I wake from a brief doze, startled by the silence. For a moment I expect to hear familiar murmurs—old voices calling orders, the ring of steel—but the Eternal Campground offers only quiet warmth and the soft crackle of the fire. Lynn sits across from me, twisting a scrap of cloth in her hands. She stops when she notices my gaze. Despite the silence that weighs on us, her eyes convey understanding and patience. It's almost as if she's telling me: We're getting close. Don't give up now.
I brush ashes from my sleeve and pick up the deck. By now, each draw feels like stepping into fate's current. I shuffle slowly, letting the world's hidden logic guide my hand. The three cards rise as if chosen by invisible fingers:
Location: Crashed News Chopper on Rooftop
A building's upper floor, half-open to the sky. A toppled helicopter, its rotor embedded in cracked concrete. Medical tents scattered around, as if rescuers once tried to save lives here. A vantage point overlooking the labyrinth of ruins.
Event: Gravewind Apparition
A chill wind stirs ashes and whispers. A protective spirit may appear, bestowing defensive blessings or hints—but it's drawn to places where death and hope collided.
Enemy: Oil-Thrasher Golem
A hulking construct of twisted metal and slick oil. It crushes obstacles without thought. Blunt force does nothing; I must find another way to bring it down.
I exhale, considering the combination. A high rooftop could give me a new perspective. The Gravewind Apparition might offer guidance or hints about these "Keepers" and the "Threshold" I'm meant to guard. But that Golem worries me. A creature of metal and oil won't fall easily to my axe. I may need cunning, or the environment itself, to prevail.
Lynn rises as I do. She adjusts her robes, meets my eyes, and nods. She knows we must continue. Together, we move to the mist's edge, and I push the cards forward in my mind. The Campground's warmth recedes, and a gust of wind tugs at my clothes as the world reforms around us.
We emerge onto a building's rooftop. The edges are broken, chunks of masonry lost to the streets below. A news helicopter lies crumpled on its side near the center, rotor blades bent and half-buried in the concrete. A line of tattered medical tents stretches behind it, their canvas stained and torn. The sky is no real sky—just swirling mist above—but a faint glow filters through, enough to see.
As I approach the wreckage, the wind stirs soot and ash from corners where it settled long ago. My spine prickles. The Gravewind Apparition might form soon. These winds carry old grief and faint embers of hope. I recall the scroll from the Wisp—"Guard the Keepers. Hold the Threshold." Could this place hint at what or who those Keepers were?
Before I can think further, a heavy clank echoes from behind a collapsed ventilation shaft. I whirl, axe in hand. The Oil-Thrasher Golem lurches into view: a mass of corroded plates, dripping oil that gleams like black tar. Its limbs end in brutal pounding pistons. It moves slowly but deliberately. One swing of its arm would smash me flat.
I grit my teeth, searching for weakness. Blades might skid off its metal skin. Fire, perhaps? If I could ignite its oil… I check my pouch—yes, I still have flares taken from the cinema. If I can crack one near its feet, maybe I can set it ablaze. But the Golem advances too fast.
Lynn points urgently to the helicopter wreck. The craft's fuel tank might still hold volatile liquid. If I lure the Golem near it, a spark from a flare could trigger an explosion. Dangerous, but what other choice?
I back away, calling the Golem's attention by striking my axe against a steel beam. The clang resonates. The metal monster tilts its head and stomps toward me, each step shaking the rooftop. I move backward, inching around the chopper's tail, trying to position myself so the Golem stands just beside the fuel tank hatch.
It swings an arm, and I duck, feeling the rush of air as it nearly grazes my head. Lynn skirts along the edge, ready with a chunk of debris. The Golem seems to track me primarily, ignoring her. Good. I circle one more step. Now the Golem stands just where I need it.
I yank a flare from my pouch and strike it against the concrete. A bright red spark flares to life. I toss it under the Golem's feet. Oil oozes across the rooftop. For a heartbeat, nothing happens—then the flare ignites a slick puddle. Flames jump up, clinging to the metal monstrosity's lower half. It lurches, confusion in its heavy steps. I sprint behind the chopper's rusted fuselage and smash the back of my axe into a loose bolt.
A final shriek of metal—then a muted boom as residual fumes in the chopper's tank catch fire. The blast topples the Golem sideways, flames washing over its frame. I shield my face from the heat and debris. When I look again, the Golem writhes, melting into a twisted sculpture. With a final groan, it collapses, oil burning to foul smoke.
Coughing, I step back, Lynn at my side. She pats my arm, relieved.
The wind rises again, carrying whispers. Ashes swirl and condense at the far end of the rooftop, forming a pale silhouette. This must be the Gravewind Apparition. Its form is indistinct—a cloaked figure with hollow eyes, hands folded as if in prayer. I approach slowly, heart in my throat.
It doesn't speak, but I feel words in my mind: impressions more than language. A sense of urgency, protection, loss. A flicker of memory: a row of figures in ceremonial garb, Keepers, each holding a lantern. Behind them, a great door—perhaps the Threshold—carved with runes similar to those I've seen. I see myself among others, sworn to defend that door. The Apparition's presence sharpens this memory, making it clearer than any shard before.
I reach out, hand trembling. The Apparition dips its head, as if bowing. A gentle warmth settles in my chest. I feel a new resilience, as if my armor thickened, my spirit steadied. I'm not alone in this duty—there were others once, and perhaps I can find their legacy hidden in these fragments.
The Apparition fades like mist under sunlight. The rooftop falls silent again. I stand there, breath shallow. Now I know more: The Keepers tended a lantern-lit hall, guarding a doorway that mattered. Perhaps that Sealed Bunker Entrance is part of the Threshold, or a path leading to it. If I can open it, I might find records of my order. Or even one of the Keepers themselves, trapped or sleeping.
Lynn joins me near the burnt husk of the Golem, her hand hovering at my shoulder. She nods, her eyes shining. This victory feels different—less about survival and more about reclaiming purpose.
We pick through the medical tents, finding a few bandages and a half-intact canteen. Not much, but every scrap helps. The vantage from this rooftop is limited by mist, yet I see outlines of tall structures, broken highways, places I've yet to explore. Somewhere among them must lie the key to that bunker door, the final piece of the puzzle.
When we return, the Campground embraces us with familiar warmth. The fire crackles softly. I set down the bandages and wipe sweat from my brow. My heart still beats fast, but it's steady, sure. I have a clearer goal: The Keepers, the Threshold, the oath I once swore—I must piece these mysteries together and find a way forward.
Lynn sits, watching me closely. I sense she's pleased with my progress. I test my voice, even knowing words fail here: "We'll figure it out," I say softly. The mist muffles my voice, but I don't care. The silence no longer feels like an enemy. It's merely a veil I am learning to see through.
I rest, axe at my side, relics and memories arranged before me. Each journey deepens the story. Another chapter awaits in the deck of cards, and I will be ready.