Veyle froze. His boots clung to the cobblestones. His chest tightened like iron.
The city stretched before him, alive with memory, with horror. Halrun. The loops. The screams. The fires. Every nightmare pressed against him, crushing, unrelenting.
He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Seren was beside him. Calm. Her hands traced deliberate signs, slow and sure. But he barely registered them.
The ground trembled. A distant rumble grew.
A roar tore through the air.
Pain shredded his eardrums. His head snapped back.
Light erupted behind his eyes. Blood boiled from his eyes, scalding, blinding, burning the edges of his vision.
He coughed. Thick, metallic blood filled his mouth. He tried to scream, tried to reach her, to warn her—but only a choking rasp escaped.
"Hk… guawa…"
His hands twitched. His legs refused to bend. The world tilted, spun, a red haze swallowing all he knew.
Flames leapt from the city. Stone splintered, timber exploded outward. Heat crashed over him in searing waves.
Seren's figure blurred, ghostlike in the smoke. Her hands still moved, signing—but Veyle couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't reach her.
Agony clawed through his chest. Ash choked his lungs.
A shadow passed.
Jagged. Red steel. Too close. Too fast.
Veyle's eyes widened as the weapon tore through the haze.
Clean. Swift. Merciless.
He barely registered the motion. A flash of fire. The world split. Pain exploded through every nerve.
Seren screamed—or perhaps it was him. He didn't know. Didn't care.
Bodies twisted. Flesh and bone cleaved. Blood sprayed, searing heat washing over them both.
And then… nothing.
The city burned behind them. Smoke roared to the sky. Towers collapsed in cascading ruin. Flames twisted upward like a funeral pyre.
But no one remained to see it.
No one survived.
Only silence answered the inferno.
--
Veyle's eyes snapped open.
The gates loomed before him once more, the same imposing stone walls, the same silent streets.
He dropped to his knees, hands gripping the dirt, chest heaving.
A scream tore from his throat—a raw, guttural sound that ripped through the quiet of the morning.
"NO! NO! NO!"
His voice echoed across the empty street, bouncing off walls, colliding with itself in a chaotic chorus of despair.
Behind him, the city stretched, calm and indifferent. The streets seemed frozen in time, waiting.
A deep rumble began beneath the cobblestones. Veyle's knees buckled, his scream dying in his throat.
The sound hit.
The explosion erupted—not distant, not muted. Closer this time. A wall of fire and concussive force slammed against him.
The world shook violently. Dust and ash whipped through the air.
Pain shot into his ears. His eardrums ruptured, a piercing, high-pitched agony that made him stagger, clawing at his head.
His vision blurred with tears. Blood welled in his ears, staining his hair. The ringing drowned out almost everything else.
Veyle gasped, hands trembling, throat raw. He wanted to warn anyone nearby, to scream at the city, at the world, at fate itself—but all that came out was ragged, incoherent noise, his voice breaking with panic.
He stumbled backward, the heat of the blast licking his skin, but miraculously, his body remained intact. His eyes burned, his head pounded, but his body—his fragile body—had survived.
The city behind the gates roared, the explosion stretching into the clouds, black smoke spiraling like a living thing.
Veyle fell to his knees again, shaking, blood dripping from his ears, hands clawing at the ground.
"Not again… not like last time…" he rasped, but even that was swallowed by the ringing in his skull.
And somewhere deep inside, a spark of horror settled: he had survived—but the cost was immediate, brutal, and unforgettable.
Veyle staggered to his feet, hands pressed to his ears, blood dripping down his face. The ringing was relentless, a high-pitched scream that seemed to claw at his skull from the inside.
For a moment, he forced himself to breathe. To steady himself. To find resolve.
"I… I can—" he rasped, choking on the dust and ash, "…I can survive this."
He swallowed hard, forcing his legs to carry him forward. The gates loomed behind him, the city beyond a writhing mass of fire and smoke, but he had to move. He had to move.
Then he looked to his left.
And froze.
There, half-buried under splintered timber and blackened stone, lay Seren. Her body was still. Blood stained her clothing, her hands frozen mid-sign. Her eyes stared blankly toward the sky, reflecting the burning city behind her.
