Smoke and dust coiled through the air, carrying the acrid tang of ozone and burnt magic. What had once been the Market District — a bright artery of Silurad filled with colour, shops of all kinds, chatter, and scent — was now nothing but ruin and screaming.
Stalls that once sold vibrant fruits and hand-carved trinkets lay splintered across the plaza, their contents scattered like bloodied confetti. Shards of glass from shattered windows glittered in the air like dying stars.
…The Market District had become a battlefield.
Civilians ran in every direction, their cries drowning beneath the monstrous tremor that rolled through the streets. The cobblestones quaked, splitting in some places, swallowing debris and broken carts.
A woman stumbled, clutching a child to her chest as a tremor sent both sprawling. Ashen barely caught sight of them before another pulse surged through the plaza — a ripple of Kovatar so violent it made his bones ring.
The acrid tang of ozone, Hoppers' ichor and burned spell residue bit deep into his nostrils. Every breath tasted of ash and copper.
He barely had time to catch his breath from the initial assault when the world shifted again — an unnatural tremor that crawled up through the stones beneath his boots. It wasn't just an earthquake.
No. It throbbed, like the heartbeat of something buried deep beneath the city. The air thickened, humming with energy that scraped at the edges of his hearing like glass dragged across metal.
Ashen cracked his neck, gripped his weapons and sighed.
"If it's a message somebody's sending, then we'll have to answer cordially… right?" he muttered through clenched teeth.
The sky above Silurad suddenly shimmered — no longer teal-tinted, but bruised with alien colour. A bleeding aurora of violet and blue lightning tore open the drifting clouds, weaving and writhing with a raw, almost sentient light. The Gate bloomed there in the heart of the plaza, a gaping wound in reality itself. For one frozen heartbeat, the light went still. And then—
All hell broke loose.
The second wave struck like a living storm. Ashen staggered as the ground heaved. A pulse of unstable energy spread from the Gate, warping the air. Light fractured in shards, scattering across the Market's plaza and painting everything in a trembling, broken spectrum.
The first Hopper of the second wave crawled through. It was no longer merely humanoid, but more insectoid — it was wrong, had mandibles and claws, twisted. Its body shimmered like melted glass. Its limbs bent at angles that mocked anatomy.
Behind it, more shadows stumbled through the light — a veritable flood of creatures, each one more grotesque than the last.
They poured through the Gate like a torrent, claws, tails and mandibles scraping against stone, leaving streaks of violet or black ichor. Their bodies hissed and popped as they hit the air, as if the world itself resisted letting them exist.
And they were everywhere.
Dozens. Then hundreds.
The plaza nearly disappeared, drowned beneath the storm. Their eyes glowed with a colour that didn't belong in nature — violet, deeper than darkness, brighter than flame.
When those eyes turned toward him, Ashen felt seen. Not looked at — recognised.
Nonetheless, he moved before the thought could root. Drawing his resonance pistol in one hand and dagger in the other, the Wanderer advanced toward the infernal Gate. Nyra hovered at his shoulder, her single azure eye pulsing in rapid intervals, scanning faster than he could blink.
[Brace yourself, Ashen. They're faster, surely stronger than the first wave and — ugh — more numerous than the ones you just tore through.]
Ashen gritted his teeth.
"Yeah, I noticed."
A clawed limb cut the air where his head had been. He ducked, slashing upward. His dagger arced, blazing cyan, slicing through translucent flesh that shattered into shards of refracted light. Another Hopper lunged from behind, shrieking — he spun, fired, and the pistol's resonant blast tore a hole through its chest.
The ringing in his ears hadn't yet faded when the corpse hit the ground — and then dissolved into liquid light.
[Careful with your pace. Don't overextend.]
Ashen grunted in acknowledgement, breath sharp, eyes darting. The plaza was chaos incarnate — overturned carts, flames devouring wood, collapsing balconies raining stone and debris. Civilians screamed from behind fallen stalls. Others lay lifeless beneath rubble. Guards swung blades uselessly through fluid forms, their steel phasing through like mist.
Unlike them, Ashen's movements were sharp, deliberate — guided by instinct and a faint hum of Kovatar resonance that thrummed beneath his skin. Each strike landed true.
