He'd made it out.
Clawed his way through the ventilation shafts. When the Vault's last emergency hatch hissed open into the hills behind Sanctuary, he had slipped into the ruins like a whisper.
The world outside the Vault was... wrong.
Sky. Wind. Decay.
Ashborn crept through the husks of Sanctuary Hills, low to the ground, tail sweeping behind him. He was barely two feet tall, sinewy and quick, claws gripping broken pavement as if it were familiar terrain.
It wasn't.
But something about this place clawed at the back of his mind.
He'd watched the sky for hours—those clouds, that vast expanse—until he grew used to it. Everything was louder out here. The air was full of echoes. Memories. Decay.
Ashborn stayed hidden, for the world was vast and he was small.
But his hunger was growing.
And something was coming.
==============================================================
She came at noon.
He didn't know her name. But he knew her face.
Something inside him recoiled, and yet yearned.
He'd seen her before.
But he didn't remember where.
She limped slowly across the cracked bridge into Sanctuary, her eyes wide, steps unsteady. The way she looked at the empty houses… the grief in her eyes…
She'd lost something.
So had he.
===============================================================
Nora heard the noise behind her: a soft scrape, like claws on wood.
She turned, eyes narrowing. The baton lifted instinctively.
Out from the wreckage crept the small creature—no taller than her waist, moving on all fours with predatory grace.
She froze.
To Nora, he looked like something born from nightmare: bony ridges along his back, curved claws, a long tail twitching like a whip. But he wasn't massive. Not yet. Just a child, really—though clearly not human.
"What in God's name…"
Ashborn tilted his head, unblinking.
She didn't run.
She didn't scream.
She lowered her baton slowly, crouching slightly.
His clawed feet slowed. He stood now, unsteady, on his hind legs—briefly balanced like a person. A broken attempt at posture.
Nora blinked.
"You're… not just an animal."
He stepped closer.
She gripped the baton tighter but didn't swing.
His head tilted. Her face—it tugged at something deep. Not love. Not fear. Something older.
Then he made a sound.
A broken, croaking word-shape, like an echo of something once human.
"...Sha…"
Nora gasped. "What?"
Ashborn flinched and dropped to all fours again, visibly shaken. The sound had escaped him without intent.
Nora took a slow step forward.
"Did you just… talk?"
Ashborn turned away, ashamed. He shouldn't exist. Not like this. But he couldn't leave her. Couldn't explain why.
She wasn't just familiar.
She was an anchor.
To what—he couldn't say.
They stayed like that for some time—watching each other from a cautious distance.
Eventually, hunger gnawed at Ashborn's gut. He pulled away, vanished into a nearby backyard. She followed, slowly, watching him devour the carcass of a mutated squirrel.
"You're surviving," she murmured. "Just like me."
He paused mid-bite.
Something in her voice…
Wasn't afraid of him.
===============================================================
That night, they sat together beside a rusted barbecue grill, neither speaking, but no longer strangers.
"Were you born there?" she asked. "Made there?"
No answer. But he shifted uncomfortably, as if the idea made him uneasy.
She sighed and leaned back against the broken wall.
"This world's gone to hell," she said. "If you're staying with me, you better know how to keep up."
Ashborn responded by curling up at her side. Not touching her—just close enough to share the heat.
She didn't push him away.
And as the wind howled through the empty shells of their past lives, they sat in silence—two survivors, one human and one not.
A new world had begun.
And they would face it together.