The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. I could feel the bite of the cold gnawing at my skin, but my focus was on the matter at hand. The information we had gathered, the fragmented pieces of a broken world—each bit painting a clearer picture of what was happening, and what was to come.
Sage had been quieter than usual, her eyes distant as she absorbed everything we'd talked about. I'd seen her glance at the beheaded body earlier, the unease creeping into her features as she processed the truth about the Weapons. But there was something else in her gaze now—a sharpness, a quiet resolve.
"Zane," she spoke, her voice steady despite the weight of the situation. "Why are they after us? These… Weapons."
I didn't answer immediately. I wasn't sure if I even had an answer. They were after us because we were threats—because we had something they wanted. But saying it out loud would make it too real. I wasn't ready to admit how closely the pieces of this puzzle mirrored a dark reflection of everything I had ever feared.
"They're after us because we're alive," I finally said, my voice calm, careful. "And that makes us targets."
I could see her frown, confusion tugging at her features.
"But why us? What makes us different?" She took a step closer, her eyes locked on mine, searching for a truth I wasn't ready to give her.
I didn't know how to explain it to her—not the way I felt it. Not the way I understood it deep in my bones. They weren't just chasing us for some surface-level reason. They were hunting us because we were survivors, and survival meant we still had a role to play in a world that was falling apart.
"I don't know," I said, my voice growing softer. "But we can't stop moving. The longer we stay in one place, the more they'll catch up to us."
She nodded slowly, not fully understanding but trusting me. That was all I could ask for. I didn't need her to know everything—only that she would stay by my side, that she would follow.
---
Hours passed as we moved, the snow heavy beneath our boots. The landscape had become an endless stretch of white, everything blurring together in a haze of ice and wind. The city we had spotted earlier, the technological beacon on the horizon, was still too far to reach by nightfall. But I could feel the urgency in the air, a sense that time was slipping away faster than we realized.
I glanced at Sage, her face drawn but steady. She didn't speak much now, just walked beside me, her silence louder than any words she could have said. We both understood the danger—knew that the world we once knew was gone, replaced by something darker, colder.
"What now?" Sage asked, breaking the silence.
I kept my eyes ahead, scanning the terrain. There was something coming. I could feel it.
"We keep going," I said, my voice a quiet promise. "We don't stop until we're out of range. Then, we'll figure out the next step."
The wind howled around us, biting at our skin, but there was no turning back now. We had come this far—and if we were going to make it, we had to keep moving. There was nothing left for us in the past, no safety in the places we once called home. All that mattered now was survival, and the thin thread of hope that we might find a way out of this hellish world we were left with.
The wind howled, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice of our worn clothing, but still, we walked on. I could feel the strain in my legs, the exhaustion beginning to catch up, but there was no stopping now. Not when we were so close. The second technological city loomed ahead, its towering spires cutting through the bleak sky, faint lights flickering like dying stars in the distance. The promise of shelter, safety, and answers hung just beyond the horizon.
Sage was quiet beside me, her face impassive, but I could sense the tension in her, the growing unease. She had been silent for most of the journey, but it was a different kind of silence now, heavy with unsaid words.
"Why are we doing this?" she finally asked, her voice breaking through the stillness, a question that had clearly been on her mind for some time. Her gaze didn't meet mine; she stared straight ahead, as if asking the question was enough to distance her from whatever answer I might give.
I glanced at her, knowing the frustration in her voice wasn't just from the journey. She was tired—of everything. Tired of the running, the uncertainty, the fear.
"I told you," I said quietly, my words deliberate. "We need to find answers. And these cities, these places, they hold something. Maybe a way to stop all this." I gestured to the desolate, frozen wasteland around us. "A way to end it."
She didn't respond immediately, and for a moment, I thought maybe she didn't believe me. But then she spoke, her voice strained, raw.
"I don't care anymore," she said, her words cutting through the air like a blade. "I won't stay here. I can't."
I didn't have an answer to that. I understood the sentiment more than she knew, but the truth was—there was nowhere else to go. No safe haven beyond these walls. I could see the frustration building behind her eyes, a fire she was keeping contained, but it was about to break free.
Without another word, she veered off the path, her footsteps quick and deliberate, heading away from the city. She wasn't running from the world, but from me. I didn't call after her; I couldn't. The path I was on wasn't hers anymore. And as much as I wanted to stop her, to convince her to stay, I knew she wouldn't.
---
The memory of that moment lingered in my mind as I continued on alone toward the city. It was strange, the way the coldness of the environment seemed to mimic the chill that had settled between Sage and me. I wasn't sure what would happen to her now—if she would find her own path, or if she was just lost, like the rest of us.
I pushed the thought away as I neared the city. The towering structures loomed over me, their advanced technology and machinery intimidating in their complexity. I wasn't here for answers about Sage, though; I was here for something else—something buried beneath the surface of this cold, lifeless place.
Climbing up the side of one of the massive buildings, I found my way to the vents on the outside, their metal surfaces slick with frost. My fingers, numb from the cold, gripped the edges as I carefully crawled through, inching my way closer to whatever lay inside.
As I advanced through the dark, narrow passages, muffled voices reached my ears—two figures, speaking in low tones, their words just audible enough to catch my attention.
