Chapter One

The bunker lay half-buried under layers of sand and the collapsed brickwork of an old observatory. A young woman sat near the back, her eyes fixed on the radio resting across her knees. Behind her, a doll crouched on the edge of a shelf, its alloy-infused legs folded beneath it. Then, the doll spoke. The voice was faint but unmistakably a man’s.

“Go back, Nefra,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. “Just a little.”

She nudged the dial, and there it was: a low hum, buried under the static. It was quiet but steady, too smooth for noise, too slow for any language or code. It continued, even and deliberate. Nefra leaned forward, then looked back at the doll.

“Could it be a grounding fault, Uncle Enkin?”

Enkin dropped to the floor with a soft clink as he steadied himself. A long braid of white hair slipped over one shoulder, swaying as he turned, his wide eyes reflecting the dim light. When he spoke, his voice was crisp, precise, and thoughtful.

“It isn’t.” He glanced over; his blue eyes, lit from within, stayed fixed on the radio.

“It sounds old.”

The hum faded from the radio, leaving a quiet ring in the air. Nefra exhaled and released the dial. Behind her, Enkin crouched still and silent.

“That resonance, it’s not local. It’s coming from inside a null-zone,” he said.

Nefra turned to look at him. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “One of the older ones. Near the Rema slope. The sound is bent. That only happens in null-zones.”

She looked back at the radio.

“Or worse,” Enkin said. “There are still echo-fields active out there. Creatures formed from what’s left.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go,” she replied.

He blinked. “You’re serious?”

“We need parts, Uncle,” she said. “Your left arm’s getting worse; that stabiliser sigil is barely holding.”

“I can function well enough, you know,” he quipped back.

“For now.”

She stood, stretching her arms overhead. Light filtered through the cracked windows, catching on the pale blonde strands of her hair. Dust drifted around her as she lowered her arms, her eyes glancing toward the door. 

“We need food and supplies. We’ve been trading nothing but cut herbs and old wire. If whatever’s making that sound is intact…” she trailed off. “We might find something a curator would pay for.”

Enkin looked away. “We’re not curators.”

“I know, but we could find one,” she whispered.

Nefra pulled her pack down and began checking the straps.

“We won’t go deep, just to the outer edge. If it’s wrong, we turn back.”

Enkin didn’t move. The light caught the curve of his scratched shoulder, a gold alloy that had dulled with age. “We’ll need the ash-lenses, and the warding thread, enough to last the walk in.”

“I’ll pack them then,” Nefra said, smiling.

By the time she finished filling her pack, the first light had reached the bunker door. Nefra tied the straps tight across her chest. Enkin tested his joints with a slight tilt of his head, then climbed onto her shoulder.

Nefra pushed the door open, the hinges groaning, and a wave of cool air drifted in. Beyond the shadow of the observatory’s broken dome, the sandy plain stretched pale and endless, with a few trees now touched by the rising sun. The light cut across in long crystals, catching on the ruins, the scattered teeth of their shadows spreading into the distance. She stepped outside, her boots sinking into the grit. Enkin’s eyes turned east, toward the slope.

“Null-zone won’t wait,” he murmured.

Nefra adjusted her pack and began walking. “Neither will we.”

Far north, in the skeleton of a broken tower, a man climbed through the jagged metal. He moved with care, his hand finding the seams between rust-bitten panels, and paused near the bottom, then reached into his coat and pulled out a receiver, static coming through its speaker. Its core pulsed; then a sound came beneath the noise: a low, steady humming, the same pitch he had followed for the past hour. Then he turned toward the east, where the ruin fell into the sand.

The ground was uneven, littered with slabs of stone and twisted beams, but the terrain did not slow him, his pace steady and deliberate. A low wall caught his attention, and he paused, running his fingers across the stone. He closed his eyes. The air thickened, carrying memories not his own. Children running. The scrape of chalk on stone, a voice calling names he did not know. The vision fell apart as quickly as it came, and then he lifted his hand from the wall.

Further on, the receiver pulsed again. The hum continued, leading him forward.

His coat swung with the rhythm of his stride, tugged by the morning wind. His satchel, heavy with scavenged fragments and tools, rattled at his hip, while a tuning fork at his belt, made of crystal and metal, vibrated with each step. He scanned the ruins ahead, restless, fixed on something far beyond sight.

As he walked, the ruins deepened; walls leaned inward, fractured stone rising higher on both sides, while shards of metal jutted from the ground, the backbone of a long-dead city. The path narrowed, broken tiles half-buried in sand, echoing under each step. The receiver pulsed again. It lit the underside of his hand, casting long shadows over his face. He looked up at the broken city’s dim light, the wind pushing his coat against him. Then he kept walking, the hum pulling him on.

