The flare faded into the sky like a dying comet, leaving a faint trail of silver dust that dissolved into the clouds.
Metatron and Cyberius stood on the ridge, the canyon stretching endlessly before them. The wind had gone still. Only the crackle of cooling gun barrels broke the silence.
Cyberius holstered his revolvers with a spin, his smirk dulling into something weary. "That's enough noise for one night," he muttered. "We go in tired, we die tired."
Metatron nodded. "Agreed." His visor dimmed, switching to standby. The faint cyan glow beneath his hood faded until only his single visible eye reflected the moonlight.
They found an alcove under a cracked iron bridge—half-covered in sand, sheltered from the wind. The fire they built was small, just bright enough to hold off the cold.
For a long while, neither spoke.
Cyberius leaned back against a rock, tapping the cylinder of his revolver in slow rhythm. "Never thought I'd be fighting alongside a sniper," he said with a half-grin. "Your aim's clean. Too clean for a rookie."
Metatron sat cross-legged across from him, hands resting lightly on his knees. "I don't miss," he said simply. "Can't afford to."
Cyberius chuckled. "Fair. You got that calm-dead look in your eyes—seen it before. Usually means you've buried more players than you've met."
Metatron said nothing. The flames flickered, catching brief reflections on his visor like cold lightning.
The wind picked up again, carrying faint echoes from deeper in the canyon—metal shifting, stone cracking, something alive moving through the shadows.
Cyberius lifted his head. "Jack?"
Metatron tilted his visor, listening. "No. Too heavy. Probably a crawler or worse."
"Then we move camp?"
"No." Metatron's voice was steady. "Let it pass. We need strength more than fear tonight."
They sat in silence again, the kind that felt older than words.
Above, the moon began its slow descent. The canyon's edges softened under the faint glow of morning. Light spilled across the horizon, tinting the rocks from iron-gray to blood-orange.
Cyberius was the first to stand, brushing dust from his coat. "Sun's up. Guess the real trip starts now."
Metatron rose beside him, checking his weapon's chamber and sealing his visor back into combat mode. The cyan veins along its edge pulsed faintly again.
> [Time Update: 05:41 A.M.]
[Player Status: Rested – +10% Accuracy / +8% Speed for 2 hrs]
Cyberius holstered his guns and smirked. "You ready, partner?"
Metatron looked down the long canyon, where the mist was beginning to lift and faint ruins glowed in the early light. "Always."
The two stepped out from their shelter, shadows stretching long behind them as they descended into the waiting dawn—toward whatever hunted in the canyon's heart.