The air outside the Hollow was a violent contrast to the stabilized amber hum of the sanctuary. It was cold—not the honest, biting cold of a winter morning, but a sterile, soul-sucking chill that felt like it was trying to drain the heat directly from my marrow. My hands were a constant, throbbing reminder of my recklessness at the Spire. The silver stains had not just spread; they had hardened into a network of raised, metallic scars that traced the tendons of my wrists like cooling solder. Every time I flexed my fingers, the skin pulled with a dry, papery friction, and the Aether beneath the surface pulsed with a dull, rhythmic ache. I was a machine running on the wrong grade of fuel, and the friction was starting to melt my bearings.
Elion led the way with a grim, tireless pace. He didn't look back, his tattered coat snapping in the unnatural wind like the wings of a scavenger. We were moving through what used to be the Industrial District of Oakhaven—a place I once knew by the sound of its foundries and the soot on its windows. Now, it was a forest of skeletal iron and weeping glass. The massive smokestacks of the steel mills had been twisted by the Zero Point into spiraling, obsidian horns that pierced the violet sky, and the railyards were a tangled mess of rusted tracks that rose into the air like frozen waves.
"Watch your step," Elion muttered, his voice barely audible over the crystalline tinkling of the wind through the glass shards. "The ground here is thin. The records of density were some of the first to fray in this sector. If you put too much weight on a stress point, you won't just fall through the floor; you'll fall through the reality of the floor."
I nodded, though my eyes were already fixed on the ground. I didn't need his warning. Through the pain, the lines were clearer than ever. I could see the structural fatigue in the very air. The space between the rusted warehouses was filled with shimmering, translucent fractures—cracks in the sky that looked like the surface of a frozen pond after a heavy stone had hit it. Some areas were dense and knotted with silver threads, while others were hollow, grey voids where the Aether had simply ceased to exist. I navigated the ruins like I was walking through a minefield, stepping only where the threads were thick enough to hold a human soul.
"It's quiet," I whispered, the sound of my own voice feeling like a violation of the stillness. "Is there nothing left alive out here?"
"Life is a complex record, Niall," Elion replied without stopping. "It requires a lot of variables to remain constant. Most things couldn't handle the shift. They either dissolved into the background noise or became something else entirely. Survival out here isn't about strength. It's about how much of your original blueprint you're willing to let go of."
We passed the remains of an old worker's café. The sign was still hanging by a single chain, though the letters had been scrambled into symbols that made my head throb. Inside, I could see the shapes of people sitting at tables, but they weren't the stone statues I'd seen in the city center. They were shadows—faint, flickering imprints on the air, like a film reel caught in a loop. I watched as one of them lifted a phantom cup to a mouth that wasn't there, the gesture repeating every few seconds with mechanical precision.
"Residual echoes," Elion said, noticing my gaze. "The environment recorded their last moments of stability. They aren't even ghosts. They're just static."
I looked away, a lump forming in my throat. I remembered this place. I had eaten here once after a long shift at the garage. The coffee had been terrible and the seats were greasy, but it had been real. Now, it was just a glitch in the system. I gripped the handle of my wrench, the cold metal the only anchor I had left. I wondered how long it would be before I became a residual echo, a nineteen-year-old mechanic perpetually fixing a car that no longer existed.
The silence was suddenly broken by a heavy, metallic thud, followed by the sound of breaking glass. It didn't come from the wind or the shifting ruins. It was purposeful. Elion stopped instantly, his hand disappearing into his coat. I froze, my eyes scanning the shadows of a collapsed warehouse ahead.
A figure stepped out from behind a pile of obsidian rubble. He was tall, built like a brick wall, wearing a reinforced leather jacket that looked like it had been salvaged from a riot squad. His hair was shaved short, and his eyes burned with an intense, golden light—the unmistakable sign of someone who had consumed too much raw Aether. In his hands, he carried a heavy iron pipe, but as he gripped it, the metal began to glow with a dull, orange heat.
"Scavengers?" the man asked, his voice a deep, resonant growl. "Or more of the Hollow's pets?"
"Neither, Kairon," Elion said, his posture relaxing slightly, though he didn't move his hand from his coat. "Just a weary traveler and a boy who's seen too much."
The man named Kairon squinted at us, his gaze lingering on my silver-stained hands. He let out a sharp, cynical laugh and lowered the iron pipe. "A boy, huh? He looks like he's one bad day away from turning into a crystal pillar. You're pushing him too hard, Elion."
"He bridged a primary Record, Kairon," Elion said, stepping forward. "He saved the Hollow's anchor."
Kairon's expression shifted from amusement to genuine surprise. He walked toward us, his footsteps heavy and solid, unlike the light, predatory gait of Elion. As he approached, I could feel the heat radiating off him. He wasn't just using the Aether; he was burning it. His internal frequency was a roar, a high-octane engine running at full throttle.