Nefra slowed her pace as they reached the first threshold of stone. The ruins rose out of the sand, arches slanted, half-collapsed, their shadows lying long across the ground. Enkin shifted on her shoulder, as his eyes flicked over the sand.

“Someone’s been here,” he said.

Nefra looked where he pointed. A footprint was in the sand near the base of a leaning pillar. A man’s step, heavy, the outline blurred where grit had shifted. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her pack. “Could be a curator.”

“Or worse,” Enkin murmured, cautious. “We should turn back. Null-zones draw more than echoes.”

Nefra stood still a moment, scanning the ruin. There was no movement, only wind. She shook her head. “No. We came for the signal. If we stop at every mark in the sand, we’ll never reach it.”

Enkin tilted his head toward her. “Then we should be careful.” He poked her cheek with his finger. “With every step.”

“Agreed.”

Nefra walked forward into the ruins, moving between the broken arches, their shadows splitting across the sand. The air grew heavier the deeper they went, carrying a weight that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Nefra kept her hand near the hilt of her sword, while Enkin scanned the walls as they passed. Sigils drawn with chalk still clung to the stone, ghost-marks of wards made long ago. Most of the marks had cracked or were half-erased, their power bled dry.

He reached out, tracing a fresher one with his finger.

“Curator…” he murmured. “They came this way.”

Nefra’s attention went to the mark. “If they’re here or gone, it doesn’t matter. We keep moving.”

“It always matters,” Enkin said, but he didn’t argue further.

The path narrowed, and the hum from Nefra’s receiver grew stronger. She touched the receiver, then let her hand fall away. They walked on.

Nefra stopped. Her hand shot up, halting their steps.

Enkin stiffened on her shoulder. “What is it?”

She squinted ahead. Between two broken columns, the air rippled, then a shadow crossed the light, quick and thin. She slid her sword free with a quiet rasp. Then, the ruins fell silent; only the wind moved, carrying grains of sand through gaps in the stone.

Enkin shifted. “I don’t like this,” he whispered.

Nefra lowered the blade, its black crystal glinting in the rays of light that poured through the cracked stone.

“Neither do I,” she replied.

She pressed on, her footsteps echoing through the narrow corridors of the ruins. The hum from the receiver on her belt quickened and vibrated, and then the air thickened again, yet this time it didn’t fade.

Then, something broke the silence. It began as a hiss, the sound of sand dragging across glass. Then the space ahead twisted, the fractured light bending into knots. Something stepped out of the fracture in jolts, half-formed.

“A Soul-Shatter!” Enkin hissed.

Its shape flickered; a tall, jagged frame, its edges blurred, with hollow sockets flashing with brief, terrified faces before melting back into shadow. Where it moved, the air bled static, and the wards on the walls crackled with light.

Nefra raised her sword. “Uncle!”

Already, he was unwinding a thin black cord from his belt, etched with faint sigils. He looped it fast around his palms, fingers darting with practised precision. “Keep it back, Nefra, and I’ll try to bind it!”

The creature lunged. Nefra slashed, her blade passing through, sparks flying where the sword cut. The Soul-Shatter screeched, a chorus of broken voices, then staggered, but it re-formed.

Enkin flung the thread outward, and it caught on the Soul-Shatter, as the sigils sparked. The creature became almost solid and stiffened, then wrenched itself free.

It struck again. Nefra ducked, rolled, and came up with her blade flashing. Enkin tumbled off her shoulder, landing with a thump against the stones, then began tracing a sigil in the sand with one finger, the mark glowing. The creature’s stride faltered as it came closer, but then the glow guttered, the ward too weak.

A sweep of its arm, or what could have passed for one, struck Nefra full across the side. She hit the ground hard; the breath driven from her chest. The Soul-Shatter loomed, its voice becoming a hundred whispers, all of which then collapsed into one.

From the shadows behind it came the loud clash of metal striking metal that crescendoed into a single tone. The creature convulsed.

From the ruin, a man’s voice came. “Bind it!”

Nefra’s eyes darted toward the voice, but she saw only the broken shadows of the ruin. She quickly looked back to the Soul-Shatter. The dark figure’s form was solid for the first time, its surface flickering with faces: a crying woman, a shouting man, and a child’s silent mouth. Each dissolved before the next appeared, all of them caught in the same soundless scream.

Enkin pushed himself up where he had fallen. His hand traced quick lines into the air, forming a sigil. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it forward. The sigil struck the Soul-Shatter’s chest, and light spread across its flickering form. 

“Now, Nefra!” Enkin shouted. “Strike there!”

