The ruined city rose before Vigdis like a labyrinth of concrete and shadows, its jagged skyline cutting into the pale light of early morning. The air was unnaturally still, heavy with a quiet that wasn’t peace but the tension of something unseen. The broken windows of the towering buildings seemed to watch her, dark and hollow eyes staring down from above.
She adjusted her pack, her axe and crossbow shifting against the straps, and began her careful trek forward. Her boots crunched softly over the fractured pavement as she kept to the edges of the wider streets, her green eyes darting to every crevice, every flicker of movement that might betray a threat. Nothing moved. Not yet.
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The emptiness gnawed at her mind, and she found herself imagining the life that had once filled these streets. There had been people here—families, workers, children. She glanced at the rusting remnants of a street café, the skeletal frames of tables and chairs still scattered outside. People must have sat here, drinking coffee, laughing, arguing, she thought. Now the chairs were silent, their surfaces corroded by time, their purpose long forgotten.
Further down the street, a rusted marquee clung to a building’s façade, its letters barely legible beneath streaks of grime. She squinted, picking out the faded words: Now Playing: Vault of Shadows. A grim smile tugged at her lips. Must’ve been one hell of a show. She could almost hear the echo of voices, the clatter of popcorn spilling to the floor, the shuffling of feet as an audience filtered out into a world they thought would last forever.
She shook her head, her expression darkening. No one ever thinks the end is coming, not until it’s already here.
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Her thoughts turned to the Cleansing. To the gods—or forces, or whatever they were—that had done this. She glanced up at the towering buildings around her, the hollowed-out apartments and shattered offices. What kind of power can end a world like this?
The question lingered as she walked. She’d grown up on stories of the Ancient Gods, tales that painted them as both saviors and destroyers. They’d swept away the chaos of the old world, or so the legends said, leaving behind the trials and monsters of the new one. But why? What did they want? Balance? Worship? Amusement?
Among the stories was the promise of the Trials of the Gods. Vigdis frowned, her steps slowing briefly as the thought took hold. According to the priests of the Raven Temple, the Trials were the gods’ way of weeding out the unworthy and testing humanity’s resilience. Those who passed the trials weren’t just survivors—they were chosen. They’d have a hand in shaping whatever the gods had planned for the world after this one. A better world, the priests claimed, one where balance and harmony would reign.
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But Vigdis couldn’t help but wonder. A better world for who? She’d seen too much of the gods’ handiwork to believe in benevolence. The monsters, the twisted landscapes, the horrors that stalked the night—those were their creations, too. It felt less like a divine plan and more like a game. A test where mortals were the pieces and the stakes were survival itself.
Vigdis wasn’t sure she wanted an answer. If these gods were real—and she’d seen too much to doubt it—they were closer to the kind of beings that played games with mortals than the benevolent creators of old-world myth. Not so different from humans, she thought grimly. Just bigger stakes.
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The streets twisted and turned, forcing her to double back more than once. She kept her route tight and purposeful, avoiding open spaces and places where debris funneled her into traps. As she passed a crumbling industrial complex, her steps slowed. The rusted framework of the building, its collapsed roof exposing jagged beams, was eerily familiar.
Her chest tightened as memories pushed their way to the surface—her crew, their voices ringing in the old factory as they planned their next move. Runa, her laugh sharp and bright like sunlight cutting through clouds. Vigdis clenched her fists as the image of Runa’s face flickered across her mind, quick and fleeting, like the figure she thought she’d seen back at the village. Why now? she wondered. Why here?
She forced herself to keep moving, her jaw tightening against the ache of old wounds that never seemed to heal.
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The hours stretched on, the shadows growing longer as the day slipped toward evening. Vigdis’s pace was steady but cautious, her calculated path taking her from sunrise to near twilight as she traversed the city. She avoided the larger roads, sticking to side streets and alleys that offered more cover. The map in her mind unfolded with each step, her experience keeping her on course without hesitation.
By the time she reached the edge of the city, where the looming buildings gave way to a scattering of smaller, cottage-style homes, the sun was dipping low on the horizon. The faint glow of twilight bathed the crumbled ruins behind her, the light stretching thin as night prepared to take hold.
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Vigdis slowed as she approached the final stretch of her journey, the open countryside just beyond the last row of dilapidated houses. She adjusted the straps of her pack, preparing for the long walk ahead, when a sound froze her in place.
It started low, a faint groan that seemed to rise from the very bones of the city. Then came the moans, the guttural growls, and the distant howl of something not quite animal. The air itself seemed to shift, growing heavier as the noises grew louder, cascading through the empty streets like a tide of waking nightmares.
She turned her head, her hand instinctively brushing the haft of her axe. The Zone was coming to life behind her. Whatever had lain dormant during the day was stirring now, its presence pulsing through the darkening streets.
Vigdis didn’t hesitate. She turned her back on the city and strode toward the open land ahead. Whatever haunted the ruins, she’d planned well enough to avoid it. She didn’t stop until the last of the buildings were behind her, their moans and howls fading into the distance like a dark memory she wouldn’t carry forward.