I materialized into the Patternlands, wishing I still had my weapons.
But as required, I'd abandoned them—along with every other possession—when I agreed to enter this Cradle.
The air hung thick with dust and static decay, clinging to my skin like warning. Not ten cubes away stood the crumbling outline of a house, its side blown wide open. A gaping wound in what used to be shelter.
Rotcasters. No doubt. Runners who'd forsaken the fight for humanity to spread chaos and ruin through what little remained.
Around the wreckage, a half-dead forest loomed—leaves pixelated and blackened at the tips. Not a good option without a weapon.
I moved toward the house with creeping caution. The Castors probably hadn't left anything valuable, but there was always a chance they'd overlooked something in their rush to tear it down.
What I needed was simple: wood. Enough to craft a sword—anything that could help me survive the monsters that came after nightfall. Unlike the Rotcasters, those weren't human. They were husks—soulless, unrelenting, drawn to the heat of life and driven to destroy.
The sun sagged toward the jagged horizon. I pushed onward.
I drew several deep breaths and stepped through the collapsed entrance of the home.
It's going to be alright, Alis, I told myself.
If there was one thing I hated more than the Castors or the creatures, it was the dark—the way it wrapped around everything, hiding the teeth that would tear you apart.
Thankfully, the gaping hole in the wall meant the interior was dim, not pitch-black. I crossed into the main room, the floor creaking under my boots.
I got lucky.
These Castors hadn't been looters—just vandals. Anarchists who came, shattered lives, and moved on to their next target. In the remnants of a kitchen I found a stale loaf of bread, a bowl of something that smelled like sour circuitry, and a multitool—half pickaxe, half hatchet.
Hope lifted in my chest. With this, I could secure shelter. Maybe even find coal and build a fire.
My stomach growled. I checked my hunger stats—already lower than I liked. With a sigh, I decided to eat my first ration.
The bread crumbled like sand in my mouth, but it did the job. Outside, the light dimmed to a dusky haze. Night was coming fast.
I cursed aloud.
No real shelter. No proper defense. I'd have to crouch in the dark and pray nothing found me before sunrise.
Stillness—that was the key. If I didn't move, didn't breathe too loudly, the monsters might pass me by.
I sank to the floor and crossed my legs. Then I closed my eyes and opened my mind.
When the original Architects built the Cradle, they left hidden doors into its underlying code—gateways only a few could access. Most runners didn't even know they existed.
But I was a Codewright.
My consciousness slipped from the physical plane into the Cradle's inner workings, passing through the hidden doorway etched into my mind.
Tonight, I wasn't searching for shelter or resources.Tonight was about traces.
I found my own quickly enough—a tether, a glowing thread of memory leading back toward the void from which I'd come.
But I didn't stop there.
I reached deeper, feeling along the lines of buried data for the one I had left everything behind to find—my sister.
Vivid had been just a child when we discovered she was a Codewright. But by then, it was too late. She'd opened a door of her own and vanished. Gone from our home Cradle. Lost in cyberspace. Trapped in the digital fabric of the world.
I refused to believe she was gone forever.
I pushed myself harder, straining to hold focus. And then—I felt it.
Something ancient. Watching.
It moved like a presence across my mind—tendrils brushing over me, testing the edges of my awareness. My skin prickled.
My eyes flew open.
They were outside.I could smell them. That putrid rot—too sharp, too real. I clenched my jaw to keep from gagging. Had they sensed me?
Then I saw it.
Furry legs crept over the broken wall ahead of me. Dozens of eyes followed, glowing red like corrupted rubies. They locked onto mine—and held.
I didn't dare blink. My eyes burned, watering from the effort.
The thing was massive. A spider, yes—but wrong. Its limbs were too long, its abdomen bloated with glitching patterns, its mouth twitching unnaturally. It was easily twice my size. I saw my reflection in each of its many eyes—my own terrified face staring back a dozen times.
My lips parted. A reflex. I tried to erase the fear from my expression, to deny it even to myself.
The instant I moved, the creature sprang.
I dove sideways and ducked under a half-crushed table. Wood splintered behind me. The spider wheeled, hissing. I could hear other sounds now—feet dragging, a wet slapping noise that scraped at my nerves.
This was how it ended. I knew it.Is this what happened to you, Vivid? I thought.Did you even have a chance to scream?
I shut my eyes and whispered silently in my mind:Make it quick. Just make it quick so I can see her again.
Then—just as I felt the coarse hairs of the spider's leg graze my shoulder—
A battle cry split the air.