Veyle's chest constricted. His stomach dropped. The ringing in his ears seemed to surge, doubling, until it was a physical force against his skull.
"No… no, no, no!" he screamed, voice hoarse, raw, entirely swallowed by the pain in his ears. He stumbled forward, reaching for her, hands trembling violently.
The world around him twisted, smoke and fire blurring together, but all he could see was her.
"Seren… no, wake up! Please—please don't—"
His words broke into a choked rasp. His legs gave way, and he collapsed beside her. Blood from his ears mixed with the ash at his feet.
She didn't move. She wouldn't move.
Veyle pressed his face to her chest, shaking, sobbing silently through the ringing, hands trembling over hers.
The fire behind them continued to roar. The city burned. And once again, he was powerless to stop it.
Veyle's thoughts shattered.
Not words.
Not logic.
Just a single, animal impulse that surged through him like lightning:
Run.
He didn't think about where.
He didn't think about how.
He didn't even think about Seren's body lying limp beside him.
His body moved before his mind could catch up.
He shot to his feet, stumbling, slipping in the ash and blood, lungs burning as he sucked in smoke‑thick air. His vision swam, his ears screamed with ruptured silence—but his legs carried him anyway.
Run. Run. RUN.
He tore away from the gates, away from the fire, away from the memory of Seren's lifeless hand.
The world became a blur of trees and undergrowth as he sprinted into the jungle beyond the road. Branches whipped his face, thorns tore open his arms, roots caught at his ankles.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
His chest heaved like it wanted to rip itself apart. His hands shook uncontrollably as he clawed through the foliage. The jungle swallowed him whole—dense, dark, suffocating.
The explosion's shockwave still echoed in the distance, but the forest drowned it out with the scream of insects and the crash of his own footsteps.
Veyle didn't know how long he ran.
Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever.
His spun head throbbed. His ears dripped blood. His eyes blurred with tears he didn't remember forming. His breath came in desperate, ragged gasps.
Don't think. Don't look back. Don't remember.
He didn't see the drop.
He was moving too fast, too blindly.
His foot hit air.
The world tilted—
—and he plunged down a steep ravine hidden under roots and ferns.
Branches snapped like bone as he crashed through them. His back smashed against a jutting rock. His head bounced off the earth with a sickening crack. One final impact tore the breath from his lungs—
And the world went black.
The last thing he felt was warm blood pooling under his cheek.
The last thing he thought was not a word, but a shape:
Seren's hand, reaching for him.
Veyle's eyes snapped open at the gates. The familiar roar of destruction rolled across the city, the heat and shockwave slamming against him. Pain stabbed at his ears, but he forced himself to move.
Not frozen this time. Not paralyzed.
He turned to his left—and froze.
Seren was there. Standing. Alive. Calm. Hands moving in slow, deliberate signs, unshaken by the chaos around them.
Relief clawed through him—but it didn't last.
He lunged forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her close. "Seren! We need to go, now!" His voice cracked, raw with panic, ringing ears threatening to drown out everything else.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then narrowed with focus. She signed quickly:
"Veyle, what—"
"Don't ask! Just run! Please—move!" His hands gripped her shoulders tighter, urgency sharpening every syllable.
Seren's lips pressed together, hands flying in fast:
"Careful! Watch your step—"
"I won't! I can't… I can't let him—" His words choked off into a garbled rasp, blood from his tongue mixing with sweat and smoke.
He shoved her forward, boots scraping over cobblestones as flames licked the city walls behind them. Smoke clawed at their lungs. Heat beat against their backs like a living thing.
They scrambled up the hill, lungs burning, hearts hammering. The city behind them churned in smoke and fire, the roar of the destruction fading but never gone. Veyle's hands shook as he pulled Seren along, his ears still ringing, vision tinged with red.
"Almost… there…" he rasped, forcing each step, grit lining his teeth.
Vines and underbrush tore at their clothes as they barreled into the edge of the jungle. Darkness swallowed the path ahead, but they didn't slow, didn't hesitate.
Then—
The ground gave way beneath them.
