The sky above the city was a bruised shade of red, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding from wounds unseen. Kael tightened the ragged cloak around his shoulders, its threadbare fabric offering little protection from the biting wind that carried the stench of decay. The world had not ended in fire or ice, as the old stories claimed. No, the world had eroded—slowly, methodically—until all that remained were scattered remnants of something once grand.

Kael walked the ruined streets, past crumbling buildings that stood as silent witnesses to humanity's slow collapse. What had caused it? No one knew for sure. Some spoke of a cataclysmic event that shattered the boundary between worlds, allowing the laws of reality to twist and shift. Others whispered of an ancient reckoning, a consequence of sins long forgotten. Most, however, had stopped asking altogether. Survival left little room for curiosity.

He pulled his scarf over his mouth as he passed a corpse slumped against a shattered window, its flesh gnawed down to sinew and bone. The city was dying, but it wasn't empty. Desperation bred monsters, and those monsters wore human faces.

Kael had learned that lesson young.

The market district had once been a place of commerce, where merchants peddled their wares with loud voices and eager hands. Now, it was a shadow of itself. Makeshift stalls lined the cracked pavement, their owners watching passersby with wary, sunken eyes. Food was scarce. Water was worth more than blood. Kael moved with practiced ease, his steps quiet, his presence unremarkable. He had no interest in drawing attention.

He approached a stall where a man with a crooked nose and a cruel gaze sorted through a pile of dried roots.

"Got anything fresh?" Kael asked.

The man scoffed. "Fresh? You think you're in the old world?"

Kael didn't flinch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch, the clink of metal barely audible beneath the wind's howl. "Silver," he said. "Enough for something real."

The merchant's eyes flicked to the pouch, then to Kael's face. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does when you're asking for things that don't exist." The man leaned in. "But I might know someone. If you've got more than that little pouch, that is."

Kael didn't react, though his stomach coiled in anticipation. This was what he had come here for. Rumors had led him to this wretched district—whispers of something beyond mere survival. A place where one could trade more than silver for power. A place where the weak could become something more.

The Black Maw.

He had thought it was just another myth, like the stories of how the world had fallen. But then he had heard the accounts. The hushed voices speaking of those who walked into the Maw and never returned. Of those who did return, changed.

The merchant tapped the counter, drawing Kael's gaze. "There's a place, but it's not for the faint-hearted."

"I'm listening."

The man smirked. "Then you're already closer than most."

Kael had come for a reason. He was starving, but not for food. He was weak, but not for long.

He would find the Black Maw.

And he would see if the whispers were true.