert all my life, or at least, that's what I remember."
"Really?" She looked suspicious, eyes sharp and unblinking.
"Yes! During the campfire earlier, it was the first time I'd seen food." I tried to convince her. "I never got hungry or thirsty before. Everyone here seems like they can't live without eating."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Fine. I'll accept that… for now."
"Even if it makes me weird?"
"Definitely," she said with a half-smile.
We fell back into silence, focusing on the path again.
Checking the vague map SAI had given me, I realized we were finally entering the expected radius where the signal tower should be.
The terrain shifted beneath our feet. The dense forest thinned, trees becoming sparse and twisted. Rocky slopes gave way to flat plains veiled in mist.
Then, ahead, I saw it—a massive crater nearly a kilometer wide. At its center stood a colossal tree, bathed in a single shaft of sunlight piercing the dense fog.
"Whoa. What's that?" I breathed, awe mixing with disbelief.
Dia's voice was quiet but unwavering. "Zero, that's the signal tower."
I blinked, struggling to grasp what I was seeing. "But… it's more like a massive wall."
A faint smile curved at the corner of her lips as she lifted her hand, her finger extending upward in a gentle yet deliberate motion. "Why don't you look a little closer?"
I followed the direction of her finger, tilting my head back to take in the towering structure. My eyes traced the surface of the wall, stretching far beyond the reach of the fog and into the dark sky. At first, it appeared solid and unbroken, but as I focused, subtle grooves and ridges began to emerge—delicate, almost organic patterns etched along the height of the structure, like the veins of some colossal living organism.
The base of the wall was wide and sturdy, tapering gradually as it rose higher. The width shifted subtly, narrowing with an elegant taper that gave the entire formation a sense of reaching upwards rather than simply standing firm.
Then, as my gaze climbed beyond the visible surface, hundreds—no, thousands—of branches revealed themselves. They unfurled from the narrowing edges, sprawling outward and upward in a magnificent, tangled canopy.
These were no ordinary branches. They stretched like colossal arms across the sky, twisting and weaving together in a vast, intricate lattice, as if cradling the heavens themselves. Their bark shimmered faintly, alive with a subtle glow that pulsed rhythmically, resonating with the energy in the air.
The branches reached so far that they seemed to hold up the very sky, their tips disappearing into the mists above, vanishing into the darkness like the fingers of some ancient giant stretching endlessly toward the stars.
The scale left me breathless. This was no mere signal tower. It was a living colossus—as if woven from the fabric of the sky and forest itself, standing over the land in a way that was both condescending and suffocating.
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