The wind was colder past the ruins.
Jack pulled his coat tighter, the leather stiff from bloodstains and grime accumulated over years of wandering. The road beneath his feet was barely a road anymore — cracked concrete barely holding together, swallowed in places by creeping vines, their leaves blackened and brittle.
The city, or what was left of it, stretched far and wide ahead of him. Towering ruins, broken highways hanging like skeleton ribs overhead, rusted vehicles frozen mid-escape from some long-forgotten catastrophe. Everything here felt... abandoned. But not dead.
Jack had learned to tell the difference.
Death was quiet. Final. But this? This was something else — a city caught in perpetual suffering, like it remembered the people who used to walk its streets, their screams still echoing in the bones of the buildings.
His stomach growled low.
He hadn't eaten in almost two days, unless you counted the stale protein bar he'd gnawed on the night before — which barely counted as food. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but there was no time to stop. In this world, stillness was an invitation to die.
As he moved deeper into the city, the shadows grew thicker, not because night was coming — the sky hadn't seen sunlight in decades — but because the buildings leaned so close they almost blotted out the little light that did pierce through the clouds.
Jack paused near the husk of a convenience store, its windows smashed, metal shutters half-ripped from their frames. The shelves inside were mostly barren, save for a few cans rusted beyond recognition.
Still... it was better than starving.
He stepped inside carefully, blades still drawn. You never knew what could be nesting in these places. Rats the size of dogs, mutated insects... or worse, people.
The floor creaked under his weight. Glass shards crunched beneath his boots.
Then he heard it — a soft, irregular breathing.
Jack stopped cold.
His eyes swept the darkness, focusing on a corner where the shelves slumped in on themselves. Behind them... a shape.
Someone was there.
> "I don't want trouble," Jack warned, voice low but firm. "But if you come at me, I won't hesitate."
No reply. Just the same wheezing breath.
Jack edged closer, dagger held in reverse grip. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing to adjust to the gloom.
Then he saw it — or rather, her.
A girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, thin as a twig, skin covered in grime and bruises. She was curled up, knees to chest, clutching a broken metal pipe as if it were a sword.
Her eyes snapped open at his approach — wild, desperate, but not empty like the Hollows.
> "Stay back!" she rasped, swinging the pipe weakly. "I'll kill you... I'll...!"
Jack raised a hand, palm open.
> "Easy," he said. "I'm not here to hurt you. You'll poke your own eye out swinging like that."
The girl's grip trembled, but she didn't drop the pipe. Jack admired the fire in her, even if it was hopelessly dim.
> "You alone?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Just stared, waiting for him to get closer... or to leave.
Jack sighed, slipping his dagger back into its sheath.
> "Suit yourself."
He turned towards the shelves, scanning for anything edible. Most cans had long since corroded, their labels illegible. But near the back, under a fallen rack, he spotted a small stash wrapped in cloth.
He tugged it free — inside, there were a few cans that might still be edible, and a bottle of water, sealed.
He glanced back at the girl. She was watching him, eyes sharp and suspicious.
> "Yours?" he asked, holding up the cloth.
Still no answer. But her gaze darted between the bundle and her makeshift weapon.
Jack hesitated, then placed the bundle back where he'd found it.
> "Keep it," he said. "You'll need it more than I will."
He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, her voice stopped him — a thin, brittle thread.
> "...Why?"
He looked over his shoulder.
> "Why what?"
> "Why didn't you take it?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "People don't just leave food behind. Not here."
Jack stared at her for a moment. Then he shrugged.
> "Because I'm not like them."
He stepped outside, the wind meeting him again like an old enemy. The city stretched endlessly before him, a maze of shadows and broken promises.
Behind him, the girl crept to the doorway, still clutching the pipe.
> "Where are you going?" she called out.
Jack didn't stop walking.
> "East."
> "What's east?"
> "The Ashen Citadel."
The girl's laugh was dry, almost bitter.
> "That's just a story," she said.
Jack kept walking.
> "Maybe. But I've got nothing better to do."
And with that, he disappeared into the gray veil of the city, leaving the girl to her silence — though in her heart, a tiny ember had been lit. A curiosity. A spark.
Maybe not all the world was dead yet.
----------