Kael didn't move for a long time.
He lay on the cold stone of a shattered overpass in Sector D's edge, shivering beneath a sky that buzzed faintly with leftover energy. Around him, the debris of the old world lay in quiet disarray, splintered lamp posts, car husks half-swallowed by moss, cracked pavement warped into curves that made no architectural sense.
And the mark burned.
It pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, every throb sending a tremor of nausea through his gut.
He peeled his torn shirt away and stared.
The sigil had solidified overnight. A spiraling eye, black ink etched deep into skin, ringed with jagged runes that shifted subtly when he wasn't looking directly at them.
Kael exhaled sharply. His breath fogged despite the dry air.
"You should not be."
The words came back, slithering through memory. They hadn't been spoken. They were just… there, too deeply understood to ever be forgotten.
He clutched his chest.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Kael winced, amidst throbbing pain
A gust of wind blew dust over his face. He closed his eyes, then sat up, wincing as pain lanced through his ribs.
He needed answers. Food. Shelter.
And someone, anyone, who could tell him what the hell this spiral meant.
A Few Hours Later at Sector D's Edge
The sector boundary was little more than a rusted arch of fractured stone that used to be part of the old Nasarith city rail. Now it was just a demarcation of how much more dangerous life became past this point.
Kael had never crossed it.
But today… he didn't have much of a choice.
He took a deep breath, stepped under the arch, and immediately stumbled into a puddle of black sludge that hissed against his boots.
"Lovely," he muttered, shaking it off. "Promising start."
The streets here had suffered more than his usual scavenging grounds. Whole buildings leaned sideways like they'd been punched by invisible giants. Cars floated, occasionally twitching in the air before slamming back to earth. One bus had grown roots, sprouting thorny vines through its windows and doors. Blood-stained feathers littered the road like dead snow.
But most disturbing of all?
The silence.
Even in fractured Nasarith, there were always sounds, distant crashes, wind groans, broken tech static. But here?
Nothing.
Not even birds. Not even breath.
Kael's footsteps rang too loud, as if the world resented being walked on.
A Shrine of Teeth
He found it tucked inside a collapsed bookstore near the old transit hub.
A shrine, crudely built from scavenged bones and rusted steel. Candles burned with greenish-blue flame, flickering without wind. Symbols drawn in crimson spirals covered every surface. Some of them matched the mark on his chest.
And above it all, nailed to the back wall:
"The Spiral is Hunger. The Spiral is Return."
"The Spiral is What Should Not Be."
Kael stepped closer, mouth dry.
Someone had etched a journal page into the metal beside the shrine. Scratched letters, desperate and jagged:
"We called it a god. We were wrong."
"It unmade the lie of time. It taught us how to forget the gods who lied."
"I saw its prophet in the smoke. He had eyes like broken suns."
"We follow him now. We carve the spiral. We drink the ash."
Kael stepped back.
Drink the ash?
He turned away
But the shrine was now behind him.
Exactly behind him.
He spun again, twice, and froze.
The building hadn't moved.
He had.
Or the world had moved around him.
He broke into a cold sweat, gripping the wall, gasping.
"No no, no, this is not" Kael coughed out.
The mark pulsed. Once. Hard.
The candles blew out all at once.
And Then the Voice Returned
The walls rippled.
Glass cracked in a soundless scream.
Kael stumbled backward as the air tore open again, directly in front of him.
No sound. No warning. Just sudden, absolute unbeing.
A vertical gash hovered in the space between shelves—a fracture.
This one was worse than the last. No symbols. No light. Just raw, aching void.
Kael's ears bled instantly. Blood ran down his neck.
He dropped to his knees, choking on a scream.
Then, from the fracture, something stepped halfway through.
Not a creature. Not even a shape.
A silhouette of concept. Its form refused to align with space. It flickered in and out like it couldn't decide whether it had ever existed.
Eyes that didn't have pupils. Just spirals.
"You are the Spiral's breath."
"We see you. You do not belong."
The voice bypassed his mind entirely, crawling down his spine like liquid ice.
Kael coughed blood. His vision blurred.
He tried to speak, but his mouth didn't open.
"You do not yet understand the wound you carry. But others will."
"And they will tear themselves to pieces trying to claim you."
Then, it raised a hand.
Reality around Kael folded, as if trying to blink him out of the timeline.
He screamed, finally, truly, and the sigil on his chest exploded with black light.
A sphere of pure nothing expanded from him.
The fracture screamed in reverse.
The silhouette ripped apart, spiraling into ink.
And Kael blacked out.
Later – Nightfall
He woke in the ruins, shivering. The shrine was gone. The fracture was sealed. But the spiral…
The spiral burned brighter now. And his breath came slow.
Not with exhaustion.
But with fear.
Because when he closed his eyes, he saw it again.
That silhouette.
That voice.
And it had known his name.