The sky above Shelter 17 was a canvas of dull oranges bleeding into polluted grays as Zane returned from his third hunt of the week. The air hung thick with the scent of decay and desperation, a familiar stench in this corner of the ruined world. His worn boots crunched through a treacherous landscape of shattered glass and loose gravel, each step a testament to the constant struggle for survival. The weight in his shoulder bag shifted with each stride, the soft clinking a subtle symphony of beast crystals – the currency of power in this broken world.
He paused by a skeletal building silhouetted against the dying light, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders to ease the day's aches. "Three basic-tier beasts in one trip. Not bad," he muttered to himself, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone. "I could get used to this." The grind was relentless, but the rewards, however small, were what kept him going.
Rex, his red-scaled companion, stalked the ground behind him with slow, deliberate steps, a primal grace in his movements. His reptilian eyes, intelligent and wary, constantly scanned their surroundings, a living shield against the dangers lurking in the shadows. The bond between them was palpable, a silent understanding forged in the crucible of survival.
Just then, a wave of panicked shouts echoed through the ruined buildings ahead, shattering the fragile peace.
"MOVE! RUN! LEAVE IT—JUST RUN!"
The cries were raw, desperate, laced with a terror that sent a jolt of adrenaline through Zane. Curiosity, a dangerous trait in this world, sharpened into caution. He had learned the hard way that unanswered shouts often led to unwanted trouble. A group of seven scavengers, a motley collection of ragged clothes and desperation, bolted down the cracked road, their faces masks of pure fear. But one of them—someone smaller, a girl—was still there, struggling to pull a rickety cart weighed down with the massive, lifeless carcass of a grotesque mutant beast.
She gritted her teeth, her small frame straining against the immense weight. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she yanked at the handle, her knuckles white. "Come on, come on—" she whispered, her voice tight with exertion and fear. A silent prayer to whatever gods might still be listening.
From around the corner of a crumbled building, a nightmarish figure charged into view. It looked like a mutant bull from some forgotten nightmare, its horns jagged and asymmetrical, glowing with an eerie, internal light. Dust exploded around its hooves with each thunderous step, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The creature's eyes, burning with primal rage, locked onto the girl.
The girl froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins. Realizing too late that she wasn't going to outrun the beast, her escape was cut off. The cart, her lifeline, had become her tombstone.
Instinct took over. Zane raised one hand, his focus sharpening, the power within him stirring.
Terrain Grip.
The ground beneath the charging beast warped and shifted, the once-solid path now twisted into a treacherous, slick surface. The beast, caught off guard by the sudden instability, misjudged its step, tilting precariously as one of its jagged horns scraped against the edge of a crumbling wall.
It crashed forward, disoriented and unbalanced. A low, guttural roar of frustration escaped its throat.
Zane didn't waste the opportunity. His power surged, channeled through his will.
"Stone Spikes."
With a violent eruption, a cluster of sharpened rocks burst from the ground directly beneath the beast's exposed underbelly. The makeshift spears tore into its flesh, drawing a torrent of dark, viscous blood. The beast let out one final, gurgled snort, a sound of pure agony, before collapsing in a heap of twitching muscle and dust.
The dust settled, forming a thin, grey film over the scene.
Silence followed, heavy and absolute, broken only by the girl's ragged breathing.
The girl stood frozen, staring at Zane with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he'd just summoned death itself from the very ground. The air around them crackled with unspoken questions and a profound sense of shock.
Zane casually walked over to the corpse and crouched down, examining the beast. "Even without Rex, I can handle the weak ones now," he said to himself, more for his reassurance than for anyone else's benefit. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the residue of using his abilities.
He reached into the beast's chest cavity, ignoring the gore, and pulled out its crystal, slick with blood, the prize that made it all worthwhile. It pulsed with a faint, internal light, a tangible source of power.
A sharp gasp broke the silence, drawing Zane's attention back to the girl.
Zane turned—and saw the girl had backed away several steps, her eyes wide with renewed fear, her breathing shallow and rapid. She seemed unable to reconcile the man who saved her with the creature standing beside him.