"Is that right?" Kairon said, standing in front of me. He was a head taller than me, and his presence was overwhelming. He looked at my burned hands with a mixture of pity and respect. "Bridging a Record without a conduit… that takes a special kind of stupid. Or a lot of guts. Which one is it, kid?"
"I'm a mechanic," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I saw a break. I fixed it."
Kairon grinned, revealing a row of surprisingly white teeth. "A mechanic. I like that. The world's a total wreck, and they send us a guy with a wrench. Perfect." He turned to Elion. "The road to the Library is blocked. A Fracture Zone opened up near the old bridge. The gravity is inverted, and the Aberrations are nesting in the pockets."
"We can't go around?" Elion asked, his brow furrowing.
"Not unless you want to walk through the Red Marshes," Kairon replied, shrugging. "And I don't think the kid's lungs are ready for that kind of corruption. I was headed that way myself to clear a path. My 'haven' needs supplies, and the Library district is the only place where the Records of preservation are still holding."
"Then we go together," Elion decided.
Kairon looked at me again, then at my wrench. "Fine. But if the kid starts to crack, I'm not carrying him. In this world, you either hold your own mass or you become part of someone else's."
We set off, now a trio. Kairon's presence changed the dynamic. Where Elion was a ghost, Kairon was a forge. He moved through the ruins with a blunt arrogance, his body literally pushing back the Aetheric fog. He was a practitioner of Physical Enhancement—he took the energy and forced it into his muscles and bones, turning himself into a living weapon. It was a crude, dangerous way to use the Aether, one that would eventually burn him out from the inside, but for now, he was the most solid thing I'd seen since the Zero Point.
As we reached the edge of the industrial district, the world began to warp. The air became a series of shimmering, vertical planes, like layers of mirrors stacked together. This was the Fracture Zone Kairon had mentioned. I could see the threads here—they were snapped and tangled, creating pockets of space where the rules of the old world had been flipped. To my left, a puddle of water was falling upward toward the sky. To my right, a rusted car was suspended in mid-air, spinning slowly as if in a vacuum.
"The bridge is just ahead," Kairon said, his voice tightening. "Stay close. If you step out of the path, the gravity will peel the skin right off your bones."
The bridge was a massive steel structure that spanned a deep gorge. In the old world, a river had flowed beneath it. Now, the gorge was filled with a swirling vortex of violet clouds and jagged obsidian shards. The bridge itself was broken in the middle, the two halves held together by a bridge of pure Aetheric energy—a shimmering, unstable walkway of light.
"The Aberrations are coming," Elion whispered.
From the shadows beneath the bridge, they emerged. These weren't like the one I'd seen in the city. They were larger, more distorted, their bodies fused with the scrap metal of the ruins. One of them had a head made of a shattered turbine, its blades spinning with a screeching, metallic wail. Another was a mass of long, needle-like limbs that clicked against the concrete like a swarm of insects.
"Clear the path, Kairon!" Elion barked.
Kairon didn't hesitate. He roared, his skin turning a deep, glowing bronze as he surged forward. He didn't use a weapon; he used himself. He slammed into the first Aberration with the force of a freight train, his fists glowing with orange heat. Every punch he landed sent a shockwave of energy through the air, shattering the crystalline structures of the monsters. It was a brutal, efficient display of power, but I could see the cost. Every time Kairon struck, the golden light in his eyes flickered, and a faint trail of steam rose from his skin. He was redlining, pushing his biological engine to the breaking point.
"Niall, the bridge!" Elion shouted, fending off a smaller creature with his metal rod. "The walkway is losing its frequency! You have to stabilize the threads or we'll fall!"
I looked at the bridge of light. It was flickering, the silver threads fraying under the weight of the combat. The vibrations from Kairon's impacts were shaking the very foundation of the Record. If the frequency dropped any further, the bridge would simply cease to exist.
I ran toward the edge of the chasm, my heart pounding in my ears. The pain in my hands was a white-hot scream now, but I ignored it. I dropped to my knees and pressed my palms against the cold, rusted steel of the bridge's anchor. I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, trying to find the "pulse" of the walkway.
It was a mess. The threads were vibrating in a chaotic, dissonant pattern. It was like trying to tune a radio while someone was screaming in your ear. I felt the nausea rising, the weight of the Aether pressing down on my brain. *Focus, Niall. It's just a machine. A bridge is just a series of tensions and loads. Find the primary chord. Find the anchor.*
I saw it—a single, golden thread that was the core of the walkway. It was thin, almost invisible, and it was being choked by the red corruption of the Aberrations. I reached out and grabbed it.
The feedback was instantaneous. I felt a surge of cold, biting energy flow up my arms, clashing with the heat of my scars. I screamed, my body arching in agony. It felt like my nerves were being replaced by high-voltage wires. But I didn't let go. I poured everything I had into that thread, forcing my own frequency into the bridge. I visualized the walkway becoming solid, becoming steel, becoming *real*.
