The East did not welcome him.
It tolerated him, much in the way a fever tolerates a body before burning it out.
Kaelen walked through a landscape that had forgotten the definition of color. The ground here wasn't soil; it was a pulverized mixture of gray ash, shattered glass, and the calcified remains of a city that had been erased decades ago. The wind didn't blow; it dragged, pulling at his torn trench coat with invisible, heavy fingers.
He had been walking for six hours since leaving the survivors at the camp.
His body was failing.
The Authority he had used to save the boy—the [Denial of Reality]—had taken a toll far heavier than physical exertion. It felt as if a piece of his soul had been scooped out. His vision blurred intermittently, the edges of the world fraying into white static. His nose had stopped bleeding, but the metallic taste of copper lingered in the back of his throat, a constant reminder of the cost of interference.
I need water, he thought, the thought sluggish and heavy. I need a weapon. I need to stop walking.
But stopping meant death. The Rot was active here. He could see it in the way the shadows stretched too long, in the way the rocks seemed to rearrange themselves when he looked away. The Silence was hunting, passive but patient.
He crested a ridge of fused obsidian and stopped.
Below him, the wasteland opened up into a wide, shallow crater.
And in the center of that crater lay a scar.
It was a crash site. A heavy transport skiff—painted in the obsidian and gold livery of Valerius's priesthood—had smashed into the earth. It was a ruin. The hull was cracked open like a dark egg, leaking glowing blue coolant onto the gray sand.
Kaelen dropped low, his instinct overriding his exhaustion.
Valerius's extraction team, he realized. Or a patrol caught in the shockwave of the Core's collapse.
It was a gold mine. There would be supplies. Weapons. Water.
It was also a trap.
Smoke curled lazily from the wreckage, a black beacon against the gray sky. If Kaelen could see it, so could everything else in the Rotlands.
He waited. He watched. Ten minutes passed. Nothing moved.
Driven by the sharp claw of thirst, Kaelen began to slide down the ridge. He moved silently, his boots finding purchase on the loose shale. He didn't have a weapon, so he stopped to pick up a jagged shard of rebar, wrapping the rusted end in a strip of cloth torn from his sleeve. It was a prison shank, crude and ugly. It would have to do.
He reached the perimeter of the crash site.
Bodies lay scattered around the hull. He counted three. They wore the heavy, lead-lined armor of the Elite Guard. They hadn't been erased; they had been broken by impact. Their limbs were twisted at wrong angles, their masks shattered.
Kaelen checked the first body. He found a canteen. It was cracked, empty. He cursed silently.
He moved to the second body. He found a ration pack. He shoved it into his pocket, his hands trembling.
He moved toward the main fuselage, the massive curved wing of the skiff that had sheared off and plowed into the dirt.
That was when he heard it.
Click.
It wasn't a mechanical sound. It was the clicking of mandibles.
Kaelen froze. He pressed his back against the cooling metal of the hull.
From the other side of the wreckage, he heard a voice. Low. Pained. Female.
"Back..." the voice rasped. "Get back... you ugly bastards."
Kaelen peered around the edge of the metal.
Under the collapsed wing of the skiff, a woman was pinned. She was wearing mercenary gear—leather reinforced with chitin, mismatched and practical. Her right leg was crushed beneath the tonnage of the ship. She was trapped.
But she wasn't alone.
Three creatures were circling her.
[ TARGET: VOID SCAVENGERS ] [ CLASS: VERMIN ] [ THREAT: LOW (INDIVIDUAL) / HIGH (PACK) ]
They looked like crosses between hyenas and insects. Their skin was gray oil, shifting and dripping. They had no eyes, just long, twitching feelers that tasted the air for fear. They were the bottom feeders of the Void ecosystem, eaters of the dead and the dying.
The woman held a combat knife in one shaking hand. Her other hand was scrabbling in the dirt, trying to reach a massive rifle lying five feet away.
A Railgun. A sniper's weapon.
One of the Scavengers lunged. The woman slashed wildly. The knife connected, carving a line of black ichor across the beast's snout. It shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and scrambled back.
But the other two were closing in. They sensed her exhaustion. They knew she couldn't move.
Kaelen looked at the woman. He recognized the gear. She was the sniper from the Core. The one who had covered Valerius's retreat. An enemy.
Logic dictated he should leave. Let the beasts eat her. Scavenge the Railgun once they were done. It was the safe play. It was the smart play.
"Mercy has been delayed. Not denied."
The memory of the Herald's words in the vision stung him.
Kaelen looked at the rebar in his hand. He looked at the monsters.
"I hate this," he muttered. "I hate being the anomaly."
He didn't charge in screaming. That was for heroes, and heroes died in the Rotlands.
He looked at the leaking coolant tank above the beasts. The blue liquid was hissing, pressurized.
Kaelen picked up a heavy rock. He channeled a tiny fraction of Authority—not enough to bleed, just enough to guide his aim.
[ AUTHORITY: PRECISION ]
He threw the rock.
It didn't hit the beasts. It hit the valve of the coolant tank.
