The Ruinbound

The moon hung low over the ruins, casting its cold silver glow over the broken city. The night was unnaturally still—no wind, no movement, only the distant creaking of broken buildings, whispering as if they remembered what they once were.

Elias stepped carefully over shattered glass as they entered The Golden Ember again. The restaurant was exactly as they had left it. The same overturned chairs, the same broken counters, the same old diary, waiting for him.

His fingers tightened around the worn cover as he picked it up.

The words inside hadn't changed. The same desperate entries. The same warnings. The same mention of the Lost City.

Elias exhaled sharply. "I've got what I need. Let's move."

Lyra and Callum didn't question him this time.

They moved quickly, scouring the restaurant for supplies.

Callum found old rations sealed tight in the storage room—probably expired, but still edible. Lyra rummaged through the wreckage and pulled out old canteens—the water inside stale but drinkable.

Then—Lyra found something else.

She turned, holding a familiar book in her hands.

Elias' book.

"The Last Stand of the Seven."

She flipped through the pages, her fingers brushing over the old ink. "This is yours," she muttered.

Elias didn't deny it.

Instead, he exhaled and said, "There's a chance… one of the heroes is still alive."

Callum looked up sharply. "A hero? Still here?"

"It's not impossible," Elias admitted. "But don't get your hopes up. The chances are close to none."

Lyra didn't say anything.

She simply shut the book and tucked it into her bag.

"Then let's get moving."

The city at night was different.

Not just quiet. Haunted.

Buildings stood like monuments to a dead world, their broken silhouettes twisting in the moonlight. The ruins felt wrong, as if something was watching from within the hollow windows, waiting for them to pass.

Their torches cast weak, flickering light, barely pushing back the shadows.

The deeper they walked, the heavier the air became.

The night was alive.

With whispers. With echoes of things long forgotten.

And they weren't alone.

Elias didn't speak of it. Neither did Lyra. But every so often, he could feel it.

Something was following them.

They had been walking for what felt like hours when Elias broke the silence.

"Lyra."

She glanced at him, her face unreadable.

"Your power," he said. "Do you know how to awaken it?"

She scoffed. "No."

Elias frowned. "Not even an idea?"

Lyra rolled her shoulders, adjusting her bag. "Phantom Power doesn't just wake up one day. It takes… something. A circumstance. I don't know what mine is yet."

Elias studied her carefully. "So you might awaken it, or you might not?"

She shrugged. "Guess we'll see."

Elias could tell she wasn't in the mood to talk about it.

So he asked something else.

"Where were you before the Eclipse?"

Lyra's expression shut down instantly.

She didn't answer.

Instead—Callum spoke.

"We weren't in any kingdom," Callum said, his voice steady but distant.

Elias glanced at him.

Callum's expression was calm, but his grip tightened slightly on his torch.

"Our bloodline is considered low caste," he continued. "A faction descended from thieves and raiders. So we lived in the wilderness."

Elias listened carefully, letting him speak.

"It was just another day," Callum said. "Dain was training us—me and Lyra. Father was watching. We'd done this a thousand times before."

His eyes darkened slightly.

"Then the sky shattered."

Elias felt something cold creep down his spine.

"The cracks spread fast," Callum continued. "And then objects… things… started falling. Things that weren't from this world. We didn't understand what was happening."

He swallowed hard.

"And then, in an instant—our whole village was gone."

Elias' breath hitched.

"Erased," Callum said. "By a Calamity known as the Cataclysms."

Elias had never heard that name before.

But something deep in his mind recognized it.

Callum exhaled. "Our father realized it was over. He made us run. He fought it alone."

His voice was steady, but his hands were clenched.

"Dain grabbed us both and ran. We didn't want to leave him. We—"

Callum stopped.

He glanced at Lyra.

She was staring at the ground.

Then—she spoke.

"Dad is still alive."

Elias and Callum both looked at her.

"I know it," she said firmly. "He's out there somewhere. And I'm going to find him."

Callum's expression softened.

He nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "He's strong. If anyone could survive, it's him."

Callum sighed, rolling his shoulders as they walked through the empty streets. The night was still cold and hollow, the ruins stretching endlessly in every direction.

"You know," Callum muttered, "we've been living like this for months now."

Elias stopped mid-step.

He turned his head slightly, his mind stalling. "Months?"

Callum raised a brow. "Yeah. Scavenging, fighting, trying to survive. It's been that way ever since…" He trailed off, glancing at Lyra. "Since the eclipse…"

Elias barely heard the rest of his words.

Because his entire body had gone cold.

Months.

For him—this had only been a week.

Just seven days since he woke up in this nightmare.

Seven days since the Eclipse.

Seven days since he started dying and coming back.

His fingers twitched slightly.

Lyra and Callum kept walking, pushing forward as if nothing was wrong.

Elias swallowed the knot in his throat and forced himself to move.

Something was very, very wrong.

Something about the name Cataclysms felt familiar.

And he didn't know why.

Elias exhaled. "Then let's keep moving."

The Lost City awaited them.

And so did the answers.

They walked through the wasted cityscape, following the directions from the diary and the map, their dim torches barely pushing back the darkness.

For hours, they trudged through abandoned highways, shattered bridges, and collapsed districts.

Then, finally—

As the next day's sunset approached—

They saw it.

A massive ruined city stretched out before them, larger than anything they had seen so far. Skyscrapers half-destroyed, some leaning at unnatural angles, others completely caved in.

But at the very heart of it—a massive bunker doorway.

Thick steel. Reinforced. Untouched.

And two Nullborns pounding their twisted, clawed hands against the doors.

Elias felt hope ignite in his chest.

This was it.

This was the first sign of real safety.

A bunker meant people.

A bunker meant a chance to finally rest.

He glanced at Callum. "Your sword."

Callum blinked. "What?"

Elias held out his hand.

"You're exhausted," Elias said. "Let me handle this."

Callum hesitated, then exhaled, unsheathing his sword and handing it over.

Elias tested the weight in his grip, adjusting to the balance. It was a bit heavier than he expected—but it would do.

Lyra cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders. "I'll take the one on the left."

Elias nodded. "I'll handle the right."

And together, they stepped forward, ready to fight.

From the rooftop of a distant, crumbling skyscraper, a figure watched.

His black cloak fluttered in the wind, his posture relaxed, as if this were nothing more than entertainment.

Beside him, a Calamity crouched, its form writhing, pulsing, barely contained.

The man ran a gloved hand over its head, stroking the monstrous thing like a loyal pet.

He chuckled softly.

"So…"

His golden eyes gleamed beneath his hood.

"He's alive yet again."

The Calamity let out a low, inhuman growl.

And the man simply smiled.