The flickering stopped. The shimmering bridge of light turned a solid, brilliant silver, the threads locking into place with a sound like a thousand tumblers falling into a lock. The bridge was no longer a suggestion; it was a law.
"Now! Cross!" I choked out, the effort draining the very life from me.
Elion grabbed my collar and hauled me up, dragging me across the bridge. Kairon followed, throwing one last, devastating punch that sent the turbine-headed monster plummeting into the gorge. We scrambled across the silver walkway just as the last of the Aberrations reached the edge.
The moment we hit the solid ground on the other side, I let go. The bridge didn't just flicker; it vanished instantly, the silver threads snapping back into the void. The monsters on the other side let out a collective, electronic shriek as their prey escaped.
I collapsed into the dust, my lungs burning, my vision swimming with black spots. I couldn't feel my hands anymore. They were just numb, heavy weights at the ends of my arms. I looked at Kairon, who was slumped against a rusted railing, his skin returning to its normal color, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked ten years older than he had ten minutes ago.
"Nice… nice work, mechanic," Kairon wheezed, wiping a streak of blood from his nose. "I guess… I guess I'm carrying you after all."
"No," I whispered, pushing myself up with my elbows. "I can… I can walk."
Elion stood over us, his eyes scanning the horizon. The violet sky was darkening into a deep, oppressive black, and the obsidian moon was casting long, jagged shadows over the ruins ahead. We had crossed the Fracture Zone, but the world felt even more alien here. The buildings were taller, more distorted, their tops lost in the swirling clouds. This was the Central District—the heart of the old city, and the site of the Great Library.
"We're close," Elion said, his voice low and heavy. "But the silence here is different. Be careful. In the heart of the city, the Aether isn't just a force. It's a memory. And memories don't like to be disturbed."
We moved forward through the darkened streets. Everything here was preserved in a state of terrifying perfection. The shop windows were intact, the mannequins still wearing their fashionable clothes, their plastic faces frozen in hollow smiles. It looked like the world had simply stopped, like someone had hit a pause button on reality. But as I looked closer, I saw the horror. The mannequins weren't plastic. They were people, their skin turned to a fine, white porcelain, their eyes replaced by hollow, glowing pits.
"What survived the end?" I asked, my voice trembling as we passed a porcelain family standing on a street corner, their hands entwined in a final, silent embrace.
"The form," Elion replied, his gaze fixed ahead. "But the essence is gone. This is what happens when the Record is preserved but the soul is overwritten. They're perfect, Niall. And they're perfectly dead."
I looked at my own hands, at the silver scars and the glowing veins. Was this my fate? To become a perfect, porcelain version of myself, a mechanic who could read the world but had no world left to fix? The thought was a cold weight in my stomach.
We reached a massive, domed structure at the end of the boulevard. It was made of white stone and dark glass, its entrance flanked by two enormous statues of lions that seemed to be made of liquid shadows. This was the Great Library of Oakhaven. It hadn't been shattered by the Zero Point; it had been encased in it. The entire building was surrounded by a shimmering veil of energy that looked like falling rain.
"The Library of Records," Elion whispered. "The only place where the original blueprint might still exist. But the veil is a filter. Only those who can read the silence can pass."
I looked at the veil, then at Elion and Kairon. We were a broken team—a ghost, a forge, and a mechanic. We were the only things that had truly survived the end, not as porcelain statues or residual echoes, but as flawed, hurting human beings.
"I'll open it," I said, stepping toward the veil.
"Niall, wait," Kairon said, his hand on my shoulder. He looked tired, the golden light in his eyes dimming. "If you do this, there's no going back. You'll be part of the Archive forever."
"I was already part of it the moment I saw the lines," I replied, looking at the shimmering rain of energy. "I'm a mechanic, Kairon. And I need to know how this machine works. Even if I have to take it apart with my bare hands."
I reached out and touched the veil. It didn't burn. It was cold, like the water of a mountain stream. I felt the threads of the Library wrap around my fingers, inviting me in. I looked back at my companions—at Elion's missing arm and Kairon's scorched skin. We were the survivors. We were the glitches. And we were the only hope this broken world had left.
The silence of the Library swallowed us as we stepped inside. The door closed behind us, and the world after Zero vanished, replaced by an infinite expanse of shelves and shadows. The end had come and gone, but the story was still being written. And for the first time, I felt like I was the one holding the pen.
The weight in my chest shifted, becoming a steady, driving rhythm. The mechanic was in the library. And the overhaul was about to begin.
What survived the end?
We did. And that was all that mattered.
The first page of the Great Record shimmered in the darkness, waiting for a reader. I took a deep breath and stepped into the light. The journey was far from over, but the diagnostic was complete. The world was broken. But I was Niall Arkan. And I was going to find the source of the failure.
The silence of the library was absolute. But in my mind, the gears were finally starting to turn.
"Let's get to work," I whispered.
And for the first time since the Zero Point, the threads of the world didn't look like cracks. They looked like a plan.