The fire cracked low in the ruins, a weak pulse of orange light flickering against fractured stone. Smoke curled upward in uncertain threads, vanishing into the hollow, bruised sky. The air smelled of old ash and blood—metallic, bitter, and faintly sweet in that way that made her stomach turn. Aria sat cross-legged near the fire, her cleaver resting across her knees, its edge dulled with soot and countless battles.
The wasteland night pressed down like a living thing—too quiet, too still. Every sound felt amplified: the scrape of wind dragging over jagged rubble, distant carrion birds crying somewhere overhead, the occasional shift of stone echoing like gunfire. Even the shallow, measured breaths of the man across from her sounded loud in the silence.
Lysander leaned back against the wall, one knee bent, sword resting within easy reach. His posture was calm, almost statuesque, but the exhaustion clung to him like smoke. Firelight carved hollows beneath his eyes, catching the faint sheen of sweat on his temple. Neither of them had slept properly in days.
The bond wouldn't allow it.
Every time Aria closed her eyes, flashes came—not hers, but his memories, bleeding through the thread that now tied their souls together. Nightmares he tried to bury clawed into her mind until she could taste his fear. And he, half-asleep, flinched when her own pain echoed back through the bond. It wasn't just fatigue. It was drowning.
Shared Vitality had saved them on the battlefield. But in quiet moments like this, it stripped them bare.
Aria dragged a hand through tangled hair and exhaled slowly. Her fingers trembled—not from cold, but from the restless hum of the bond. Her skin still tingled where his emotions brushed against hers—shards of anger, guilt, and something else she couldn't name.
"I keep thinking it'll stop," she muttered, voice hoarse. "That maybe we'll wake up and this whole thing—this bond—will just… fade."
Lysander didn't look up. "It won't."
His voice was low, calm, and too certain. It made the air feel heavier, dense.
She gave a humorless laugh. "Great. Exactly what I needed to hear before bed."
A flicker of amusement brushed against her through the bond—there and gone, like the echo of a smile. For a heartbeat, it almost made her forget how broken everything felt.
The night stretched on. The fire sank lower.
Then, a pulse of blue light cut through her vision.
Blinking, she shook her head, thinking exhaustion had conjured it—but the glowing text solidified in the air, sharp, cold.
[System Announcement:]
New Bounty Quest Issued
Target: Fatebound Pair [Aria & Lysander]
Reward: 5,000 Shards
Issuer: [Hidden]
Her breath caught. The message hovered like a brand burned into reality.
Across the fire, Lysander's head snapped up. His eyes locked with hers, and in that instant, she knew—he could see it too. The same lines, the same quiet horror pressing against his chest.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No… this can't be real. It's—some kind of glitch."
"It's not," he said flatly. "The System doesn't glitch."
The words felt like a blade. Cold, precise, merciless.
Being hunted wasn't new. The wasteland thrummed with danger, and everyone carried a target. But this… this was different. This was personal.
A bounty meant every scavenger, mercenary, warlord—every desperate soul with a weapon—would be after them by dawn. Five thousand shards. More than most would see in a lifetime.
She could already imagine the whispers, spreading through ruins—names passed around fires, greed igniting eyes. Her stomach twisted.
The firelight caught Lysander's face, half in shadow. Storms raged behind his calm mask.
"They know," he said quietly.
Her pulse jumped. "Know what?"
"That we're different." His tone was low, dangerous. "The System doesn't waste resources on nobodies. It marked us because of what we are. Because of the Fatebound link."
Aria wanted to argue—but she couldn't. Not after surviving the things they had, not after the System had tracked every shared ability, every synchronized move. It had noticed them. Someone, somewhere, was watching. The thought made her skin crawl.
Lysander's voice dropped lower. "Power in this world never stays hidden. The moment we used Shared Vitality, we painted a mark on our backs."
Aria swallowed hard. "So… what now? Do we just wait for the entire wasteland to come knocking?"
He gave a faint, grim smile. "If they knock, we're lucky. Most won't bother."
Silence settled. The fire sputtered, embers fighting the cold. Somewhere, a distant creature screamed—a high, long note fading into nothing.
Aria drew her knees closer, cleaver resting in her lap. The bond pulsed faintly, matching her heartbeat. Matching his. She hated how steady it felt.
"I wish I didn't know what you were feeling right now," she murmured.
Lysander's gaze lifted. "And what's that?"
"Scared. Angry. Tired." Her voice softened. "And… trying too hard not to show it."
A flicker passed through his expression—surprise, maybe guilt. Then he looked away, jaw tightening.
"I don't have the luxury of showing it," he said.
"Neither do I," she whispered. "But it's still there."
The bond hummed quietly between them.
The night stretched thin. Shadows deepened. The world seemed to hold its breath.
And far beyond their ruined shelter, hunters stirred.
In what was once a city's heart, skeletons of skyscrapers jutted like broken teeth. Beneath a shattered dome, a fire burned cold and blue. Around it, a dozen figures waited, silent. Some wore armor patched from scrap and bone, others draped in tattered cloth dyed like dried blood.
The Carrion Faction had gathered.
Their leader sat at the head of a steel table, rusted, sharp-edged, stained. The Vulture King. A mask fashioned from some beast's skull, hollow sockets glowing faintly. Every movement whispered like feathers brushing glass.