"Don't move!" she shouted, pointing at him with trembling hands. "T-That thing! It's—!"
Zane followed her gaze to Rex, who had just emerged fully from the shadows, his red scales gleaming in the dim light like fresh blood. He emitted a low, rumbling growl, protective of his master.
Zane blinked, then laughed lightly, a genuine sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. "Him? Nah. That's Rex. He's mine."
The girl's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted frantically between Zane and the beast, trying to comprehend the impossible. "Y-You… tamed that? That's… that's not possible." The belief that all mutated beasts were inherently wild and dangerous was ingrained in her.
Zane stood slowly and dusted off his hands, a gesture of indifference. "Possible's just another word for unproven." He had learned that the rules of this world were constantly being rewritten, and limitations were often self-imposed.
He started walking toward her, but she flinched, her hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of a rusted knife strapped to her thigh—her last line of defense.
Zane paused and raised one hand, a gesture of peace. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not unless you charge at me like that bull." He understood her fear, but he wouldn't tolerate hostility.
She didn't move for a long second, her eyes searching his, trying to decipher his intentions. Then, slowly, cautiously, she lowered her hand.
"…Thank you," she said finally, her voice low and strained. "For saving me." Gratitude warred with fear in her expression.
Zane nodded once, acknowledging her thanks. "No problem." The words were simple, but they masked a deeper understanding of the situation.
Her gaze dropped to the cart, her shoulders slumping with a renewed sense of despair. "I… I was trying to bring the beast back. It's worth enough to feed my sister for a week." The desperation in her voice was palpable, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of survival.
Zane eyed the cart, its wheels groaning under the weight of the carcass. "You were dragging that thing alone?"
"The others ran," she muttered, shamefaced. "I didn't want to lose it." The beast represented more than just meat; it was a symbol of hope for her and her sister.
Zane studied her for a moment, taking in her appearance. She looked young—maybe his age, or a little younger. Short black hair streaked with silver from dust and stress clung to her face. Her eyes were tired, too, for someone so young. Her hands were covered in scrapes and calluses, evidence of her constant struggle for survival. Just another scavenger trying to carve out a life in the ruins.
She hesitated, then looked up, meeting his gaze. "I… I can help you bring that thing back. I mean, since you saved me. It's the least I can do." Offering help was a gamble, a way to repay her debt and hopefully earn some security.
Zane tilted his head, considering her offer. "You sure? After all that, you still want to work with me?" He wanted to understand her motivations, to ensure she wasn't simply trying to use him.
She swallowed hard, her eyes betraying a flicker of fear. "In this world… better to work with someone strong than die alone." The logic was brutal but undeniable. Survival demanded alliances, even temporary ones.
Zane nodded slowly, accepting her answer. "Fair enough." It was a transaction, a pragmatic agreement based on mutual benefit.
They hitched the beast to the cart and began walking, the silence between them thick with unspoken thoughts. The trip back to Shelter 17 was quiet, the only sounds being the rickety wheels of the cart and Rex's occasional snort, a reminder of his powerful presence.
When they finally reached the shelter gates, a jagged scar on the landscape of the ruined city, Zane turned to her.
"You got a name?" It was a simple question, but it signified a shift in their relationship, a move beyond mere convenience.
"…Lyra," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Lyra Vale."
"Zane." He offered nothing more, allowing his reputation to speak for itself.
He turned toward the Awakened sector, the section of the shelter dedicated to those who had manifested abilities, lifting the bag of crystals he'd earned.
Lyra hesitated, her hand hovering near the cart. "Will I… see you again?" She was seeking some kind of assurance, a confirmation that their encounter meant something more than just a fleeting moment of survival.
Zane gave a small shrug, noncommittal. "Maybe." In this world, promises were a luxury he couldn't afford.
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, one hand resting on Rex's head, a silent acknowledgment of their bond, the other holding tightly to the beast crystal that would push them to the next stage of their evolution.
Ten crystals. Time to evolve. The thought consumed him, driving him forward. The next stage meant more power, more survival, more possibilities in a world where only the strong survived.