Veyle's stomach dropped. Seren's hands flailed as they both plunged into the hidden pit, the earth giving way in an instant.
A massive log, rotten and jagged, crashed down from above, the impact echoing like thunder. The wood slammed into them, crushing bones, pinning them to the muddy bottom of the pit. Pain tore through every fiber of their bodies, breath knocked out in a single, violent motion.
Veyle gasped, trying to shift, to move, but the log pressed mercilessly. His vision swam with blood, ears still ringing, a dull red haze overtaking everything. He tried to call out to Seren, to warn her—but all that came out was a wet, choking rasp.
Seren's hands twitched desperately, signing in frantic bursts, but the log's weight was absolute: "Vey—Veyle… can't… move…"
He forced his arms forward, fingertips brushing hers. His mind screamed at her to run, to survive—but it was too late. The log shifted slightly, pressing harder.
Bones snapped. Breath stilled. Darkness crept over their vision.
The jungle fell silent above them, leaves rustling in the wind, indifferent.
Below, two bodies lay crushed together in the pit, twisted and broken. The trap claimed them completely.
No screams remained.
Veyle's eyes snapped open again, the gates of the city looming as the familiar roar rolled across the streets. His ears rang, blood still warm in his mouth, but this time… he didn't move. Not at first.
Shock froze him. The memory of the crushing log, the jungle, Seren's last helpless glance—it clawed at his mind, a living nightmare.
She stepped beside him, calm, hands moving in deliberate signs: "Veyle… breathe. You are alive. Look at me. Stay with me."
Veyle blinked. He snapped out of it. Without a word, he grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. No pleading. No shouting. Only movement. Survival instinct overriding everything.
They ran. Cobblestones, dirt paths, underbrush—the jungle's edge came faster than ever, but this time, they didn't stumble. They leapt over fallen logs, twisted roots, and gaps that had claimed them before.
Seren kept her hands in motion, signing rapidly as they ran:
"Careful! Watch the roots! Step there!"
"Move faster! Don't hesitate!"
"I am with you. Do not stop. Keep going!"
Veyle's grip on her never loosened. He didn't respond verbally, but he followed her signs perfectly, every twitch of her fingers guiding his feet.
The ground trembled beneath them, smoke from the burning city trailing on the wind, but the trap—the pit with the crushing log—came and went beneath their feet without claim. They didn't slow.
After what felt like hours—but was only minutes—they emerged into a small clearing. A hut, weathered but intact, crouched beneath a cluster of trees. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney. A faint light flickered in the windows, golden and inviting against the chaos of the outside world.
Veyle let himself exhale, slow and shaky.
Seren's hands moved again, signing softly: "We rest here. Safe… for now. No one can hurt us here. We are together."
He nodded once, still silent, still reeling, but relief flickered in his chest.
Her hands continued, gentle but deliberate: "Drink water. Sit. Heal. I will watch. Nothing can take us while we are here. Breathe. Breathe again."
The hut beckoned. A chance to survive. To gather strength.
A voice. Low. Gravelly. Filled with satisfaction.
"I finally found you…"
The clank of armor echoed against the clearing, ringing sharp and metallic in Veyle's ears. His chest tightened. Every muscle tensed.
Before he could react, movement from the corner of his eye—Seren.
Her hands were mid-sign, trying to warn him, trying to guide him.
It was too late.
A brutal, iron weight slammed down. The sound of bone snapping, a wet, sickening crunch, filled the air. Seren's head—her face, her hands frozen in the last sign—was crushed under the merciless strike.
Veyle screamed, the sound raw and broken, but the sound was swallowed by the armor's relentless clank, the weight of the strike, the inevitability of it all.
Blood sprayed, warm and metallic, painting the earth. The motionless body of Seren collapsed to the ground, her hands still trembling slightly, as if the signs never stopped.
Veyle's world shattered. The air itself seemed to thicken, suffocating him. His mind raced, but shock locked his limbs.
He wanted to run. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream for her, to beg for her to rise—but nothing came. His heart pounded, but his body refused.
The figure in armor loomed over him, a shadow made of steel and malice.
Veyle's eyes burned with unshed tears. The burning city, the jungle, the loops… it was hell