The air crackled as the world snapped back into motion.
Lyra moved first.
She rushed forward, blade in hand, her body reacting before her mind could process what had just happened. The Nullborn in front of her twisted its grotesque body, its hollow mouth gaping open—
But she was faster.
With a swift, precise strike, her dagger sliced through its neck, the corrupted flesh hissing as it dissolved into nothing.
She landed on her feet, panting slightly, her heart still racing from the battle.
Then, she turned—and saw Elias.
Kneeling in the rubble.
Motionless.
Lifeless.
"Hey!" she shouted, her voice sharp with alarm.
The second Nullborn lurched toward her, but she barely registered it.
She killed it in seconds, its body barely having time to react before it crumbled away into the wind.
She didn't even watch it fall.
Because Elias wasn't moving.
Callum was already beside him, kneeling next to him.
"Hey, dude," Callum muttered, shaking his shoulder slightly. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
No response.
Elias was staring at the ground, his hands limp at his sides.
Tears ran down his face.
But his expression was unreadable.
Callum and Lyra exchanged a glance.
Then—slowly—Elias lifted his head.
His eyes met theirs, his gaze empty but focused.
He exhaled shakily, wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, and stood up.
Without a word, he turned to the bunker doors and raised his sword.
Then—he began hitting them.
The dull clang of metal on metal echoed through the ruins.
Lyra blinked in shock. "Elias, what the hell are you doing!?"
Elias didn't respond.
He just kept striking the massive steel doors, again and again. His movements were sharp. Angry. Desperate.
"Stop!" Lyra grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back. "We don't even know if—"
HISSSS.
The sound of air pressure releasing.
The massive bunker doors shuddered.
A deep, echoing rumble shook the ground as they slowly creaked open.
Elias took a step back, gripping his sword tightly as a staircase descended into the dark.
A stairway—leading downward.
For a moment, the three of them stood frozen.
Then—Elias moved first.
"Let's go," he muttered.
His voice was hoarse.
Lyra and Callum exchanged another glance.
Then, without a word, they followed him inside.
The doors sealed shut behind them.
The air inside the stairway was cool and damp, the scent of earth thick in the confined space. The torches along the walls flickered weakly, casting long, shifting shadows as they descended.
Step after step, they moved downward, their breaths the only sound in the quiet.
"This place is huge…" Callum muttered, running a hand along the smooth metal walls.
Lyra's eyes darted between the dim lights, her fingers resting on the hilt of her dagger. "How long do these stairs go?"
Elias didn't answer.
He just kept walking.
His hands were still shaking.
Lyra noticed.
She didn't say anything.
But she saw.
And she didn't forget.
Then, after what felt like forever—they saw it.
The stairs opened into light
The underground city stretched far beyond what they could have imagined.
From the stairway, Elias, Lyra, and Callum stood in silent awe, their gazes drinking in the impossible sight before them.
A world untouched by ruin.
Above them, the cavern's dome-like ceiling was so high that it might as well have been a sky. Golden artificial light shone from enormous lanterns mounted along the upper walls, mimicking the sun. The glow cast warm hues across the rolling grasslands, the forests, and the winding river that carved its way through the settlement.
The city itself was alive.
People walked freely through cobblestone streets, carrying goods, chatting, and trading as though they had never known the horrors above. Stalls lined the roads, displaying fruits, tools, and cloth in vibrant colors. A group of children laughed as they chased each other past an old library, their voices ringing through the air like something from another time.
Callum's lips parted in disbelief. "This is—"
"A miracle," Lyra finished, stepping forward, her amber eyes wide.
She turned, scanning the streets with urgency.
"Maybe…" she whispered. "Maybe Dad is here."
Callum's expression softened.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Maybe."
Lyra clutched the straps of her bag tightly and took a deep breath. For the first time in so long… there was hope.
But Elias—Elias felt nothing.
His hands were still shaking.
Not from excitement.
From fear.
He clenched them into fists, his breath slow, controlled.
Then, he spoke.
"The place from the diary," Elias said. "We need to go there. Now."
Lyra hesitated, her hopeful expression wavering.
"What's the rush? Can't we just—"
Then, her eyes lowered.
She saw it.
Elias' fingers.
Still trembling.
She sighed sharply but didn't argue.
Callum nodded, "Let's find someone who knows the way."
A merchant gestured to his stall as they passed, offering dried meats and bread. A blacksmith hammered away at a glowing piece of metal, his face streaked with soot.
The people were strong, hardened survivors, yet they were living.
It was a contrast so violent to the world they had come from that it almost felt fake.
A large stone bridge arched over a crystal-clear river, its waters reflecting the golden lights above. They passed by an open forum, where survivors gathered around a speaker—a woman with scars along her arms, rallying them about the future.
Elias barely paid attention.
The world felt muted around him.
Like he was moving through something that wasn't real.
"This city is just an illusion," the thought whispered in his mind. "A shelter, a cage. The ruin is still coming."
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
They stopped at a small artisan stall, where an older man sat on a stool, carving symbols into a wooden plaque.
Callum stepped forward. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know where this place is?"
He handed the man the diary.
The old man took it, flipping through the pages slowly before nodding.
"Aye, I know this place." He tapped a finger against the page. "It's still standing. Just follow the main path to the city center—third street on the left. You'll see an old house with a red door."
Elias inhaled slowly.
"Thank you," he muttered.
The man smiled, handing the book back. "You newcomers?"
Lyra hesitated. "Yeah. We just—"
"Good," the man interrupted. "We could use more survivors."
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Elias' spine.
Without another word, they followed the path.
The house was ordinary.
It sat at the edge of the city's central district, just as described. The red door was slightly worn, the wooden structure reinforced with steel plating along the windows. It wasn't grand. It wasn't extravagant.
But something about it felt heavier than the rest of the city.
Elias stepped forward first.
His heartbeat quickened.
His fingers brushed against the handle—the metal was cold.
Slowly, he pushed the door open.
The inside was dimly lit. The scent of parchment and old ink filled the air. The faint sound of papers shifting and the scrape of a chair against the floor echoed from the back of the room.
Then—a figure.
A man, standing near a desk.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His coat was neatly buttoned, a deep red, the color of dried blood. A long sword was strapped to his back, its hilt worn from use but polished to perfection.
His hands moved with purpose as he studied a map on the desk, marking something down with a quill. His movements were precise, controlled.
A man who knew exactly what he was doing.
A man who had seen war.
Elias' breath hitched.
Something clicked in his mind.
He knew that face.
That name.
It was impossible.
He should be dead.
Elias took a shaky step forward, his voice barely a whisper.
"Dain… Dain Ferris, Fallen guardian?"
The man stiffened.
Then—slowly—he turned.
Golden eyes met his.
A gaze so piercing, so intense, that for a brief moment, Elias forgot how to breathe.
Dain's expression was unreadable—calm, yet heavy, like a man who had lived too many lives.
His gaze settled on Elias, studying him, recognizing him.
Elias' entire body felt like ice.
Then—Dain finally spoke.
His voice was deep, steady, carrying the weight of something far older than himself.
"Who the hell are you?"
[The End, Volume 1]