The sun bleeds out over the ruins.
I wake to the gnawing in my gut. It's always there. A phantom clawing at my insides, reminding me I'm still alive. Barely.
The scavengers call it hunger. I call it dying slow.
If I don't find food tonight, I won't see morning. Tomorrow is a word for people who aren't starving. Tomorrow is for the strong.
I drag myself out of the hole I've been hiding in. The ground burns through the rags wrapped around my feet. My head spins, vision blurring at the edges. Around me, the ruins stretch out like broken teeth. Crumbling walls. Rusted metal bones jutting from the sand. Corpses of buildings that used to touch the sky.
I'm fourteen. Maybe fifteen. I stopped counting.
The wind whips through my hair, stinging my face with sand. My ribs press against skin like prison bars. Wounds cover my arms, my chest. Some fresh, some old. All of them hurt.
But my eyes are clear. That's what keeps me alive.
I think about the old man. He didn't crawl out of his hole this morning. I buried him before the sun got too high. He was lucky. He had me.
When I die, there won't be anyone left to dig.
The meat merchants will carve me up. Smoke my flesh. Trade it for water. That's how it works out here in the Shatterlands. You eat or you get eaten.
The old man used to say if we lose what makes us human, we're already dead. But he's gone now, and I'm still here.
For now.
I shuffle through the ruins, legs shaking. Every step feels like the last. The other scavengers picked this place clean years ago. Finding food is like finding hope.
Impossible.
I sit down hard, bones aching. The sun sinks lower, painting everything red. A hawk circles overhead, riding the thermals. Free.
I called myself Ashen Kade because I wanted to fly. Stupid dream for a boy who can barely walk.
Then I hear it. Footsteps.
I'm on my feet, metal shard in my hand before I can think. Out here, footsteps mean death. Some starving scavenger looking to gut a skinny kid.
Three figures burst into view. Running. Not hunting.
Running from something.
Their faces are twisted with terror. Not the look of predators. The look of prey.
Something's wrong.
Behind them, black shapes pour over the rubble. Ten of them. Maybe more. Dog-sized, red eyes blazing like coals.
Mutabeasts.
My blood turns to ice.
Run.
My body moves before my mind catches up. I don't know where I find the strength. Fear, maybe. The instinct to survive.
Behind me, a woman screams.
"Save me!"
The sound cuts off with a wet crunch. Tearing flesh. Breaking bones. I don't look back. Can't look back.
Another scream. Shorter this time.
The beasts are fast. Too fast.
I round a corner and my heart stops. Rubble. A wall of it, blocking the path. Dead end.
No. No, no, no.
The third scavenger dies behind me. His screams echo off the ruins.
Three black shapes leap over his body. Coming for me.
I can feel death closing in. Cold and certain.
Turn back and die. Or...
I see it. A crack in the rubble. Narrow. Too narrow for an adult.
Maybe narrow enough for me.
I don't think. I dive.
My shoulders scrape against stone. My ribs protest. I wriggle deeper, pulling myself through with bleeding fingers.
Behind me, something snarls. Hot breath on my ankles. The stench of rot and blood.
I squeeze through, deeper, until I hit the end. Nowhere left to go.
The beast pushes into the crack, red eyes glowing in the dark. Teeth like knives. Claws extended.
It lunges.
I roar. Not a human sound. Something primal.
My shard punches into its eye. The beast slams into me, claws raking my chest. Pain explodes across my ribs. But the crack is too tight. It can't pull back. Can't escape.
"Die!" I stab again. And again. Blood sprays my face, hot and foul. "Die!"
Ten times. Fifteen. I lose count. The beast stops moving.
Outside, the others circle. Sniffing. Growling. Then they leave.
I collapse against the stone, gasping. My muscles won't respond. My vision swims. I gave everything I had.
And now my body wants it back.
But the beast is dead in front of me. Five kilograms of meat. Maybe more.
Food.