He rolled, pivoted, slashed — every motion echoing with desperate precision. The creatures came faster. Crawling. Hopping. Slamming down from rooftops in bursts of violet flame. The ground itself quivered with their movement.
[Probability of survival, if you keep diving headfirst: forty-two percent. Highly inadvisable, but… predictable.]
"The Else? You're my mum now?!"
Nyra didn't respond. Her light stopped pulsing for half a second.
Still, he didn't stop. He couldn't. Ashen ducked, pivoted, rolled again.
A Hopper the size of a wagon slammed into the ground beside him, cracking the stones. Its claws gouged furrows in the earth as it lunged. He fired. The bolt burned a hole through its skull, but even dying, the creature convulsed, flailing with such strength that it threw Ashen backward.
He hit the ground hard, shoulder first, pain flaring bright.
And then—
Water.
A wave crashed through the plaza, sweeping Hoppers off their feet. It struck like a living thing — roaring, snapping, swirling. Through the misted veil, a silhouette moved — slender, deliberate, and unyielding.
A mage.
She stepped through smoke and water like the eye of a storm, her red hair catching the fractured light of the portal. The air around her shimmered with liquid power. With a motion of the arm, rivers burst from the broken fountain nearby, coiling into serpents that lashed through the swarm. Every gesture was clean, controlled, lethal.
Hoppers froze mid-leap — encased in glacial shells that shattered with sharp, crystalline pops.
[Unknown variable detected. High magical output. Proceed cautiously.]
Ashen didn't reply. He didn't need to.
Another Hopper lunged. He pivoted under its strike, dagger driving upward. The creature split apart, light scattering like glass in sunlight.
[Device signature detected! Male inclined. Resonance compatible. Friendly — but approach with caution.]
Then, a voice echoed — edged with authority.
[I'm not a threat, you dysfunctional device! Mage accompanying host. Focus on survival. And don't lose ground.]
[At least be polite, you sheep! We were already doing so!] Nyra snapped.
Ashen grimaced mid-strike.
Devices… talking to each other? Like old friends?
'What the Else is going on…'
But no time to think. The swarm thickened, converging around the Gate, their movement now coordinated. They didn't just attack — they advanced, as if guided by some unseen will. Ashen struck through.
'Strike. Move. Shoot. Retreat. Breathe. Repeat.'
The rhythm of battle. Of survival.
[Really? That's your plan, Ashen? Always diving in first…] Nyra asked.
[He's doing fine. Mostly.] The other sphere intervened.
Their mechanical voices wove through the chaos like stray threads of sanity. For a fleeting instant, Ashen felt grounded — not alone in the madness.
…Then the swarm shifted.
A screech, high and metallic, ripped through the air — and the Gate pulsed again, vomiting more creatures. They came in a wave, hundreds strong, trampling corpses and rubble alike. The plaza flooded with them.
Stone cracked. Fire flared. Flesh burned.
A guard screamed as he was pulled under, shredded before he could even raise his weapon. A mother's cry cut through the din before a building collapsed in a rush of dust and glass. Blood streaked the cobbles.
Ashen forced his body to move faster.
He fought like instinct — not man, never hero, just a being driven to survive. His dagger sang, his pistol barked, his breath rasped. Nyra's voice guided him through the haze, each calculation delivered with clipped precision and hidden panic.
[Target joints. Disrupt balance. Prioritise civilians.]
Across the square, the Mage was a tempest. Water coiled and crashed, sweeping Hoppers aside. She moved to shield the trapped civilians — holding her ground even as her magic faltered. Her walls of water cracked, freezing midair before shattering under the onslaught. But still she stood, teeth bared, drawing from what little Kovatar she had left.
[Mage's output dropping. Reinforcing barrier now.] the sentient orb's voice pulsed, sharp.
The plaza became an elemental hell — flame, water, smoke, light.
Ashen lunged through collapsing debris, cutting a path toward the Mage. Steam hissed under his feet. Each breath was pain. Each heartbeat, a pulse of exhaustion.
The ground itself seemed to burn.
