The light of dawn broke sluggishly over the Grave Sector, its rays fighting to pierce through the smog that eternally hung over the ruins. Lux sat atop a broken statue of a god she did not know, her knees hugged tightly to her chest, staring out at a world that seemed alien despite her having just woken in it. The air reeked of rust, ash, and the faint coppery scent of blood—a constant reminder that life here was nothing but survival.
She clutched the tattered cloak she had scavenged the night before tighter around her shoulders. It was not for warmth—the chill of the sector seemed to seep into her very bones regardless—but for comfort, a fragile barrier between her and the hostile world that loomed in every shadow.
The whispers came again.
"You are not like them."
She flinched, scanning the empty streets. The voice was not outside—it had never been outside. It was inside her, coiled deep in her chest where that burning mark still throbbed. A reminder of who she was, or rather, what she was.
A Shard.
The word echoed in her thoughts, heavy with meaning she did not yet understand. She remembered little beyond waking to fire and rubble, the world collapsing around her, the sky fractured by cracks of light. And in that chaos, a single phrase branded itself into her soul:
You are the last fragment of the Creator.
But what did that mean? Was she truly divine? Or merely cursed?
Her stomach growled, pulling her from thoughts she could not unravel. Hunger was a problem divinity did not seem to fix. With a sigh, Lux climbed down from the statue and moved through the crumbled streets. Her bare feet made no sound, a skill she had learned quickly. Sound drew predators—both beast and man.
The Grave Sector was not abandoned. It was filled with scavengers, broken war-machines still running on corrupted cores, and worse—the Hollowborn. Creatures of void and shadow that wandered aimlessly, driven only by hunger and madness. Lux had seen one once, a night ago. It had stared at her with eyes like dripping tar before slithering back into the darkness. She hadn't slept since.
But survival meant movement. Stagnation was death.
She passed through what had once been a marketplace. Shattered stalls leaned drunkenly against one another, their wares long stolen or turned to dust. A half-burned sign creaked in the wind, its letters barely legible: "Sanctuary Trade." She paused, running her fingers across the charred wood. Sanctuary. A word that felt like a cruel joke in this place.
The System flickered to life in her vision.
---
[System Notice]
Hunger level: 72% (Warning: Malnutrition setting in)
Fatigue: Moderate
Threat proximity: Low (1 Hollowborn detected within 300m)
---
Her fists clenched. The System was cold, mechanical, and unyielding. It reminded her constantly of her fragility, her mortality. And yet, she relied on it. Without its warnings, she would already be dead.
"Food," she muttered to herself, scanning the wreckage. Her voice cracked, raw from disuse. "I need food."
She moved quickly, overturning crates, ripping apart rotting cloth, searching for anything that could keep her alive. And then, tucked behind a shattered barrel, she found it: a sealed tin can, rusted but intact.
Lux's heart leapt as she pried it open with trembling hands