The System's message shimmered before him. Bright enough to cast everyone in cold light.
[System Announcement:]
New Bounty Quest Issued
Target: Fatebound Pair [Aria & Lysander]
Reward: 5,000 Shards
"The System calls them Fatebound," the Vulture King rasped. "Do you know what that means?"
No answer. Only the weight of his presence.
"It means the System has chosen them. When it chooses, it leaves nothing to chance. These two… they're worth more than shards. They're a key. A disruption."
A scarred lieutenant leaned forward. "Could be a trap. Maybe bait."
"Maybe," the Vulture King said softly, smiling beneath the mask. "But even traps have teeth worth taking."
He turned toward the cold fire. "Find them. Proof. Alive, if you can. Dead, if you must. Either way, the wasteland will remember who took the Fatebound first."
The Carrion Faction rose. Blades caught the dim light. Then, like shadows spilling over ruins, they vanished.
Far to the south, another fire burned red against the night.
The Crimson Blades were already moving. Their camp sprawled across a rocky plateau, tents flapping, banners marked with a bleeding sun snapping in the wind. Sparks rose from a forge where weapons were sharpened and packed. Steel rang against stone in a rhythm that was almost musical, but not comforting.
At the center, Captain Kaelira stood, eyes like molten steel, scanning the System announcement projected above her gauntlet. Her lips curved into a sharp, cruel grin.
Fatebound, she whispered under her breath. System-chosen. Cursed or blessed—it doesn't matter. They bleed, they die, and we get paid.
Her soldiers chuckled low, dark amusement flickering in the firelight. Kaelira's hair caught the flames, a halo of orange against the night's black.
"Pack light. Move fast," she said. "If the Carrion Faction's heading north, we'll head west. I want their heads before sunrise."
Back in the ruins, Aria's eyes snapped open. The bond pulsed sharply—a flicker of unease that wasn't hers. Lysander's heartbeat brushed against her mind like static, urgent and tense.
He was already on his feet, sword drawn, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the dying firelight.
"What is it?" she whispered.
He didn't answer at once. His gaze flicked over the broken pillars, the jagged walls. The ruins felt too silent, too measured, almost… waiting.
Then she heard it. Gravel shifting under careful steps. A faint metallic scrape. Movement.
"We're not alone," he said.
Her hand shot to her cleaver. Her pulse thudded violently. Through the bond, she felt Lysander's focus snap into a razor's edge—cold, disciplined, lethal. It steadied her.
Shapes emerged from shadow. Slivers of metal flashed—blades, scavenged rifles, patchwork armor.
Bounty hunters.
A voice hissed from the darkness. "Five thousand shards for two people. You should've kept running."
Aria exhaled, forcing the panic down. You can do this. The cleaver felt heavier than it should, muscles screaming from exhaustion. Still, she rose.
Lysander stepped close, shoulder brushing hers—just enough for her to feel the warmth, the heartbeat thrumming between them.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Aria forced a shaky smile. "Not even close."
He nodded once. "Good. Neither am I."
The first shot cracked the night open.
Stone shattered near her feet. Aria dropped, rolled, came up swinging. Her cleaver met steel with a sharp clang. Sparks flew. Blood followed, the scent metallic and sharp.
The bond pulsed violently. Adrenaline and pain tangled together. Lysander's blade flashed beside her, silver streaks cutting the dark like lightning.
Each movement echoed between them—his attack, her counter, instinct intertwined with instinct. She felt the sting when a blade grazed his side, and he felt the weight of her exhaustion pressing against him.
"Left!" he barked.
She pivoted without thought. Her cleaver sank into an attacker's arm.
The hunters were fast, desperate—but desperation is messy.
Lysander carved through two attackers. Aria spun, kicked another back, slammed her cleaver into chestplate. The air smelled of blood and smoke, iron coating her tongue.
The bond blazed now, too bright. Vision blurred at the edges. Every wound, every bruise was mirrored between them.
When the last hunter fell, silence roared louder than the battle itself.
Aria staggered, cleaver slipping from her fingers. Lysander caught her, steadying her.
"Still with me?" he asked.
"Barely," she breathed, managing a weak grin. "You fight like a machine."
He let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "You hit harder than one."
The System blinked before them, soft chime echoing in the ruins.
[System Notification:]
First Hunt Survived
Bond Sync: 61%
The number burned in the dark, bright as fire. Aria's chest rose and fell fast. Sixty-one percent. Every fight brought them closer—to what, she didn't know. But something in that number felt heavier than it should.
"They won't stop, will they?" she asked.
"No," he said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon where faint fires glimmered. Camps. Movements. Everywhere.
"They're already moving," she whispered, stomach turning cold.
"Then we move faster."
He turned, scanning the dark. The wind caught his hair, firelight dancing across his blood-streaked face.
Aria bent down, picking up her cleaver. The blade was chipped, edge dull, but she gripped it tight. Hand trembling—adrenaline or fear, she couldn't tell.
She looked to him. Calm, but the storm under the surface was clear through the bond—exhaustion, anger, and something unspoken.
Silence stretched. Then a single laugh broke the night. High, sharp, mocking.
Aria froze. Ice crawled down her spine.
Lysander's hand found hers—not comfort, but readiness. His eyes locked on hers, unyielding.
They knew what that sound meant.
The first hunt was over.
But the war for their lives had just begun.