Wind howled through the twisted trees, rattling the crooked roof of the small hut they called home. From the outside it looked pitiful — but inside, it was just enough to survive. Nothing more was needed.
Veyr had been out for hours.
He moved soundlessly through the dead underbrush, eyes alert, senses sharpened. Out here, nothing was harmless — not a sound in the distance, not the still fog, not the faint trembling of the ground itself.
Two slim short blades rested crossed at his lower back, hidden beneath his coat — too long to be called daggers, too short to be swords. Balanced for speed. He kept his fingertips near them out of habit more than fear.
Five years. That was how long it had been since The Shattering — the day the world split apart and broke into drifting fragments. Most still floated, half-fused with reality and madness. People called the remains, half-bitter and half-afraid, the Fallen Lands.
He crouched behind a shattered trunk, studying the ground, and picked up something half-buried in the dirt: a rusted coin, dull and ancient, a memory from before.Veyr turned it between his fingers, then slipped it into his pocket.
He didn't collect treasures. He collected… clues. Signs. Little pieces that might one day lead to answers.
Because in the Fallen Lands, the one who survived wasn't the strongest — but the one who thought ahead.
His gaze narrowed as he traced fresh claw-marks dragging through the mud: thin, deep, razor-like. Shadowrunner. Recent.
Too close to the hut.
Tension built across his shoulders. He turned and headed back.
The hut sat hidden beneath dead thornwood. A thin trail of smoke curled from the tilted metal pipe they used as a chimney. A good sign — Ellie was awake.
The wooden door creaked as he stepped inside. She spun toward him on instinct — then relaxed the moment she saw his face.
"You're late."
"Was something out there," he said simply, reaching back to unbuckle his coat and hang it by the doorway. The handles of his twin blades glinted briefly before he covered them again.
Ellie — almost fifteen now — tied her dark hair back into a messy knot. "Hungry? I made soup."
She tried to sound casual. But Veyr missed nothing. Not the faint worry shining in her eyes. Not the little frown she hadn't been fast enough to hide.
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth — a softness only she could draw out of him.
"Shadowrunners were nearby," he said, as she handed him a steaming wooden bowl.
Ellie froze. "How close?"
"Too close. I'll keep watch tonight."
She bit her lip. Then nodded, brave as ever — though even bravery had limits in a world like this.
Veyr sat on the low bench, blowing gently across the soup's surface. His gaze drifted, without thought, back toward the door.
They were safe here. For now. But he trusted nothing. No one. Not even the ground beneath their feet.
This land had taught him one lesson, deeper and sharper than any other: Only those who stay aware survive.