Tartarus was not a world governed by balance. It was a world of extremes — of dominion, not harmony. There was no single sky, no unified land and no natural order binding it together the way the worlds Youri had known were bound; instead it existed as a fractured expanse of territories, each ruled not by nature but by the will of whatever entity had claimed it. Each domain was its own reality and obeyed its own rules. Between them all stretched the desert — an endless, barren expanse that cut through the whole of Tartarus like a scar. It was the only thing there that resembled neutrality, and the only thing that kept the domains from colliding into total annihilation: a buffer, a boundary, a fragile line that held chaos at bay. And yet even the desert was not kind.
Youri walked through it alone. The wind howled endlessly and changed direction without warning, striking him from every side as though the world itself resented his presence. Grains of dark sand cut across his exposed skin, flung through the air with violent force, so that every step forward felt heavier than the last — not only in his body, but in his mind. There was no sound but the wind. No life. No movement. Only him.
He had little more than what he had arrived with. A dark green cloak hung loosely over his shoulders with its torn edges snapping wildly in the relentless wind; beneath it his standard pilot gear was still intact, though it was already showing the wear of that harsh place. Slung over his back was a small emergency pack, standard issue for every Orbiton pilot — minimal and practical, never meant for anything like this. He didn't stop walking. He couldn't afford to, because in Tartarus, standing still felt like surrender.
As he crossed the desert his eyes stayed sharp, always scanning, always observing. Everything he saw only confirmed the reality of where he had been cast. At the edges of the desert there were cracks — not physical fractures, but distortions in space itself — and beyond those distortions lay the domains. On one side a storm world raged without end, lightning splitting its sky apart at constant intervals while the ground below churned under winds that would tear apart anything caught in them. Farther off, a realm of molten fire stretched into the distance, seas of lava boiling beneath a suffocating heat and pillars of flame erupting at random, as if the land itself were alive. And then there was the ice — far away, but unmistakable — a frozen expanse of towering glaciers and endless snowfall where the very air seemed to crystallize. It was quiet there. Too quiet. And something about that silence made it more dangerous than all the rest.
Youri let out a slow breath as he walked. Each domain was a kingdom, and each kingdom was ruled by something — something like Altopereh. His jaw tightened. "So I'm not the only one," he muttered under his breath. The realization sank deeper with every step. This wasn't just a place. It was a prison — a graveyard for things too powerful, too dangerous or too unwanted to exist anywhere else. And now he was part of it.
Time passed, or at least it felt that it did. There was no sun. There were no stars. The light never changed; the crimson sky stayed exactly as it was, stretched endlessly above him like a painted ceiling that refused to move. No day, no night, no sense of progression at all — only existence.
Eventually Youri stopped — not because he wanted to, but because his body demanded it. He lowered himself onto the cold, shifting sand while the wind raged on around him as if mocking his attempt at rest. His muscles ached, not from any single strain but from constant resistance; his throat was dry, and his breathing, though steady, came heavier than before. For the first time since arriving, he allowed himself to pause — and nothing changed. The sky stayed the same, the wind didn't ease, and the world took no notice of him at all.
He let out a slow breath and pulled the emergency pack from his shoulders, set it in front of him and opened it carefully. Inside were rations — compact, nutrient-dense packs made to keep a pilot alive in an emergency — and water, limited, measured, controlled. He stared at them for a moment and then breathed out quietly. "This won't last," he said to himself.
And he was right, because Tartarus wasn't a place you survived through preparation. It was a place that forced you to adapt — or die. He took a small portion, just enough to keep himself going, and sealed the pack again. Every decision mattered now, and every resource. Waste was not an option.
He leaned back a little and lifted his gaze toward the distant horizon, toward the domains. "I can't stay here," he said quietly. The desert wasn't safe. It only felt safe because nothing ruled it. That in itself was dangerous, because it meant the desert offered nothing — no food, no water, no shelter, only time, and even that was uncertain. His eyes moved again, toward the ice domain, the only place where he had seen water, or something close to it. "If I want to survive," he went on, his voice steady now and grounded in logic, "I have to move."
But not blindly, not recklessly, because stepping into a domain meant stepping into someone else's territory, and in Tartarus territory meant power. His face hardened. "I can't go in like this." He looked down at his hands, and then back at the endless desert behind him. "I need something more."
And then his mind came back to it. The Orbiton — Altopereh's vessel, or what was left of it. His eyes narrowed as the realization took shape. Even empty, that machine was his only advantage. His only chance. Altopereh had left something behind in it — energy, dormant, growing. "If I can activate it…" he muttered. Mobility. Defense. Power. Everything he lacked now, and everything he needed.
Without another word he stood, and the wind pressed against him again at once, his cloak snapping behind him as if it were trying to pull him back down. But this time he didn't stop. He turned back the way he had come, toward the only thing in that world that resembled hope.
"This isn't survival anymore," he said quietly, his eyes sharp, focused, resolved. "This is war."
And Youri Kronos began to walk again across the endless desert of Tartarus — not as a lost man, and not as prey, but as something else entirely: something being forged, step by step, into a force that could stand in a world where even monsters ruled.