The sand was too hot.
He could feel it through his boots. He could feel the sweat crawling down his back, the metallic taste in his mouth, and the uneven thumping of his heart.
But more than anything… he could feel the thing ahead.
It moved between the rocks, slow, deliberate. Massive. Plated in dark, cracked chitin. It was crouched over a body — maybe one of its own — tearing flesh in wet, rhythmic jerks.
Shin'en didn't know what it was called.
But he knew what it meant.
Danger.
He crouched behind a half-buried slab of stone, bow drawn, string taut between fingers slick with sweat.
His shoulders already ached.
"Don't shake. Don't miss."
He inhaled through his nose.
Aim for the eye. Not the skull. Not the plates.
He released.
The arrow whistled through the air and struck the beast's eye with a sharp, wet snap.
It screamed.
Its head jerked violently. Black blood sprayed across the sand.
Not dead.
It turned toward him. And charged.
Shin'en stood, backed away. He reached for another arrow, but his fingers slipped.
"Great."
He dropped the bow and bolted to the side. Just in time.
The creature slammed into the stone. The impact shattered it like brittle glass.
Shards whistled through the air.
Something cut his arm.
He rolled in the sand, breath heaving, heart pounding.
The heat stuck to his skin like glue.
He got up. Found his footing.
The bow was lost.
"Close-range it is."
He drew his blade. Not smoothly, but with practiced urgency.
The beast turned, groaning, its mouth wide, jaw twitching with rage. One eye blind. The other burning with fury.
"You're gonna make me earn this, huh."
It lunged.
He dodged, barely.
The blade flashed — hit a plate, bounced off with a dull clang.
No blood.
He backed off. It followed. Fast. Too fast.
One paw slammed the ground where he'd been a second ago.
The shock threw him off balance. He hit the ground hard, scrambled back, sword raised just in time to deflect another strike.
It wasn't enough.
He rolled, came up clumsily. Too slow.
The beast's horn sliced past his ribs. His cloak tore open.
The sun hit his skin like fire.
"Perfect. Let's add a sunburn to the list."
It came at him again.
No time to think.
He feinted left, dove right.
The sword struck a gap between plates. Deep.
The creature shrieked and reeled.
He didn't stop.
Another step. Another strike.
The blade plunged under its jaw, slicing through soft, pulsing tissue.
The beast shuddered. Twitched. Collapsed.
Shin'en stumbled back and dropped to the ground, breathing hard.
His arms shook. His head spun. Every part of him was screaming.
"...Still alive?"
Silence.
Then — a voice.
Cool. Flat. Genderless.
"You have slain a minor-class Yk'sharr."
He blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
No answer.
The voice was gone. Like it had never been there at all.
He looked at the creature. Definitely dead.
He pushed himself to his feet. Legs shaky, hands sore.
Always retrieve the core.
He walked to the carcass, blade in hand.
Sliced into the thick hide. Pulled open cracked armor plates. The stench made him gag.
He reached inside.
His fingers brushed something warm and hard.
He pulled it free.
A core. Faintly glowing. Pale blue, threaded with gold veins that pulsed like a living thing.
He stared at it.
"So that's what all the trouble was about."
He slid it into a leather pouch. Closed it.
Took a breath.
The desert stretched ahead. Empty. Still.
But he didn't feel alone anymore.
Something had noticed him.
***
It took him nearly two more hours to reach it.
The heat had softened, but the air was still dry enough to flay skin. His legs ached, and every step sent a dull pulse of pain up through his hip.He was tired. Hungry. Still tasting someone else's blood in his mouth — or maybe the beast's. He didn't know anymore.
When the city came into view, he stopped walking.
The Bone City. Built inside the remains of something that should never have existed. A ribcage the size of a fortress, its blackened bones cracked and jutting out of the sand like the ribs of a dead god.Between them — lights. Flags. People. Movement.
"Just as ugly as I remember."
He kept walking.
Two guards stood at the gate — if it could be called that — leaning against a chunk of fossilized bone covered in half-faded glyphs.
They didn't say anything. One just held out his hand.
Shin'en reached into his pouch and placed a small crystal in the man's palm.Bluish, with violet glints. Faintly pulsing.
The guard gave it a look, then stepped aside.
The other didn't speak either.
That was how the city worked.
It was worse inside.
People moved through the narrow pathways carved between the ribs like rats in a maze.Traders. Nomads. Mercenaries. Broken priests and silent killers. Faces scarred by wind and fire. Eyes that looked past you.
The air reeked of smoke, cheap incense, old blood, and heat-soaked metal.The ground vibrated beneath footsteps, shouting, makeshift construction hammered into the ancient vertebrae overhead.
A child ran past him barefoot, holding something wrapped in bloody cloth.
Guards stood on scaffolding, watching. Not protecting. Just... watching.
A beggar whispered prayers in a language no one remembered. His skin was marked with burned-in runes.
Shin'en walked slowly, eyes low. Step by step. Not too fast. Not too slow.
He wasn't looking for trouble. But he was paying attention.
"Water. A place to sit. And maybe a reason not to give up yet."
He passed a stall selling black fruit that bled when sliced.Another displayed necklaces made from demon fangs.A woman in tattered robes recited the names of the dead, blindfolded.
No one noticed him. That was good.
He turned into a smaller path beneath a massive rib arching overhead.
The shop had no sign. Just a purple lantern swaying in the hot wind.
Inside, it was cramped. Dim.
A dozen people. Maybe more. All quiet. Watching their bowls. Not each other.
An old man wiped a bowl with a rag that might once have been white.His eyes met Shin'en's. No expression.
"What'll it be?"
"Water. And something warm."
The man disappeared behind a curtain of leather.
Shin'en sat near the wall. Not the back corner — that drew attention. Just close enough to the door to leave fast, if needed.
His hip throbbed where the beast had clipped him.He ignored it.
Two men were speaking at a table nearby. Not loud. But not careful enough.
He didn't mean to listen. Until one of them said:
"...sealed tomb. Way up north. The Hollow Valleys."
He didn't turn. Just kept still.
"Raiders found it. Real ones. Deep runes, sarcophagus locked from inside. Ancient."
"And they opened it?"
"Not all the way. One of them came back missing an arm. The other… didn't come back."
"And the cult?"
Shin'en blinked once.
"The Sun Cult's moving again. Priests resurfacing. Whispering about recovered fragments. Something about the Burning Litanies."
"I thought they were wiped out."
"They weren't. They just waited."
"And the capital?"
"Shaking. Rumors. Power shifting. Someone's pulling strings. Not from the shadows — from deeper than that."
The old man returned with a chipped bowl of hot soup and a cup of tepid water.
Shin'en nodded once, took the meal without a word.
He ate slowly. Not because he wanted to savor it. But because it was what his body needed.
"A sealed tomb. A dead cult crawling back to life. A capital about to collapse..."
He took a sip of water. Closed his eyes for a second.
"And I'm sitting in a skeleton, eating boiled gods-know-what, trying not to die."
The city breathed around him — alive in a way that felt wrong. Unnatural.
The world was shifting. Again.He could feel it. Not in his skin. In his bones.
And something — something old — was listening.