Zami moved through the barren expanse, his every step calculated and deliberate. The landscape of Forsaken Hollow, now eerily silent after the fall of Silent Agony, stretched endlessly in all directions. The absence of creatures was a rarity in this colony, but the uneasy quiet was no comfort—it only served to amplify the isolation.
He paused atop a jagged rock formation, his silver eyes scanning the desolate horizon. The Withering Spire loomed faintly in the distance, a dark monolith against the dim backdrop. Its twisted structure seemed to pierce the very fabric of the colony, an ominous reminder of the next challenge awaiting him.
But the way forward was unclear. The paths that should have existed were gone, swallowed by the ever-shifting terrain of this forsaken world.
Zami muttered to himself, "There's always a way. I just have to find it."
He began descending from the rock, his katana resting at his side. As he ventured deeper into the unknown, the ground beneath his feet became uneven, and the air grew colder. Faint echoes occasionally reached his ears—whispers carried by the wind, or perhaps just the remnants of agony lingering in the Hollow.
Zami found himself standing before a narrow fissure in the rocky terrain. The gap was barely wide enough for a person to pass through, but it extended downward, sloping into darkness. A faint draft emanated from within, carrying with it a stale, metallic scent.
"This might lead somewhere," he said, his voice steady.
He crouched low and squeezed through the fissure, his cloak catching on jagged edges as he descended. The walls were damp and cold, and the path twisted unpredictably, forcing him to move carefully.
The further he went, the more the faint draft grew into a steady breeze. It carried with it distant sounds—rumblings, like shifting stone, and the occasional echo that almost resembled laughter.
The narrow fissure eventually opened into a cavernous space, its size concealed by the shadows. The air here was heavier, the breeze swirling unpredictably as if alive. Zami's eyes darted across the cavern, noting the faint glow of moss clinging to the walls and the strange markings etched into the stone.
At the far end of the cavern, he spotted something—a worn, broken signpost partially buried in rubble.
He approached cautiously, brushing away the debris to reveal the faded text.
"To the Spire."
The words were barely legible, but they were enough to confirm that this path once connected to the Withering Spire.
"It's a start," he murmured, straightening.
But as he turned to leave, the ground trembled beneath his feet. From the shadows, a faint glow began to materialize—several pairs of glowing eyes, accompanied by the sound of skittering limbs.
Zami drew his katana in one fluid motion, his stance calm but ready. He couldn't afford to let his guard down now.
The path to the Spire may have been found, but it would not be an easy one to traverse.