The scavenger, a wiry man with a sunken face and a cunning gleam in his eyes, crouched behind the jagged remains of an overturned caravan. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving with both fear and exhilaration. He had seen them—the two figures, one cloaked in golden light, the other wielding elemental fury with a grace that chilled him to the bone.
"City scum," he spat under his breath, his cracked lips curling into a sneer. His mind churned with possibilities. City folk meant riches, power… and danger.
With a final glance at the fading silhouettes of Vince and Flumen, the scavenger scrambled back into the Wastelands, heading for a place he swore he'd never return to: the gang stronghold.
The hideout was a sprawling maze of rusted metal and tattered tents, hidden deep within a canyon where even sunlight seemed hesitant to intrude. It stank of sweat, blood, and despair—a testament to the brutal hierarchy that governed its inhabitants.
At its center sat the gang leader, Varik—a hulking figure clad in pieced-together armor scavenged from the Wastelands. His frame was corded with muscle, his dark skin marked with scars that told tales of countless battles. His eyes, however, were the most unsettling feature—pale grey, almost white, as if the light had been drained from them. His Crest of Darkness, a jagged spiral etched into his forearm, pulsed faintly with a sinister black glow.
The scavenger was thrown before Varik, his face hitting the dirt hard enough to split his lip. He scrambled to his knees, trembling under the gang leader's gaze.
"Speak," Varik growled, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder.
"City folk," the scavenger blurted, wiping blood from his mouth. "I saw 'em—two of 'em. One's got light, the other… water, I think. Evolved, both of 'em."
Varik leaned forward, his thick fingers gripping the arms of his crude iron throne. His expression darkened.
"Evolved?" he repeated, the word dripping with venom. Memories surged unbidden—of the city's leaders, their sanctimonious judgment, and the cruel sentence that had cast him into the Wastelands to rot.
"Yes," the scavenger stammered. "They—they mentioned a mission. Didn't hear much, but they're up to something."
Varik sat back, a cruel smirk forming. "Good," he said. "Let them play their little games. The Wastelands don't belong to them."
Raising his arm, he murmured a guttural incantation, and the shadows around him writhed like living things. From the darkness coalesced a small, inky figure—a shadow construct, no larger than a raven, its eyes burning with faint, malevolent light.
"Go," Varik commanded. "Watch them. Do not engage. I want to know their every move."
The shadow let out a faint, echoing hiss before darting into the gloom, vanishing without a trace.
The air had grown heavier as Vince and Flumen made their way deeper into the Wastelands. The distant cries of beasts were now replaced by an unsettling silence, broken only by the crunch of their boots on dry, brittle ground.
Vince stopped abruptly, his Crest of Light pulsing faintly against his skin.
"Darkness," he murmured.
Flumen glanced at him, his brows furrowing. "What?"
"Something's watching us," Vince said, his tone low but sharp. He closed his eyes, his Essence reaching outward in a soft, radiant wave. It wasn't strong enough to reveal the observer's exact location, but he could feel it—a faint, sinister presence, lingering at the edge of perception.
"Far enough not to strike," Vince said after a moment, his eyes snapping open. "But close enough to see us."
Flumen's grip tightened on his staff. "Let them watch," he said coolly. "If they try anything, I'll show them why they shouldn't."
Vince frowned but didn't argue. "Just don't waste more Essence," he warned.
The two men reached the rendezvous point, a desolate outcrop surrounded by jagged rocks and winds that howled like the cries of lost souls. There, a woman stood waiting, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the shattered moon.
Lyra was a striking figure, her silver hair cascading down her back like liquid starlight. Her eyes, a deep violet, held a calm intensity that seemed to pierce through the haze of the Wastelands. The lunar Crest on her collarbone glimmered faintly, its intricate design shifting subtly with the phases of the distant moon above.
"You're late," she said without turning. Her voice was smooth, measured, and tinged with faint amusement.
"We were delayed," Vince replied. "Flumen got into a scrap."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder at them. "Beasts?"
"Awakened-level," Flumen said, his tone defensive.
Lyra's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she sighed. "You're lucky the Wastelands didn't spit out something worse. You should know better than to squander your Essence out here."
Flumen muttered something under his breath but didn't argue further.
"Let's move," Vince interjected, his tone firm. "We're being watched."
Lyra's expression shifted, her amusement replaced by a cool, focused intensity. She nodded, falling in step with them as the three headed deeper into the desolation, the shadows stretching long behind them.