The violet sky darkened, folding into itself like a fresh bruise. The ruins were no longer empty—they breathed. Shadows stretched unnaturally, crawling across jagged stone like spilled ink, pooling in corners that defied the laws of light. The air was thick, tasting of ozone and ancient, rotting metal.
Golden's chest throbbed. Each heartbeat was a dull hammer blow against his ribs. His fingers flexed involuntarily, the black veins of the Mark twitching beneath his skin like buried insects.
Survival, he realized, was not a gift. It was a debt that his body was struggling to pay.
Ere crouched a few paces away. She was as silent as the stone. Her blue eyes scanned the dark horizon with a predatory stillness.
Her suit hummed—a low, electric purr that synchronized with the world's dying rhythm.
"You're bleeding internally," she said. Her voice was flat, devoid of pity. It was the voice of a butcher assessing a piece of meat. "If you don't stabilize, your lungs will fill with Essence-saturated blood by dawn. A messy way to go."
She didn't wait for him to complain. She tossed a small vial toward him. It shimmered with a pale, sickly blue light.
"Drink. Or don't. The ruins don't care about your pride."
Golden caught the vial. The glass was cold.
He drank. It tasted like copper and mint, a liquid fire that raced through his veins, stitching his torn muscles back together with agonizing speed. He gasped, leaning his head against the cold obsidian wall.
"Safe spot nearby," Ere muttered, deploying her drone. The device was a jagged shard of black metal. It rose into the air with a hum that set Golden's teeth on edge, its neon lenses flickering as it mapped the ghosts of the city.
They moved through a narrow crevice into a hidden hollow. It smelled of damp stone and old rot.
Ere started a fire. The flames weren't orange; they flickered with a strange, chemical green hue, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like starving giants on the cave walls.
"The Mark," Ere said suddenly.She showed her left arm saying this is chrono mark(electric) but Yourss... that's something else. It's a hybrid. A corruption of the Primal 12."
She leaned forward, the firelight reflecting in her cold blue eyes.
"In Aethelgard, hybrids are myths. Or abominations. Usually both."
She reached into her pack and threw a bundle of dark, shimmering fabric at his feet. It was a suit, lined with glowing circuitry, looking like a flayed shadow.
"Put it on. Your clothes look like rags from a dead era. In the villages, you'll be a target. In the Spire-Cities, you'll be a specimen."
Golden touched the suit. It felt cold, almost wet. As he pulled it on, the fabric constricted, molding to his frame with an unsettling intimacy. It didn't just fit; it clamped. The neon lines bled into his skin, syncing with his pulse. He felt faster, sharper—and less human.
Then came the weight of steel. Ere tossed him a blade. It was medium-length, the edge shimmering with a faint, blue thermal glow.
"Essence-Tech," she explained. "It won't bend time for you, but it'll cut through a Stalker's hide. Don't lose it. In this world, a man without a blade is just a corpse that hasn't stopped walking yet."
Golden gripped the hilt. The balance was perfect. It felt like an extension of his arm—which only made his dread grow.
He thought of the compass in his bag. The needle was still pulling him deeper into the dark. He thought of the note. Trust the mark. Don't trust the world.
Did that include the girl sitting across from him?
The fire crackled, spitting green sparks. Outside, something howled—a long, distorted sound that was half-organic, half-electronic. The Mark on Golden's arm pulsed in response. It wasn't a warning this time.
It was a greeting.
Golden clenched his fist, the new suit humming against his skin. He was no longer the boy who had fallen from the sky. He was something else. Something Aethelgard hadn't prepared for.
"Tomorrow," Golden whispered to the flames.
"Tomorrow," Ere replied, her eyes never leaving the mouth of the cave. "We see if you're worth the effort."