The caravan rolled east under pale skies.
Wagons creaked, chocobos pulled heavy loads, and magitek haulers rumbled beside them until the air began to thin. The hum of crystal energy that filled the empire's lands grew faint, like a song fading into silence.
By the second day, the convoy reached the last outpost of civilization: a fortified border town that clung to the edge of the empire's crystal grid. Its walls were made of stone and repurposed metal, streaked with soot from the refineries that powered the last of the magitek.
Engines sputtered as they entered the main square. Blue light from the crystal conduits flickered weakly, unable to hold steady. The haulers stalled one by one, coughing smoke.
"This is it," Dole muttered, stepping down from his wagon. "The edge."
Moss looked beyond the walls. The horizon shimmered faintly, like heat above sand. The Aether Veil.
They had heard stories about it—the invisible wall where the empire's reach ended and the natural world began. Beyond it, magitek failed, aether currents flowed wild, and life followed no regulation or law.
An officer barked orders near the supply depot.
"All units to disembark and register! Magitek units are to be stripped and stored! Any remaining energy cores will be reclaimed by order of the Empire!"
Soldiers groaned and cursed as they unloaded their machines. Imperial engineers swarmed the vehicles, detaching conduits and collecting crystals for reuse.
Dole gave a bitter laugh. "They don't waste anything, do they?"
"Except for us," Moss said quietly.
Inside the walls, the border town pulsed with activity. Traders bartered with imperial clerks, exchanging wild game, ore, and medicinal herbs for food rations and tools. The place reeked of oil, smoke, and desperation—a halfway point between empire and wilderness.
"This is where the real journey starts," Dole said.
"After here, it's all on foot," Moss replied. He watched the last hauler get dragged to the depot, its once-bright frame now lifeless metal. "No magitek beyond the veil."
When their caravan's turn came, Bran was restless. The chocobo's feathers fluffed, and he tugged at the reins as if sensing what lay ahead. Moss calmed him with a hand along his neck.
"Easy, boy. You'll get used to open skies again."
Outside the gate, the land was wild and uneven, covered in tall grass and scattered stone. The hum of the empire's crystals ended abruptly as they crossed the veil's edge. The stillness that followed was startling.
No faint vibration of energy. No mechanical whine. Just wind, the creak of leather, and the sound of talons in the dirt.
For the first time in his life, Moss realized how loud silence could be.
Hours passed as they made distance from the border town. The road dissolved into a trail of trampled grass, the land sloping into forests and rocky hills.
Then came the first cry—from somewhere in the trees, sharp and guttural. Shadows flickered in the brush, low to the ground and fast.
Moss turned in the saddle, voice cutting through the murmurs. "Everyone, eyes up! Something's moving in the treeline!"
The civilians froze. Most were farmers, laborers, or traders—people the empire had labeled useless. Nearly three-quarters of the convoy had never seen a battlefield. They clutched their worn weapons—short swords, daggers, a few hunting bows—but their hands shook. Only a handful of trained soldiers remained, and the mages among them could be counted on one hand.
"Form up!" Moss called, sharper this time. "Get the civilians behind the wagons! Archers to the rear, blades up front! Dole, cover the right!"
The few who understood the orders moved quickly, pulling others into position.
The beasts burst from the undergrowth—wolves, or something like them, with black hides and faintly glowing eyes. One slammed into a soldier, another lunged at a chocobo's throat.
Moss swung from Bran's saddle, his blade cutting through the nearest creature. It dissolved into dark mist and blue sparks. Dole raised a hand, muttering a spell. Fire ignited at his fingertips, and the next wave of beasts scattered, howling.
When it ended, only smoke and the smell of burnt fur lingered.
"Aether beasts," Dole said, breathing hard. "Born from whatever leaks through the veil."
Moss looked at the fading mist. "Then this is the empire's new frontier."
Bran snorted softly beside him. Moss steadied the reins, feeling the chocobo's heartbeat quick under his palm.
"Set camp," he ordered. "We stay near the clearing tonight."
By sundown, they had fires going and crude tents pitched. The machines were gone, the crystal lamps dark, yet the stars overhead blazed brighter than anything Moss had seen in the capital.
He sat with Bran, listening to the wind through the grass and the chirping of unseen insects. The sounds were uneven and raw, but they felt real.
Dole sat across the fire, rubbing ash from his fingers. "You ever think it's strange?" he asked. "How the silence feels… alive?"
Moss nodded slowly. "Maybe that's the world breathing."
He looked at Bran, feathers glowing faintly orange in the firelight, and felt something shift deep inside his chest. Not comfort, not peace—but the faint beat of a heart he hadn't noticed in years.