Logan's eyes scanned the cosmos as he continued his journey through the Lower Realm. After a while, a faint energy pulse caught his attention. He turned his gaze toward the distant planet, pondering its fate.
"I didn't visit this planet in any of my last regressions because I felt only a small trace of a magnetic field and thought it was going to be dead anyway. But let's go there this time..." Logan mused, deciding to investigate.
As Logan descended, the planet's coastlines came into view, stretching endlessly in a grim tableau. The ocean, once vibrant, now lay lifeless, its waters dull and sluggish as they lapped weakly against jagged, decaying rocks. Thick clouds hung heavily over the horizon, suffocating the light of the sun with a pale, sickly glow. The air was thick, tinged with the metallic scent of ash, making every breath a laborious struggle.
Logan stood at the edge of the shore, boots sinking slightly into the damp, cracked earth. The usual hum of energy that accompanied his presence was nearly nonexistent here. The planet's magnetic field was weak and suffocating, disorienting in its emptiness. His sharp eyes swept over the desolation before him: dead trees, twisted into grotesque shapes, scattered across the land like ancient gravestones. Machinery lay abandoned, half-buried in the earth—relics of a time long past when industry had once thrived.
"A dying world," Logan muttered, his voice barely carried by the faint breeze. His gaze lingered on the distant ruins of a village, the faint pulse of the World's Principle reaching him from deep within the planet's heart.
Curious, Logan continued his trek along the coastline until he came across a small wooden boat, anchored precariously near a crumbling pier. The boat's hull was weathered and scarred, paint peeling to reveal splintering wood. Nearby, a hunched figure moved with deliberate care, untangling a net that held only a pitiful handful of fish.
The figure straightened as Logan approached, casting a wary eye his way. The man was older, his leathery skin hardened by years of exposure to the elements. His clothes were tattered and threadbare, clinging loosely to his wiry frame.
"You don't look like you're from around here," the man said, his voice gruff but laced with curiosity.
"I'm just passing through," Logan replied, his tone calm yet measured. "What happened to this place?"
The man introduced himself as Eldon, a fisherman who had spent his entire life by the sea. His eyes grew somber as he spoke of the planet's decline. Rivers that once flowed with life now moved in reverse, their waters turning brackish and foul. Crops withered in fields beneath a sky that refused to change. The few remaining animals were gaunt and strange, their instincts warped by the planet's weakening magnetic field.
Eldon gestured inland, his expression darkening. "Amica's the heart of it all," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The President in Capitolis… he claims to hold the key to keeping this world alive, but his power reaches farther than you'd believe. Not many who question him live to tell the tale."
Logan nodded, acknowledging the warning but already knowing his path. The faint signature of the World's Principle pulled him onward, and he knew that Capitolis was where he needed to go.
The journey inland was grueling. The cracked earth seemed endless, interrupted only by jagged ridges and the skeletal remains of creatures long dead. The sky remained a monotonous gray, a constant reminder of the planet's decline. Every so often, Logan would stop, adjusting his bearings and following the faint threads of energy that guided him toward his destination.
On the second day, the wasteland revealed another figure—a lone merchant pulling a rickety cart piled high with mismatched goods. She wore a patchwork coat and a wide-brimmed hat, shielding herself from the drizzle that had started to fall.
"Energy storms," the woman said, pointing to the gathering dark clouds in the distance. "They'll tear you apart if you're not careful."
She introduced herself as Tira, a wandering trader who roamed the dying lands in search of opportunities, however fleeting. For a handful of coins, she sold Logan a map—its edges frayed and ink faded, but still legible enough to mark the path to Capitolis. As they spoke, Tira lowered her voice, casting wary glances around.
"There's talk of rebellion," she whispered, her voice laced with caution. "Some say the President's gone mad, holding onto an artifact that's bleeding the planet dry. But you didn't hear that from me."
When Logan pressed for more, Tira shook her head. "You don't ask questions about Amica unless you're ready to disappear," she warned, hitching her cart and turning away.
Logan watched her fade into the haze, her figure swallowed by the desolate landscape. His resolve only grew stronger. Whatever awaited him in Capitolis, he would uncover the truth. The answers about this planet's decline—and its future—lay in the heart of the city.
END OF CHAPTER 12