Nefra drove forward. Her blade caught the glow of the sigil and plunged through its centre. The faces screamed as one. Then the shape folded inward, collapsing.

Silence rushed in. The Soul-Shatter was gone.

Nefra staggered back, then stood frozen, listening to the emptiness the Soul-Shatter had left behind. She sighed, then looked down. Enkin lay a few feet away, one arm bent, his joints clicking as he tried to move.

She sheathed her sword and crouched, lifting him back onto her shoulder, where he clung to the strap of her pack, his eyes peering into the shadows as he shook out his arms.

“Are you all right, Uncle?” she asked.

“Still in one piece,” he said, though his voice was thin. His gaze fixed beyond her. “But we’re not alone.”

Nefra froze, her hand going back to her sword.

From the far side of the ruin, a man stepped into the light. His boots crunched on the grit, coat shifting with the wind. His stride was steady and measured, and a tuning fork hung loose in his hand, its prongs still vibrating.

Nefra drew her sword again, pointing the blade toward him.

The man’s frame was lean, wrapped in a weathered coat that hung close to his body, the fabric frayed at the cuffs. His boots were heavy, worn soft by long use, their leather cracked from miles of ruined roads. 

Across his brow, his black hair fell in an uneven tousle, shadowing the rough stubble along his jaw. His eyes were mismatched: one grey, the other a fractured amber crystal that caught the light whenever he moved. They fixed on her with steady focus. His left arm gleamed alloy-dark, traced with green veins, and his left leg carried the same weight when he stepped. The rest of him looked Remekhet. He stopped a short distance away, not raising the fork, nor reaching for the blade at his hip. His voice, when he spoke, was low but even.

“You handled yourself well,” he said. “Most don’t last that long against a Soul-Shatter.”

Nefra kept her sword levelled, her chest rising and falling with the effort of each breath. Enkin shifted on her shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the stranger.

“Who… what are you?” Enkin asked.

The man tilted his head. “I could ask you the same.” He looked at Nefra. “She’s Remekhet, that much is certain.” Then, he looked back at Enkin. “But you—” The man studied him for a long moment. “Some kind of soul-craft, perhaps?”

“I’m Remekhet too,” Enkin answered. “I just… had an accident.” His voice faltered on the last word, then hardened again. “But you, you’re a Numenari. No, not fully Numenari.”

The man didn’t flinch. “Not wrong. I was supposed to be, but the Sublimation failed. Left me with this,” he lifted his left arm, the crystal-flesh catching the light, then kicked his left leg in the dust, “and what remains of the rest.” He gestured to his left eye, then shrugged.

“We don’t judge on appearance,” Nefra said, lowering the blade. “Only on,” she hesitated, then finished, “the choices someone makes. So then, tell us. Why are you here?”

The man glanced at the receiver on Nefra’s belt. “I came for the signal, same as you.”

He moved one hand into his coat. Enkin stiffened on her shoulder, but the man only drew out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He opened it in his palm. Inside lay a crystal veined with pale light. Its glow pulsed in rhythm with the hum from their receivers.

“I found it before you arrived,” he said.

Nefra’s eyes narrowed. “Then it’s yours.”

Enkin shrugged. “By right, yes. He found it first.”

The man studied the crystal once again, then extended it toward them. “Take it.”

Nefra hesitated. “Why?”

Enkin’s fingers tightened on Nefra’s shoulder. “What do you want in return?”

“How about lunch, and company with two interesting people, perhaps?”

Nefra’s grip on the sword eased, then she slid it back into its sheath. “Company?”

Enkin tilted his head, voice edged with suspicion. “You can’t be serious.”

The man didn’t hesitate. “As serious as I’ll ever be, and honestly,” his mouth curved in a smile, “a curator’s life is dull. Trade, barter, the same faces, the same empty halls. Something like this would sit on a table until someone richer claimed it.”

He closed his alloy fingers over the crystal, then offered it forward again. “Better it goes to someone who needs it. I suspect a girl and her doll-Uncle don’t just come traipsing through null-zones on a whim. You obviously need the coin more than I do. Company, though, that I rarely find.”

Enkin shifted on Nefra’s shoulder. “Strange bargain. Too strange.”

“Stranger than fighting alone? Stranger than walking through null-zones without a voice to answer back?” He shook his head. “I think not. A lunch, a little conversation… that’s more than a fair price to me.”

Nefra studied him for a long moment. At last, she exhaled. “It’s strange… but not unkind.”

Enkin muttered, almost to himself, before giving a curt nod. “Very well. A meal. And talk. Nothing more.”

“That’s enough for me,” the man said.

He extended the crystal toward her.

Nefra hesitated, then asked, “Your name?”

