The carcass had long since stopped resembling what it once was.
Ribs arched upward like a collapsed canopy. The spine curved into the dark brittle sand. Portions of dried membrane clung stubbornly between bone, stretched thin and colorless, as if even decay had grown tired halfway through its work.
Dusk sat on it anyway.
One leg hung loosely over the edge of the ribcage. The other bent, foot planted against bone for balance. The sabre rested across his lap, matte and quiet. His fingers lay around the hilt without tension.
He faced the tower.
From this distance, it no longer felt impossibly far.
The ruins lay behind him now. The basin, the floating fragments, the skull half-submerged in viscous dark. He had crossed it. Not cleanly. Not without cost. But it was done.
Ahead, the tower pierced the dim horizon.
Its surface was pale, almost white, but not reflective. It absorbed the light around it rather than returning it. At its highest visible point, there was a single white glow — a small, steady dot. Not flickering. Not pulsing.
Watching.
Or waiting.
The pull was clearer here.
It wasn't physical suction. Not something that dragged at his body. It pressed behind the sternum. A subtle inward tension, as if something inside him leaned toward it without permission.
He could see the path.
Not clearly marked. Not safe. But the terrain between here and the tower was no longer fractured ruins. It stretched open and uneven, littered with skeletal remains of things that had tried.
The wind moved lightly across the plain. It carried dust, faint mineral dryness, and the distant scent of old rot.
Dusk adjusted his grip on the sabre slightly.
Telekinesis lingered around him like a dim echo. Not gone. Just reduced. Threads thinner than before. Range shortened. The blade lay still across his lap, and even at rest it suppressed him.
Not aggressively.
Just consistently.
He could feel the ceiling above his will. A boundary he hadn't agreed to, but accepted.
The skull's voice broke the silence.
"You have come far."
Dusk did not look back.
"Not far enough."
The skull rested somewhere behind him, half-buried among bone fragments from the basin's edge. It had followed him in its own slow way. Or perhaps it had always been here.
There had been a time, not long ago, when he had moved without pause. From gate to ruin. From carcass to fracture. Movement had been survival.
Now he sat.
Not from exhaustion.
From calculation.
The skull spoke again.
"When we first spoke, you asked me what this place was a victim of."
The skull's voice carried without force.
Dusk didn't look at it.
A stretch of wind passed between them, low and dry.
"I asked the wrong question," he said.
Silence settled briefly.
"What would you ask now?" the skull replied.
Dusk's gaze remained fixed on the tower. On the pale surface. On the white glow suspended at its peak.
"If I can survive it."
The words didn't rise. They landed.
The skull did not answer immediately.
Dusk exhaled through his nose.
"It's pointless now," he added, quieter.
His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt resting across his lap.
"Survival was never an option."
A small pause.
"It was a principle."
That was the only distinction that held weight.
The world could be fractured remnants. Fallen gates. Hollow consumption. None of it altered the immediate equation.
Survive.
Advance.
Reach the tower.
Everything else was description.
The white glow at the top of the structure seemed slightly clearer now that he allowed himself to truly focus on it. The air between them shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly. Heat distortion without heat.
"You feel it," the skull said.
"The pull."
"Yes."
"It will increase."
"I expect it to."
The skull shifted slightly against bone.
"You cannot simply enter the tower."
Dusk finally glanced over his shoulder.
"Why?"
"A guardian."
"I see."
He absorbed that.
Guardian implied function.
Function implied purpose.
Purpose implied will.
The wind dragged across the plain again, carrying a low, almost inaudible vibration from somewhere distant.
"You will not reach it unchallenged," the skull added.
Dusk's expression did not change.
"That's fine."
He lowered his gaze to the sabre resting across his lap.
Its surface remained matte, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The edges looked slightly misaligned with the world around them. Not blurred. Not sharp.
Uncertain.
The skull's voice cut through his thoughts.
"You have not examined it."
Dusk's thumb traced the hilt's wrapping once.
"I know what it does."
"You assume."
He did not answer.
"Look at it," the skull pressed.
Dusk exhaled lightly.
He lifted the blade in front of him and held it upright. The air around it seemed thinner, less resistant.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Status."
A translucent window surfaced before him.
--------------------------------------------------------
Fragment: Somnolent WrathRank: Aspirant (E)Type: Weapon
Description:Forged where bone remembers betrayal. This fragment bears the residue of a will that refused surrender. It does not cleave flesh alone — it presses against intent. Those struck feel their resolve thinned, their command over self diminished. The blade endures. The will falters.
Effect:Erodes external resolve upon contact.Influence deepens when sustained by prana input.Extended use increases internal strain proportionally.
--------------------------------------------------------
The window hovered quietly before fading.
Dusk studied the blade in silence.
"Narrowing," he murmured.
"Appropriate," the skull replied.
He considered the phrasing.
The blade did not promise strength.
It demanded focus.
External resolve.
Internal strain.
Balanced.
Fair.
He stood.
The carcass beneath him shifted, then settled again.
Dust fell in a thin cascade from between ribs.
He stepped down slowly, boots pressing into pale sediment.
For a moment, the world felt almost quiet enough to mistake for safety.
That illusion didn't last.
A faint vibration passed through the ground.
Not strong.
Not violent.
Just enough to register.
Dusk's gaze snapped toward the tower's base.
Nothing moved.
The surface remained seamless.
The white point above did not flicker.
A faint vibration passed through the ground.
"You feel it," the skull said.
"Yes."
The tremor returned, closer now. A pulse beneath stillness.
Dusk bent, retrieving a curved canine from the carcass and tucked it beside the other at his waist.
His eyes returned to the tower. The tremor stopped. Complete stillness followed.
That was worse.
"You cannot avoid it," the skull said.
"I'm not trying to."
He adjusted his stance slightly, testing footing on loose sediment.
The suction toward the tower intensified, subtle but undeniable now.
Like standing at the edge of a deep current you could not see.
The ground shifted near the tower's base—a slight depression, then straightened.
The tremor returned, stronger. This time, a thin vertical seam cracked the surface. Dust rose. Darkness pressed through. Mass repositioned behind it.
Dusk's expression did not change. The calm had lasted long enough.
He stepped forward.
The world waited.
And so did he.
===================================
A/N: Dropping this early, because schedules are already a suggestion. This arc's finally reaching its end. What comes next won't wait — tension's building, action's coming, and nothing softens the landing. Hold tight.