The wind did not howl.
It whispered.
Not words—memories.
Fragments of voices that had once believed in gods… and learned too late what belief cost.
Kairo felt them brush against his skin as they walked.
Not hostile.
Curious.
The Weight of a Godless Sky
Eli hugged his arms as they moved forward.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "There's no… order. No up or down that makes sense."
Above them, a shattered moon drifted sideways, its surface crawling with faint lights that pulsed like veins. Below—if below meant anything—entire landmasses floated slowly, colliding and separating like tectonic plates in water.
Kairo didn't slow.
"This place doesn't pretend," he said.
Eli glanced at him. "Pretend what?"
"That it's fair."
The second heart pulsed once.
Approval.
The First Native
They didn't hear it approach.
They felt it.
A pressure—not divine, not abyssal—but old.
Eli stopped abruptly.
"Kai…"
Kairo raised a hand.
From the haze ahead, something emerged.
Humanoid.
Tall.
Its body looked carved from black glass and stitched together with glowing fault lines. One arm ended in fingers too long, too jointed. Its face had no eyes—only a vertical scar where a mouth should be.
It tilted its head.
"You smell… unfinished," it said.
Eli's spine went rigid.
"…Please tell me that thing is friendly."
The creature's head snapped toward Eli.
"Noise-maker," it hissed. "Quiet meat."
Kairo stepped forward before Eli could react.
"We're just passing through."
The creature paused.
Its head slowly turned back to Kairo.
"…You carry a double pulse."
Kairo's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
The creature leaned closer.
"So you're one of those."
Eli swallowed. "One of what?"
The creature's mouth-scar split open into a grin that showed nothing human.
"Survivors."
It straightened.
"Then you're welcome here."
Eli blinked. "…That's it?"
The creature nodded once.
"The Fringe favors what the heavens failed to erase."
Then it turned—and dissolved into shards of dark light that scattered into the air.
Eli exhaled shakily.
"…I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to us all day."
Kairo didn't respond.
Because his chest felt heavy.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
The Truth of the Fringe
They walked for hours—or something that felt like hours—until the ground solidified beneath their feet into cracked stone streets.
Ruins rose around them.
Not primitive.
Advanced.
Towering structures fused from metal and crystal, broken cleanly—as if cut away from reality rather than destroyed.
Eli stared.
"This was a city."
Kairo nodded.
"A big one."
The second heart beat once.
Hard.
This place remembers us, it murmured.
Kairo stopped walking.
Eli noticed immediately.
"…What is it?"
Kairo placed a hand against his chest.
"This city," he said slowly.
"It didn't fall."
Eli frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It was removed."
Silence.
Then—
A voice echoed across the ruins.
Not loud.
Clear.
"Correct."
Figures emerged from the shadows.
Not monsters.
People.
Or what remained of them.
Humans with fractured halos.
Beings of light with rusted wings.
Creatures stitched together by technology and desperation.
Exiles.
A woman stepped forward.
Her eyes glowed a dim violet, and her shadow moved a second too late.
"You're standing in Veyr," she said.
"First civilization erased by unanimous divine vote."
Eli's blood ran cold.
"…Unanimous?"
The woman smiled without humor.
"Every god agreed we were inefficient."
Kairo felt something inside him tighten.
"And you survived."
"We adapted," she said, her gaze locking onto him.
"But you…"
She tilted her head.
"You're different."
Kairo met her eyes.
"How?"
Her smile widened—sharp, knowing.
"You didn't just survive a god."
She stepped aside, revealing symbols carved into the ruined plaza behind her.
Symbols that reacted violently to Kairo's presence.
Flaring.
Shattering.
Breaking apart.
"You made one hesitate."
The Fringe went silent.
Every eye turned toward him.
The second heart beat—slow, pleased.
Welcome home, it whispered.
Kairo clenched his fists.
He had wanted freedom.
What he had found—
Was a battlefield older than heaven.
And it was watching him closely.