We didn't stop running. Not even when the ground beneath our feet shifted, cracked, or crumbled into a slick of ash and something worse. Lira led the way, her steps light and sure on the treacherous terrain, while I stumbled behind, lungs burning from the thick smoke. Every breath tasted of iron and old, bitter memories.
The Ashbone Path stretched before us like a scar, winding through what must once have been a city. Now, it was reduced to ruins—broken towers leaning drunkenly against one another, rusted girders clawing at the ashen sky. The air shimmered with heat, though the sun—if it still existed—was hidden behind a ceiling of smoke so dense it felt as though the world itself was caving in.
"This way," Lira said, her voice low and tense. "Stay to the edges. The middle's soft."
I glanced down. The ground wasn't solid. It heaved slightly beneath our weight, like the crust of something molten just beginning to cool. When I stepped, the ash shifted, revealing patches of slick, black tar that oozed and bubbled faintly, releasing a faint, acrid scent.
"What is this stuff?" I asked, gagging.
"It's residue," she said. "The bleed from the breaches. It's what happens when the world tries to heal itself—and fails."
I didn't like the way she said that, as though the earth was bleeding from wounds that would never fully close.
Somewhere ahead, the path narrowed, funnelling into a jagged corridor between collapsed buildings. Their walls bore marks, long gouges as if something massive had clawed through them. I hesitated, but Lira grabbed my wrist. "We can't stop now. The longer we linger, the more likely they'll catch up."
I didn't ask who she meant. I already knew.
We pressed on, slipping between the twisted steel ribs of the buildings. The air here was thicker, buzzing faintly, as though filled with static. My skin prickled, and the ember in my pocket flared, a sharp, insistent pulse. It was warmer now, as though it could sense something ahead—something it both feared and recognised.
The path dipped, dropping into a basin where the ground was littered with the shattered remains of bones. Human bones, mostly. Some were scorched black, others picked clean and bleached white. Between them, fragments of machines lay scattered—half-buried cogs, severed limbs of steel and ceramic, wires trailing like entrails.
Lira crouched, her fingers brushing one of the larger bones. It was cracked through the middle, the marrow inside leached to dust. "This was a bad place," she murmured. "A battle, maybe. Or a cull."
"A cull?" I echoed, my throat tight.
She straightened, her expression unreadable. "Not all of the Breachborn die in the fighting. Some are…harvested."
My stomach turned. I wanted to ask what that meant, but before I could, a low, grinding noise echoed from somewhere nearby—a sound like metal teeth gnashing against stone. Lira stiffened.
"They're close. We need to move."
We scrambled up the far side of the basin, clawing at the loose rubble for purchase. The ash churned beneath our feet, slipping away in small avalanches. By the time we crested the rise, my hands were raw, my nails caked with grit and blood. But we weren't alone.
Ahead, figures loomed out of the smoke—tall and thin, their faces hidden behind masks of wire and bone. Their bodies shimmered faintly, as though they weren't quite solid, and their movements were slow, deliberate. Watchers.
Lira pulled me into the shadow of a collapsed wall, pressing a finger to her lips. "Don't move. They can't see you if you stay still."
I froze, my breath shallow and uneven. The ember in my pocket pulsed wildly, but I dared not reach for it. The Watchers drifted closer, their heads cocked at unnatural angles, listening. One of them passed so close I could smell the coppery tang of rust and decay on its breath. Its hollow eyes lingered on me for a moment, then moved on.
When they had faded back into the haze, Lira let out a slow breath. "That was too close. They're hunting us."
"Why? Why do they want me?" I whispered, though part of me feared I already knew.
"Because you're carrying a piece of the sky," she said softly. "Something they lost. Something they'll tear you apart to reclaim."
I swallowed, my pulse thundering in my ears. "What do I do?"
She glanced down the path ahead, where the ash thickened into drifts and the air shimmered with heat. "We get to the next safe point. There's a place where the machines can't follow. We just have to survive long enough to reach it."
I nodded, though my legs felt weak beneath me. The Ashbone Path stretched on, a broken scar through a dying world, and ahead, the smoke shifted like a curtain drawing back to reveal something worse.
We had no choice but to keep going.