The gray wasteland stretched endlessly before them, its silence oppressive. The ground was coated in ash, and broken, gnarled trees jutted upward like skeletal fingers reaching for the perpetually overcast sky. Zami moved with quiet purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the barren expanse. Beside him, Kiyo followed closely, her small frame almost blending into the desolate landscape.
"What are the shadows you spoke of?" Zami asked, his tone steady, though his gaze remained fixed ahead.
Kiyo hesitated, clutching the wooden bird figurine tighter in her hands. "They... they're monsters," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Their heads are made of bone. They come at night... and they don't stop."
Zami's silver eyes flickered briefly, his expression unchanged, though inwardly, her words stirred something familiar—a memory of the creatures that had shattered his clan and plunged him into this endless journey.
As they walked, Zami's steps halted abruptly. His eyes narrowed on a black object embedded in a twisted, charred tree ahead. He moved toward it, his hand resting lightly on his katana's hilt.
It was a spear, jagged and cruel, made entirely of a black, glass-like stone. Its surface glinted faintly, as if alive with a malevolent energy. The spear had pierced straight through the tree, splintering the bark and leaving deep cracks in the trunk. Zami crouched to examine it, his fingers brushing the ash-coated ground around its base.
"Something fought here," he muttered to himself. The weapon was unlike anything he'd seen in the colony. It spoke of power and precision—a weapon forged for death.
Behind him, Kiyo shifted nervously. Her dark eyes fixated on the spear, and she hugged the bird figurine closer to her chest. "It's them," she said in a trembling tone.
Zami turned to her, his silver gaze sharp. "Them?"
She nodded, her small body trembling. "The monsters with heads of bone... they use weapons like that. They leave them behind when they hunt."
Zami's hand tightened on his katana. He straightened, his expression unreadable, but his senses were now heightened. He could feel it—the faint, malevolent energy lingering in the air around the spear.
"Stay close to me," he said firmly.
Kiyo nodded, her small footsteps now mirroring his as they continued forward. Zami's mind churned as he pieced together what little he knew. The colony's horrors had been unrelenting, but this land, this supposed "outside," held terrors of its own.
Every broken tree, every patch of disturbed ash now seemed to carry meaning—a story of violence and survival. He could feel unseen eyes on them, watching from the edges of the wasteland.
His grip on the katana's hilt tightened. He didn't know what awaited them, but one thing was certain: the shadows Kiyo feared were very real, and they were far from safe.
The pair moved forward, Zami's every step deliberate, his senses razor-sharp. The wasteland seemed to close in around them, and the silence grew heavier, oppressive. Whatever lurked out here, Zami was ready. Or so he told himself.