The Cataclysm swallowed sound, light, and reason the deeper they went.
For hours, Silas and Kaelen moved across the splintered landscape, leaping from road fragments to twisted spines of buildings that clung desperately to the void. The shards around Silas stayed in constant motion, wary and restless. Kaelen's steps slowed more than once, her wound bleeding through the cloth bandage, but she never asked him to stop.
It was Kaelen who saw it first—a glow that wasn't the Cataclysm's pulse.
She froze, pointing ahead. "There. Do you see it?"
Silas narrowed his gaze. At first it looked like another trick of the void, one of the illusions that lured travelers into nothingness. But as they approached, the glow resolved into something unmistakable: firelight. Not a lone flame, but many, flickering in a rhythm that spoke of people.
They reached the edge of a fractured causeway, and Silas' shards spread outward in defense. Below, nestled between crumbling skyscrapers and stitched together with scavenged metal, wood, and cloth, was something impossible. A settlement. Dozens of shelters lined a square carved from collapsed stone. Lanterns glowed. People moved.
Kaelen's eyes widened. "There are survivors here?"
"Or bait," Silas said coldly.
Still, he descended, his shards spiraling into steps of light that carried them down to the outskirts of the strange camp. Kaelen followed, her hand never leaving her sword.
The settlement was quiet as they entered. Faces turned toward them—thin, hollow, scarred faces, eyes burning with suspicion and hunger. Men and women, some armed with crude weapons, others clutching children close. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Silas heard the words. Hybrid.Unauthorized.Ghost.
Kaelen touched his arm gently, though he didn't need it. "They know who you are."
Of course they did. Word traveled through the Cataclysm like fire through dry brush. His presence wasn't just noticed—it was feared, magnified, twisted.
An old man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a broken staff. His robes were patched, torn, but his gaze was steady.
"You," he said hoarsely. "Renvar. The one who walks with shards."
Silas' shards hummed low, defensive. "And you?"
"A survivor. Nothing more." The man's eyes narrowed. "But you bring danger with you. The Conclave hunts you. If they find this place…" His gaze shifted briefly to Kaelen, then back to Silas. "You'll drag us all into the void."
Murmurs of agreement rose, sharper this time. Kaelen stepped forward quickly, her voice raised. "We didn't even know this place existed. If you want us gone, we'll leave. But—" She glanced back at Silas, then at the people. "If you've survived here this long, you've seen what hunts. You must know something we don't."
The crowd muttered, some hostile, others uncertain. The old man studied her for a long moment, then sighed, his shoulders sinking.
"Come," he said at last. "If you must pass through, then hear what you step into."
The settlement was larger than it first appeared. Tunnels and bridges linked hollowed towers, each filled with the remnants of old-world life repurposed into survival. Children played with broken drones like toys, their laughter thin but real. Women boiled something foul-smelling over open flames. Men sharpened weapons fashioned from scrap.
Silas moved like a shadow among them, his shards never fully retreating. Kaelen stayed close, her eyes flicking to every movement, every glance.
They entered a crumbling hall lit by lanterns. The old man sat heavily on a cracked chair, gesturing for them to stand.
"The Conclave's nets are tightening," he said without preamble. "We've seen their soldiers pass overhead, more in the last week than in the last year. And when they move, the Cataclysm stirs."
Silas' gaze was sharp. "Why here?"
"Because this place," the old man whispered, lowering his voice, "was once a Gate."
Kaelen frowned. "Gate?"
The man nodded. "Long before the world broke, this was one of the anchor-points. Where the System's veins ran deepest. That's why this settlement stands while so much else falls. The Cataclysm feeds on those veins. But so does… something else."
The air seemed colder.
"Something else?" Kaelen pressed.
The man's voice grew raspier. "We call it the Sleeper. A presence beneath us. Buried in the veins. It doesn't move. Doesn't speak. But it breathes. And every time it does, this place trembles."
Kaelen looked unsettled, but Silas' expression didn't change.
"And you stayed here?" Silas asked.
The old man's eyes glimmered faintly. "Because the Sleeper frightens the Conclave more than it frightens us. They pass overhead, but they don't set foot here. Not unless they must."
Kaelen's hand tightened on her blade. "And now that we've come, they'll have reason to."
The old man leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Tell me true, Hybrid. Do you seek to destroy them? Or are you simply running?"
Silas' shards hovered closer, faint light shimmering along their edges. His eyes locked with the old man's, calm but merciless.
"I don't run."
The old man shivered, though the firelight didn't waver. "Then maybe… you're what this place has been waiting for."
Before Kaelen could ask what he meant, the walls shook. The lantern flames bent inward, as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room.
Children screamed outside. Shouts rose.
Silas' shards snapped into formation. Kaelen was already on her feet, blade gleaming.
From the horizon, the void pulsed—deep, slow, heavy. A breath. The old man's face went pale.
"The Sleeper," he whispered.
Another pulse. The ground split, a tremor rattling through the settlement. From the cracks seeped light—bright, unstable, glitching.
The whispers returned. Not distant echoes this time. Clearer. Hungrier.
Silas' blood surged, hybrid resonance burning like fire in his veins. He looked to the horizon, then down to the light crawling beneath their feet.
Kaelen's voice was tight. "What is it?"
Silas' shards flared, the glow sharp against the trembling walls.
"Judgment," he said softly. "Something is waking."
And as the ground split wider, the settlement began to scream.