CLANG.
The valve sheared off.
A jet of supercooled, pressurized gas exploded outward with a deafening hiss. It enveloped the two closest Scavengers instantly. They didn't even have time to scream. They froze mid-lunge, turning into statues of blue ice and gray flesh.
The third beast spun around, its feelers whipping wildly. It couldn't see Kaelen, but it could hear his heartbeat.
It shrieked and charged him.
Kaelen braced himself. He had one shot.
The beast leaped, jaws opening to reveal rows of needle-teeth.
Kaelen dropped to one knee. He planted the rebar into the ground, angling it upward.
The beast impaled itself.
The rusted metal punched through its soft underbelly, sliding deep into its thorax. The momentum of the charge nearly knocked Kaelen over, but he held the makeshift spear firm. Black blood sprayed over his coat. The creature thrashed once, twice, snapping its jaws inches from Kaelen's face, and then went limp.
Kaelen shoved the heavy carcass aside and stood up, breathing hard. He wiped the black blood from his eyes.
He walked around the wreckage.
The woman—Renna—was staring at him. Her knife was still raised, but her hand was shaking uncontrollably. Her face was pale, streaked with oil and sweat.
She looked at the frozen beasts. She looked at the dead one on the ground. Then she looked at Kaelen.
"You," she whispered. Her voice was dry, cracking. "The Anomaly."
Kaelen didn't answer. He walked past her and picked up the Railgun.
It was heavy. Solid. It hummed with a dormant power that made his fingers tingle. He checked the chamber. Loaded.
He turned back to her.
Renna flinched. She dropped her knife, knowing it was useless against a man holding a cannon. She closed her eyes, waiting for the execution.
"Do it," she croaked. "Make it quick."
"Don't tell me what to do," Kaelen said.
He slung the rifle over his shoulder. He walked over to the wreckage pinning her leg.
"This is going to hurt," he said.
Renna opened her eyes. Confusion warred with pain in her gaze. "What?"
"The wing," Kaelen said, placing his hands on the massive slab of metal. "I'm going to lift it. You pull your leg out. If you're too slow, I drop it, and you lose the foot. Understand?"
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I tried to kill you yesterday."
"I know," Kaelen said. "But today, you're just bait. And I don't leave bait for the Void."
It was a lie. He was saving her because he needed her. Because a King needed knights. But he let her believe it was pragmatism. It made it easier for her to accept.
He closed his eyes.
He reached for the Authority. It was deep, buried under layers of exhaustion, but he grabbed it and pulled.
[ AUTHORITY: DENIAL OF MASS ]
He didn't lift the metal. He rejected the concept of its weight.
GRAAAAAGH.
Kaelen roared, the sound tearing from his throat as a migraine split his skull. Blood burst from his nose again, running hot over his lips.
The metal groaned. It shuddered. It lifted. Four inches. Six.
"Move!" he screamed.
Renna didn't hesitate. She dragged herself backward, screaming as her mangled leg scraped over the rocks.
"Clear!" she yelled.
Kaelen let go.
BOOM.
The wing slammed back down, shaking the ground.
Kaelen fell to his hands and knees, retching. The world spun in sickening circles. He felt like he had been hollowed out with a spoon.
He stayed there for a long minute, just breathing, letting the Authority recede.
When he looked up, Renna was sitting against a rock, frantically tying a tourniquet around her thigh. Her leg was a mess—purple and crushed—but the bone didn't look shattered. She would walk again. Eventually.
She tied off the bandage and looked at him.
She looked at the Railgun on his back. She looked at the dead scavengers. She looked at the blood on his face.
"You're an idiot," she said. There was no venom in it. Only disbelief.
"Kaelen," he corrected, spitting bloody saliva onto the sand. "My name is Kaelen."
"Renna," she replied automatically.
She reached for her canteen, realized it was gone, and slumped.
Kaelen pulled the canteen he had found earlier—the one from the pilot—and tossed it to her. It had a few swallows left.
She caught it. She didn't say thank you. She drank.
"So," she said, wiping her mouth. "You saved the damsel. You killed the monsters. Now what? You expect me to pledge allegiance?"
Kaelen stood up. He swayed, using the Railgun as a crutch.
"I expect you to shoot," he said.
He pointed East.
"I'm going to the Anchor. I need someone who can see threats before I walk into them. You owe me a life, Renna. I'm collecting."
Renna looked at the horizon. It was a death sentence. The East was uncharted territory.
She looked at her leg. She couldn't survive here alone. She looked at Kaelen. He was barely standing, bleeding from the face, holding a weapon he barely knew how to use.
He was insane. He was also the only thing standing between her and the Silence.
She let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Fine," she said. She reached up a hand. "Help me up, Anomaly. But if you get me killed, I'm haunting you."
Kaelen gripped her forearm. "Get in line," he said.
He pulled her up. She leaned heavily on him, gritting her teeth against the pain.
Together, the Editor and the Mercenary turned their backs on the wreckage. They began the long, limping march toward the East.
The silence watched them go. But now, the silence had a target.