"Keep the Blade safe," one of them commanded, his voice harsh, authoritative. "Don't let anyone get close. Not even Zane."
I froze. The name hit me like a physical blow. Zane. It wasn't my name, not really. But it was a name I had been given—a name tied to a life I no longer fully understood. To hear it now, in this context, sent a ripple of unease through me. They knew me, but I didn't know them.
The second voice, weaker, more hesitant, responded. "What if he—what if they try to take it?"
The first voice scoffed. "We'll stop them. The Blade isn't just a weapon—it's a key. We can't let anyone else have it."
A key? My mind raced. The Blade. The mention of that word made my skin prickle with a strange, familiar sense of dread. It was more than just a weapon—it was something they were willing to protect at all costs.
I carefully inched forward, my heart pounding in my chest. The air grew warmer as I continued to crawl through the vents, and soon I could see the outlines of the two figures clearly. One of them was tall, his figure imposing, armored in sleek black plating, radiating an aura of power that felt almost tangible, like a pressure in the air. The other was smaller, less imposing, but still carrying an air of quiet authority.
The one on the left—his aura was strong, but it was nothing compared to the one on the right. That one's presence was overwhelming, a sheer force of will that seemed to press in on everything around him. It was as if the air itself was bending to his will, the weight of his power undeniable.
I could see their clothing now—black combat armor with intricate designs etched into the metal. They were Weapons, no doubt about it. Enhanced humans. Superior. But I couldn't understand why they were talking about the Blade, and more importantly, why they seemed to think I was involved.
I stayed perfectly still, watching as they conversed, trying to catch every word, every subtle gesture that might give me the answers I needed. They were too far away to overhear more details, but the implications were clear: the Blade was important, and someone—maybe even me—was supposed to have it.
But the question that kept gnawing at me was simple—what the hell was the Blade, and why was everyone so desperate to keep it safe?
I edged closer in the narrow, dark vent, straining to keep my breathing quiet as I watched the two figures below. The gap between the grates was just wide enough for me to see their outlines in the dim light, but not so wide that I could easily make out their features. Still, the details that were visible told me everything I needed to know.
The taller figure stood with a commanding presence, his physique tall and lean but packed with a raw, almost unnatural strength. His armor was sleek and black, angular plates that seemed to glimmer faintly under the low lighting. Each plate was meticulously designed, almost like a second skin, offering both mobility and protection. His shoulders were broad, the armor there reinforced to accentuate his imposing figure. Around his waist hung several tools and weapons—sheaths, holsters, and compact pouches. His face was mostly obscured by a dark, reflective visor, but the way he moved—his calculated, precise steps—spoke of years of training, of discipline. His aura was undeniable, like a storm cloud on the horizon. He was a Weapon, a being designed to dominate, and everything about him screamed power.
The smaller figure beside him was less imposing physically but no less dangerous. She was shorter, with a more compact frame, yet there was an agility to her movements, a fluidity that made her just as deadly in her own right. Her armor, too, was black, but it was more form-fitting than the tall figure's, designed for stealth and quick strikes rather than raw power. The plates that covered her torso were less angular, smoother, and more streamlined, as though the armor had been made specifically for mobility rather than intimidation. Her gloves were thin, reinforced at the knuckles, and she wore a black cloak that billowed slightly as she moved, almost as though it were an extension of her own movements.
Her face was partially obscured by a hood, but I could make out sharp features, eyes that were too perceptive, too aware of everything around them. She moved like a shadow—silent, quick, her steps barely making a sound as she spoke with the taller figure. The aura surrounding her was less powerful than the other, but it was no less dangerous—calculated and sharp, like a blade waiting to strike.
Their contrast was striking—one was a towering force of raw power, the other was a shadow, a swift and silent predator. Together, they were a perfect balance of strength and precision, two sides of the same coin. They were the kind of Weapons that could change the tide of any battle, each complementing the other in ways that made them an almost insurmountable threat.
As they continued their conversation, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was dealing with something far beyond my understanding. The words about the Blade echoed in my mind, and a thousand questions flooded my thoughts. What were they talking about? Why was the Blade so important? And why did it feel like I was the one they were waiting for?
The tall figure's gaze flicked to the door, and for a brief moment, I thought he might look up at the vent. I froze, not daring to move a muscle, praying that he wouldn't spot me. But his attention shifted back to the smaller figure, his voice low and authoritative.
"Make sure the Blade stays secure," he ordered. "If it gets into the wrong hands…"
He didn't finish his sentence, but I could hear the implication—if the Blade fell into the wrong hands, everything could collapse. The world could burn.
The smaller figure nodded silently, then turned and moved toward the hallway. As she did, her cloak swirled behind her, her silhouette briefly catching the dim light before she disappeared into the shadows. The taller figure remained standing, his body still as a statue, eyes scanning the room—never once letting his guard down. His power radiated from him in waves, a constant reminder of the danger he posed.
I stayed motionless in the vent, heart hammering in my chest. The conversation had given me more questions than answers, but one thing was clear: the Blade was crucial. And somehow, I was caught up in its web. The city, the people, the Weapons—it all revolved around it.
What the hell was the Blade? And why was it so important that I had to be kept away from it?
I had no answers yet, but I knew I needed to find them—and fast.