The silence hit first.
Sky opened his eyes slowly, squinting against faint streaks of sunlight bleeding through cracked wooden beams above. Dust hung suspended in the air, shimmering softly in the sparse daylight like tiny embers. Everything felt distant—his memories, sensations, even his own body. He lay still, breathing shallow, uncertain for a moment if the world had finally ended or if he was still trapped within its remains.
His muscles protested sharply as he tried to move, aches radiating through every fiber. He groaned quietly, the sound raw and foreign to his ears. A deep exhaustion clung to him, heavy and oppressive, like wet cloth against his skin. His chest burned slightly with each breath, the remnants of pain still fresh beneath layers of soot and dried blood.
"Still breathing," he whispered hoarsely, a faint humorless smile briefly touching his lips. "Lucky me."
Carefully, Sky braced himself against the charred remains of a chair, forcing his body into a seated position. Splinters scraped against his palm, but it was just another minor discomfort among many. His clothes hung from his frame in tattered strips, blackened edges scratching uncomfortably against his skin. He glanced downward, assessing the damage. His ribs felt bruised, a deep wound now a closed scar covered in dirt and grime. His boots, soaked and heavy, clung to his feet unpleasantly.
He exhaled bitterly, shaking his head. "Not exactly ready for company."
He looked around slowly, absorbing the details of the room. It had once been someone's home, he guessed, but now it was little more than a charred shell. Fragments of broken furniture, blackened by fire, lay scattered around like forgotten relics. There was nothing of use here, nothing to salvage but silence and ash.
Sky closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath despite the pain in his chest. His Weather Core pulsed faintly—weak but present, a quiet reassurance beneath his exhaustion. His heart steadied slightly. He was alive, and for now, that was enough.
Slowly, deliberately, he stood, swaying slightly as dizziness briefly clouded his vision. He steadied himself, taking a long, cautious step forward.
"Water first," he murmured softly to himself, forming a basic plan from the scattered thoughts in his weary mind. "Then food. Then clothes."
Each step echoed softly, punctuating the overwhelming quietness of his surroundings. The ruined house seemed to hold its breath as he stepped toward the faint outline of daylight filtering in through a broken doorway, preparing himself to face whatever awaited him outside.
The outside air was heavy, thick with dampness and decay. Sky paused, taking it in. Streets lay silent beneath a veil of ruin, cracked pavement hidden beneath wild growth. Abandoned cars sat rusted, skeletal reminders of forgotten lives.
Each cautious step felt louder than the last, echoing softly off empty walls. Hunger clawed at his gut, thirst burned raw in his throat. His eyes scanned the horizon for threats, survival instincts honed to sharp edges by necessity.
Ahead, the outline of a grocery store emerged—a beacon of potential amidst devastation. Its sign was faded, the letters barely legible, and the entrance stood dark and uncertain. Sky hesitated, evaluating the risk before stepping inside, nose wrinkling at the scent of mold and rot.
"Home sweet home," he muttered grimly.
Inside was chaos. Shelves lay overturned, cans scattered uselessly, their contents spoiled or rusted. He sifted through the debris methodically, desperate for something salvageable. Beside a fallen vending machine, he knelt and pried open a panel. Relief washed over him when he found a dusty but sealed bottle of water.
He drank greedily, savoring the lukewarm liquid, the relief immediate and profound.
"Better," he murmured gratefully, stowing what remained.
Further searching yielded an unlabeled can, heavy and sealed. He shook it cautiously, weighing the risk.
"Beans or poison," he sighed. "I'll take my chances."
He grabbed a bent can opener and a cracked lighter from the rubble, feeling slightly more equipped than before. Every little item counted.
Sky moved deeper into the city's ruins, the surroundings becoming tangled and dense with vegetation and debris. Buildings leaned precariously, their structures compromised, nature reclaiming territory.
He followed an instinctive path, guided subtly by faded markings, the signs of others who'd passed through. At a broken intersection, a dark storm drain loomed open, half-hidden beneath debris. It offered the potential of shelter and protection. Sky approached cautiously, peering into its depths.
He climbed down carefully, grateful for the cooler, damp air below. The tunnel was silent, ancient, and smelled faintly of rust and mold. Graffiti lined the walls, hints of previous travelers passing through. Sky moved slowly, cautious, each step deliberate.
A tarp-wrapped bundle caught his attention, tucked neatly in a shadowy alcove. Curiosity quickened his pulse as he opened it, revealing a survival stash: a thick jacket, sturdy jeans, a small, curved blade with a bone handle, and a multitool.
Sky exhaled with relief, gratitude warming his chest. "Thanks, whoever you were," he whispered, pulling the clothes carefully onto his battered body. He slipped the knife into a side loop on his belt, the weight comforting and familiar. Each piece provided protection, bolstering his resolve.
Then his eyes caught a rough carving in the stone nearby—a crude spiral etched hastily beside faded coordinates. He leaned closer, tracing them slowly with a fingertip.
"SCW Plaza... Gravemarket," he murmured quietly, his Core stirring gently at the words. A sense of purpose began to form, solidifying into determination.
Sky adjusted his newfound gear, feeling a renewed confidence as he faced the tunnel's exit. He was ready to continue forward, ready to embrace whatever waited beyond the darkness.
Adjusting his gear once more, Sky paused as something else caught his eye—a second carving, rough but deliberate. Intrigued, he stepped closer, examining the etchings carefully.
A spiral, familiar yet subtly different from the one he'd encountered before, lay scrawled hastily in the stone. Beside it were faded coordinates, partially obscured by grime and time. He leaned in, tracing each number carefully with a finger.
"SCW Plaza... Gravemarket," he read quietly again, testing the words aloud. Recognition stirred within him, a faint tug from his Weather Core resonating gently in response.
Questions began to form, weaving cautiously through his thoughts. Who had carved this? Was it connected to Nyx, or something else entirely? Either way, he had a lead—a direction and perhaps a purpose.
Sky straightened slowly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The darkness around him seemed less oppressive now, the uncertainty less overwhelming. He was no longer merely surviving—he was pursuing something tangible, however faint it might be.
Sky gathered his resolve, feeling a newfound clarity and determination fill him. Adjusting the curved knife at his side and ensuring the multitool was secure, he moved toward the tunnel's exit. Each step brought him closer to the unknown yet gave him strength, fueled by the hope of answers and the necessity of survival.
The faint daylight gradually brightened as he ascended, until finally, he emerged back onto the streets. Gravemarket awaited, mysterious and dangerous, yet undeniably his next destination.
With quiet determination, Sky took a steadying breath and stepped forward, leaving the shadows behind.