Relics of the Fallen World – Chapter 0: Shadows of the Past
The city had been dead for centuries. Concrete skeletons of collapsed buildings clawed at the gray sky, and the streets were littered with rusted vehicles and debris, silent but for the occasional whisper of wind. Somewhere in the distance, a low growl echoed—barely more than a warning.
Elias Veyron moved through the ruins like a shadow. He didn't run, he didn't call out. Every step was calculated, every breath measured. Survival was a game of observation, patience, and ruthlessness—and Elias had long since learned that hesitation was a luxury no one could afford.
A flash of movement caught his eye: a stray scavenger, desperate and panicked, rifling through a half-collapsed store. Elias waited, crouched behind a broken wall, letting the stranger make his mistake. In a world like this, mercy was not given—it was a weakness.
When the scavenger's attention drifted, Elias struck. A small pulse of energy rippled through him, barely noticeable, but enough to enhance his reflexes. With a swift motion, he disarmed the man and secured his supplies without a word. The scavenger never even realized what hit him.
Elias didn't linger. The ruins stretched endlessly, and danger was everywhere—mutated creatures, unstable structures, and worse… things no sane human should ever see. His power, strange and raw, was still weak, but it was enough to keep him alive. Just barely.
As he disappeared into the shadows of Blackhaven, the wind carried a faint, metallic hum—a trace of something long forgotten. A relic, maybe. Or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Elias would deal with it on his terms. Survival came first. Always.
The city was dead. The world was dead. And he was alone.
But he would survive.