[Probability of successful civilian evacuation: eighty-nine percent. But the host is close to critical fatigue.]
[Wanderer host can still operate, but… caution advised.]
Caution. He almost laughed.
Another surge — another wave — another cry.
He spun, fired, struck. The Mage's water snaked around him, freezing midair to shield them both before exploding outward. Together, for an instant, they were one rhythm — his blades and her streams moving in perfect tandem.
And then… silence.
The Gate flickered, its light dimming. The swarm thinned. The remaining Hoppers faltered, their coordination broken.
One by one, they fell.
And finally… the last one shattered.
***
After what felt like an eternity, the storm ended.
The plaza was unrecognisable — a graveyard of rubble and broken light. Smoke rose from charred stones and woods. The air still buzzed faintly with resonance.
Ashen's chest heaved. Sweat burned his eyes. His hands shook.
It was over… Or so he prayed.
He turned — and a faint glow caught his eye. Among the corpses, one Hopper hadn't disintegrated. Its chest pulsed gold.
[Another unknown artefact detected. This is… unexpected.]
[Wait. Proceed cautiously. Psychic feedback possible.]
Ashen crouched, exhaustion numbing his limbs.
'Who would've thought? Two devices acting like humans. This world's gone mad.' he thought bitterly.
[Who are you two, anyway? I mean, thanks for the help, but… you're weird.] Nyra demanded.
[Look who's talking. Your host dives into death like it's a dance.]
[At least he survives it!]
"Nyra, stop!"
"Yeah, you too, Sora!"
[But it's—]
"Enough!" Both hosts cut.
The Mage stepped forward, breath ragged but steady.
"I'm sorry for my companion's rudeness. He's Sora. Oh, and I'm Lathea Dolten Nart… But you can call me Lathea." She smiled weakly.
'This girl… it's her face the figure had.' The wanderer thought.
…But it didn't talk about it.
Ashen extended his hand, still panting.
"Ashen Valyron. Or Ash."
He pointed at Nyra.
"And that weird things there, is my Host Device… Nyra."
They shook hands. Then, he turned his head back to the glow.
[Be careful, Ash!]
[I'd listen, if I were you.]
He sighed.
"Noted."
He cut the Hopper open. The small crystal pulsed — faint, but alive. He reached for it. And then—
Pain exploded.
White light consumed everything.
He fell, screaming, clutching his head as the world vanished into static and shadow.
He suddenly saw a field of tulips. Observed his mother — near a fountain — kneeling, her grey hair swaying in the wind as tulips petal landed on it. He heard is mother's voice, calling for help. Her face smiling. And behind her—
A shadowed figure appeared. Gigantic. Ominous. With eyes as bright as the twin suns standing in the sky. The shadow whispered:
"YOU CANNOT SAVE EVERYONE. YOUR SON WILL BE THE KEY. HE WILL BE SPARED… BUT THE FORGOTTEN MUST REMAIN FORGOTTEN."
Then—
Silence… Cold. Empty.
And then again, life.
Ashen gasped, choking, desperately trying to drag air into his lungs. Lathea was beside him, panic in her eyes.
"Ashen! Breathe! Slowly!"
He obeyed. Slowly.
When he finally opened his eyes, he was clutching the dim crystal, its glow nearly gone.
The plaza was quiet now. The Gate, gone. Only steam rose from the shattered stones, reflecting the pale light of dawn.
[Mage companion stable. Your host should focus on the artefact.] The spherical sentient device of the Mage said.
Nyra hovered protectively above Ashen, a faint cobalt glow pulsing with worry and relief. Sora, on his part, pulsed in response to Lathea's magic, a warm acknowledgement of her skill.
…To the young Wanderer, however, things were a lot more different.
For the first time in years, Ashen felt the echo of an answer from long ago. And more than that.
Even in the silence, in the aftermath of the battle, the device's presence — full of worry, pride, and emotion — made him feel less alone. Her calculated guidance, fused with human-like feeling, was comforting.
Just as Nyra hovered in a circle above her friend, Ashen raised his head, a pale smile on his lips. He sat, looked at her, and whispered, hoarsely:
"I've seen her… my mother!"