The wind had picked up as we approached Ironhold, the last of the great cities still standing after the Fall. It howled across the barren landscape, kicking up clouds of ash and dust. I had seen ruins, seen the empty shells of cities where the world had turned to chaos, but Ironhold was different. It was standing. Barely. And it was our only hope now.
The distant outline of the city was jagged, its skyline a mix of steel and concrete that had long lost its former luster. The walls of Ironhold were more fortress than city, towering high into the sky, pocked with battle scars, bullet holes, and the remnants of battles fought long ago. The iron gates that once might have been a symbol of strength now seemed like an archaic reminder of a time before the Fall, rusted and stained by years of neglect.
But this was it. Ironhold. One of the last sanctuaries for both tamers and survivors. And we needed to get inside.
We didn't have much left in us—just the supplies on our backs, and whatever determination we could scrape together. But we had come too far to turn back now. The city loomed before us, its broken streets cutting a path through the wasteland that separated it from the land we'd been traveling through for days. The mist clung to the ground like an omen, winding its way around the edges of the road, the sound of it whispering in the eerie stillness. The fog, thick and unnatural, held the city's secrets—secrets that I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
Specter, now fully bonded and walking beside me, moved with a strange grace that defied its monstrous form. Its insectoid legs twitched with every step, the eerie mist swirling around it like a cloak. Smoke, his form still flickering between solid and smoke, was just as tense, his tail snapping at the air. I wasn't the only one who could feel the weight of the unknown pressing in around us.
"Ready?" I asked, glancing at Smoke.
His response was a low growl, a warning more than anything, but the message was clear. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect from Ironhold, and I wasn't either. The air here felt different, charged with something I couldn't quite place. Tension. Fear. And under it all, the bitter scent of decay.
With no more words to say, I stepped forward, my hand resting lightly on the hilt of my spear. Smoke followed, his movements swift and silent, a shadow at my side. Specter trailed behind us, its glowing eyes flicking from one side of the road to the other, its form occasionally distorting as if it didn't quite belong in the physical world.
As we neared the gates, I could see the outlines of guards, their figures barely visible through the mist. At first, there was no movement, no indication that we were even being watched. But as we got closer, I could see the faint shimmer of metal in the dim light, the unmistakable silhouette of a person clad in the armor of Ironhold.
I slowed, ready for any reaction, but the guard didn't make a move. Instead, he just watched us—his stance rigid, his hand never straying far from the sword at his side. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for us. Waiting for someone.
"State your business," he called, his voice raspy and cold, like it had been years since he'd last spoken to anyone.
I hesitated. "We're looking to get inside," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "We're just passing through."
The guard's eyes narrowed as he took us in. He didn't seem like the type to trust anyone at first glance, and given the state of the city, I didn't blame him. Ironhold wasn't exactly known for its hospitality.
"You're not from around here," he observed. It wasn't a question, just a blunt statement.
"No," I said, glancing behind me toward Specter. "We're not."
The guard studied us for a moment longer before he took a step back and motioned to the gates. The groan of the metal was deafening as it slid open, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings like a warning. No warm greeting, no welcoming party. Just the cold, harsh reality of survival in a place like this.
"You'll need to go through the checkpoint," the guard said, his tone unreadable. "If you're lucky, they'll let you in. If not... well, you can always turn back."
We didn't have the luxury of turning back. We were in this now, no matter what the factions inside might decide.
"We don't have time for games," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
The guard didn't respond, only stepped aside and gestured for us to pass. His expression remained stoic as the heavy gates creaked open, revealing the streets beyond.
Ironhold wasn't what I'd expected. From the outside, it had looked like a crumbling relic, barely hanging on. But once the gates swung wide, the city inside was more alive than I'd imagined. The streets were deserted, yes, but not dead. There was movement—shadows flickered in windows, the occasional flash of light through cracks in the walls. The city was still here, and it was still fighting to survive.
The buildings were a mix of old and new, patches of iron welded to broken concrete, giving the city a makeshift, cobbled-together look. Most of the structures were in ruins, but there was a resilience to the way people had adapted. Ironhold had never been a shining beacon of civilization, but it had always been a symbol of hope. That hope seemed to be fading now.
Smoke growled softly beside me as we walked deeper into the city. His senses were sharp, and he didn't like the stillness. Even Specter—whose presence had always felt unsettling—seemed uneasy as it glided silently next to me, its insectoid legs barely making a sound on the cracked pavement.
The few people we passed didn't pay us much attention, but I could feel their eyes on us, measuring us, assessing us. Outsiders were rare here, and even rarer were the ones who didn't belong to any of the factions. But that's exactly what we were. Outsiders.
The checkpoint came into view shortly after, guarded by a pair of men in thick, patchwork armor. They didn't look much different than the first guard we'd encountered, except their expressions were even more hardened, more cynical.
"State your name and business," one of the guards said as we approached, his eyes flicking to Specter and then to Smoke.
I hesitated. "I'm—"
The second guard interrupted. "Don't care about your name. Just tell us what you're doing here."
"We're passing through," I repeated. "We need supplies."
The first guard eyed me with suspicion. "We don't just let anyone in."
The second guard grinned. It was a cold, humorless thing. "Well, you're lucky enough that we're feeling generous today."
They didn't say another word, just motioned for us to move through the checkpoint. I didn't trust them. I didn't trust the city. But it was all we had now.
As we crossed the threshold into the heart of Ironhold, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had just walked into a much bigger game than we were ready for.
The city felt heavier with every step. The sense of danger—of something looming just out of sight—was thick in the air. It was more than just the tension between factions. There was something about Ironhold itself, something that pushed on my instincts. Maybe it was the way the mist swirled at the edges of every street, or the way the buildings loomed like jagged teeth.
I gripped my spear tightly.
"Stay alert," I whispered to Smoke. "This place isn't what it seems."
He let out a low growl in agreement, his body tensing, ready for anything.
Specter was already blending with the mist, its form flickering in and out of view. It seemed right at home here—like it, too, was hiding in the shadows, watching for danger.