The man’s eyes held hers. “Aurel.”

She gave a slight nod. “Nefra.” With a tilt of her head, she added, “And this is Enkin, my uncle.”

Aurel inclined his head. “Now then, we’re no longer strangers.”

Enkin’s voice was cautious. “Names don’t make us friends.”

“True,” Aurel said. His tone stayed even. “But they make us more than shadows.”

Only then did Nefra reach out and take the crystal. She tucked it into her pack. “Then come. Our home isn’t far.”

Aurel adjusted the strap of his satchel, his stride as he fell in beside them was unhurried, deliberate, yet there was something in it, too, that suggested relief. They walked in silence until the wind shifted, carrying the scent of the vines that clung to the observatory wall in the distance.

“You’ll want food when we reach home,” Nefra said at last, her tone almost apologetic. “But we don’t keep the kind the Numenari prefer, just what the garden gives us and what we can trade. Flatbreads, dried beef, and herbs; some dates and pomegranates too, when they’re in season.”

Aurel’s expression softened. “That will do. I eat anything I can get. I grew up on roots steeped with mineral powder, food that always tasted of crystal and metal. But pure food—” He smiled, looking at her. “I’ll never turn it down. It carries memory: the earth it came from, the hands that grew it.”

Nefra gave a nod, and some of the guardedness in her shoulders eased.

They walked on a while longer before Aurel asked, “So you two live alone?”

Nefra hesitated, then nodded her head. “We do. Have for a long time. My mother died the day I was born.” The words came easily; she had told the same story many times. “And when I was three, my father chose to... leave. His tomb is beside my mother’s, close to the ridge.”

Her hand shifted on the strap of her pack to rest over Enkin’s. “But of course, not entirely alone. My uncle has always been here, we have one another.”

Aurel was silent for a time after that, his steps even against the sand. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“My story isn’t much different. As an infant, a Numenari man bought me. They can’t bear children of their own, so they take what they can and raise them to be remade. No idea who my actual parents were.”

Nefra glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. “And you agreed to it, to the Sublimation?”

“There wasn’t much of a choice; it was a kind of given that I would. It’s what I was raised to become. At thirteen, they prepared me. Most take to it naturally, their bodies and souls burning into light and then reforming as crystal-flesh. Some fail outright and don’t survive at all.” His eyes shifted, distant. “But I didn’t reform, and yet I didn’t die. I came out half-changed. Just one arm, one leg, and one eye.” He turned his face to the light spilling over the ruins.

Enkin broke the silence. “A failed Sublimation, and yet you walk. You speak.”

“I am the only one known to,” Aurel said. “Every other failure fractures. Some die, and some come out as Echo-Hollows, repeating themselves, looping back to the same words, the same feelings, until there’s nothing left underneath. Or worse, Empty Shells. Bodies that breathe and do nothing else. Many folks in the city and markets call me ‘Half-Made’. I don’t quite like it.” He lifted his alloy arm, letting the green-veined crystal catch the light. “But I lived. Though I sometimes wonder what that means.” He gave a slight smile and shrugged.

Enkin looked away. “You ask why we live alone? I’m why.” His voice thinned. “I wanted to help Nefra. When she was ten years old, I conducted an experiment. I planned to create a warding shell bound around the observatory to keep her safe, but the vessel broke, a miscalculation. My soul ripped from my body, and in a panic, I fused into… well, this.”

He tapped his chest with one hand and laughed, “Her doll. And there is no way back. As you know, most of us Remekhet are quite wary of anything not considered ‘pure’. Since any form of Sublimation or soul-craft is regarded as highly taboo, they tend not to enjoy my presence.”

He rolled his eyes. His voice faltered, then hardened as he pointed to Nefra’s shoulder. “So I get around like this. And we keep to ourselves, mostly.”

Aurel regarded him for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Three survivors then. Of different kinds.”

They walked on in silence; the ruins shrinking behind them, the plains bright and wide. The observatory up on the ridge loomed closer, its cracked shell dark against the sky. Nefra adjusted her pack, looking at Enkin on her shoulder and then at Aurel beside her. They were all survivors, each broken in their own way.

A wry smile touched her mouth. “Three misfits traipsing through the plains. Not quite what I pictured this morning.”

Enkin huffed with a small smile. Aurel’s expression didn’t change, but something eased in his shoulders. Tiles cracked by time and heat led to the bunker door, where vines crawled across the wall.

Nefra set her hand on the handle. “We have little,” she whispered. “But it’s ours. And that counts for something.”

The hinges groaned as she pulled the door open, and cool air spilled out, along with the scent of herbs and earth. She glanced once at Aurel, then stepped inside.