Fred gasped for breath, blood trickling down his forehead as the beast's carcass finally collapsed at his feet. The survivors huddled behind Mira, trembling with fear. Around them, the mist thinned, revealing more of the lost world — a city swallowed by roots, broken towers, and rivers of glass.
"This isn't survival anymore," Mira panted. "This is war."
Fred wiped the blood from his eyes and nodded grimly. He could feel it too — the constant, oppressive tension in the air, like the land itself was alive and hostile, judging them, waiting for them to falter.
Subject 0, who had fought silently alongside them, straightened. His eyes, usually cold and distant, showed a flicker of something new — uncertainty.
"What's out there is worse than the Heart," he said flatly. "We broke the cage. But the world beyond... it's rotting."
Fred turned to the survivors. "We need shelter. A place to regroup. Somewhere we can plan."
The woman who had guided them — whose name Fred still didn't know — pointed toward the horizon. "Follow the river of glass," she said. "It will lead you to the Cradle."
"The Cradle?" Mira asked.
"A sanctuary," the woman replied. "Or at least, it was."
Fred didn't like the sound of that uncertainty. But they had no choice. They had to move, and fast.
---
They traveled under a blood-red sky, the shattered river reflecting distorted versions of themselves as they walked. Every now and then, Fred thought he heard whispers — faint, sorrowful, pleading. He tightened his grip on his shard-weapon and pressed forward.
At night, they camped under the twisted ruins of old trees, the survivors sleeping fitfully while Mira and Fred took turns keeping watch. The beasts prowling the darkness seemed reluctant to approach the river, but Fred knew it was only a matter of time before something bold or desperate would attack.
On the third night, it happened.
Fred heard the crunch of footsteps on shattered glass. He rose silently, motioning Mira awake.
From the shadows, figures emerged.
But they were not beasts.
They were people.
Or at least, they once had been.
---
Their skin was pale and cracked like old porcelain. Their eyes were hollow, gleaming with a mindless hunger. They moved jerkily, whispering incoherent fragments of speech.
Fred stepped in front of the survivors, holding up his weapon. "Stay back!" he shouted.
The creatures didn't listen.
The first one lunged — and Fred cut it down with a swift blow. But there were more, dozens more, their numbers swelling from the mist.
Mira fought back-to-back with him, her blade slicing clean arcs through the corrupted.
"They were trapped too long," the woman said calmly from behind them. "Their minds broke. They became something else."
Fred gritted his teeth. He didn't want to kill them. But there was no saving these Lost Ones.
The battle was brutal. Blood and dust filled the air. Fred fought until his arms ached, until every heartbeat was a hammer strike in his chest.
And when the final Lost One fell, he looked around and realized something terrible:
They had only survived because they were willing to kill.
This world would not offer mercy.
And neither could they.
---
Hours later, exhausted and bloodied, they reached the Cradle.
It was a massive, ancient structure — half-buried in twisted roots, its once-beautiful arches crumbling under the weight of centuries. It looked like a cathedral made of bone and crystal.
"This was a sanctuary?" Mira asked, her voice thick with disbelief.
"It still is," the woman said softly. "If you can survive inside."
Fred stepped forward, his gaze hard. He knew they couldn't turn back.
Whatever lay inside the Cradle... it was their only hope now.
As the heavy doors groaned open and darkness yawned before them, Fred felt a cold shiver race down his spine.
The true war was just beginning.
And somewhere deep inside the Cradle, something was waiting.
Something that had been waiting for him.
---