A shadow swayed across Atama's eyelids, rousing him. Memory returned in a sickening lurch—the crumbling slope, the fall, the impact.
He tried to sit up, and a sharp pain lanced through his back. His backpack was gone. The weight that had been pressing on his shoulders was no longer there.
Atama turned his head, frisking the surroundings. A few feet away, his backpack lay on the ground. And scrambled towards it, unzipped it in haste, pulled out his water bottle, and gulped it quickly.
Swish—CRACK!
A sound tore the air above him—not a bird, not the wind. It was the sound of something slicing the sky, fast and violent.
Atama froze, the bottle halfway to his lips. He scanned the canopy, but layers of leaves hid the heavens. A low, persistent buzz began to hum, vibrating in his teeth.
It's here. It followed me.
He shoved the bottle away, scrambled to his feet, and ran. The buzzing swelled, a relentless drone dogging his steps. He crashed through underbrush, lungs burning, his earlier injuries screaming in protest.
Don't fall. If you fall, you're dead. Was it ever really Father? Or has it been that thing all along?
A screech—mechanical, alien—ripped through the forest. Atama glanced up just as the sky ignited.
A ball of fire, trailing molten light, screamed downward. It struck the forest ahead with a cataclysmic BOOM. The world turned orange and white. A shockwave of heat and force lifted Atama off his feet and threw him backward. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his body, as a wall of flame erupted where he'd just been standing.
Get up. Get up!
Smoke, thick and black, rolled over him, stinging his eyes, clawing at his lungs. He pushed himself onto his elbows, coughing. His backpack was on fire.
"No, no, no!" He slapped at the flames, scorching his palms until the last ember died. The fabric was charred, but the contents seemed spared.
Thump… Thump…
The sound of a heartbeat pulsed softly, ticking within the crater. There, nestled in smoldering earth, was a sphere. It was the size of a human head, made of a seamless, reflective gold. Across its surface crawled a luminous blue pattern, intricate as a circuit board or a celestial map, half-obscured by dirt and ash.
Atama trudges closer, his eyes fixed on the strange object within the crater.
Heat radiated from it in visible waves.
What in the world…? Atama is in awe and confused. Is that… is that alive? I need to be careful with it.
Warily, Atama grabbed a long, charred branch. Keeping his distance, he extended the stick and poked the sphere.
Nothing.
He let out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding. He used the branch to scrape away the dirt caked over the blue pattern. As the filth fell away, the hum intensified, shifting from a pulse to a sustained, resonant note.
A perfect circle, it was etched into the sphere, its inner ring inscribed with an unknown script lined with intricate characters that curved and flowed in elegant strokes, though some parts were scratched.
An artifact. Ancient. Dangerous. He had to record it. His father might know.
He shrugged off his damaged pack, pulled out his miraculously intact notebook and a pencil. His hands trembled, making the sketch crude and shaky, a pale ghost of the object's beauty, but it would have to do.
As he stowed the notebook, a sharp CRACKLE erupted from the sphere. The golden light brightened, pulsating fiercely. An invisible force, like a magnetic pull, tugged at Atama's very bones, drawing him toward the crater.
No. Don't.
aware that something was wrong, he knew an infliction was about to happen, but his curiosity swallowed him whole, tempting him to get closer despite the dread coiling in his chest.
Raising his hand once more, touching the ball, he now faced using his hand directly. Atama moved closer, his fingertips trembling as they reached toward the golden ball.
The surface touched his skin with a smooth, slick feel—surprisingly cold, as if the sphere lacked warmth despite its glow.
But something was not right when he touched the golden ball. Though he touches it, there's a force, a gap in the space repelling between Atama and the golden ball.
Tries to break through the barrier between him and the golden ball, but it is a rather wasted effort. Because when Atama pushed harder, the more he pushed, the stronger the resistance became.
"The hell…?" he muttered, scrambling away
If this thing… were actually alive, or maybe some tech with built-in protection, even a locking target…
no way…
That thing resembles an ancient artifact. I must get out of here…
Just as Atama moved to leave, a sudden burst of force from the sphere grabbed him and pulled him through the air toward it.
He turned to run.
The sphere reacted. A lash of unseen force wrapped around his torso and yanked him into the air. He flew, weightless and helpless, crashing through branches before being flung forward like a discarded rag.
He hit the riverbank with a force that shattered the world into sparks of pain. He lay sprawl gasping, mud in his mouth, the roar of the river in his ears.
"Ugh… my chest…" he croaked. "Can't… breathe…"
Atama glanced toward the giant roots, which were closer and bigger than before. Even though his lungs strained and his body was wracking, he refused to give up.
After everything he had gone through, leaving would have made it worthless.
BZZZZZRT!
The sound roared back, angrier than before. From the heart of the smoke, the golden sphere shot forth like a vengeful comet, streaking straight toward his heart.
Atama's hand closed around a rock that was the largest for his palm as his eyes shot to the ground. He roared in desperation, swung his arm, and smashed it forward, slamming into the sphere.
With teeth gritted against the pain, Atama shoved himself upright. His hand closed around a rock, and he heaved it in one savage, desperate motion.
It connected with a sharp, metallic CLANG that shivered up his arm.