Vigdis reached the mark on her map, her boots crunching over loose gravel as she scanned the barren landscape. The world stretched out before her in muted tones of sand and dust, the occasional ruined building punctuating the otherwise desolate horizon. She stopped, unfolding the worn map and checking it against her surroundings.
Her brow furrowed. Nothing.
The spot, marked with a bold "X," was supposed to lead her to Bunker 4. Instead, it was an empty expanse of cracked earth and skeletal remains of old-world ruins. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile the map with the wasteland before her.
"Well, this is anticlimactic," she muttered under her breath, planting the axe into the ground beside her. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun, gazing toward a cluster of distant ruins. Small, unassuming, and thoroughly uninspiring, the crumbling remains of some old-world town sat in the distance, offering little promise of answers.
Vigdis double-checked the map, running her fingers along the faded lines and notations. It didn’t make sense. Everything pointed to this location as the entry point for Bunker 4, but the reality was starkly disappointing.
Patrick’s voice, rich with dry humor, echoed from the axe. “A desert wasteland. Just what every weary traveler dreams of finding at the end of their journey.”
She sighed heavily, pulling the axe free and slinging it over her shoulder. “Any bright ideas?”
“Not yet, lass,” Patrick replied, his tone more thoughtful now. “But there’s something off about this. Places like this don’t just vanish.”
Vigdis hesitated, her gaze lingering on the distant ruins. If there were answers to be found, they wouldn’t be here in the open. The town might hold clues—or at least provide a place to regroup.
She adjusted her grip on the axe and started toward the ruins, her steps deliberate but cautious. Whatever she found there, it had better be worth the journey.
Vigdis trudged toward the distant ruins, her figure small against the endless stretch of sand and debris. The town seemed no closer despite her determined pace, the heat shimmering on the horizon and distorting the jagged edges of the ruins. She adjusted the axe on her shoulder, her movements steady despite the growing weight of disappointment.
From her vantage point on the ground, the wasteland seemed monotonous—flat, empty, devoid of meaning. But from far, far above, the picture was different.
The vast expanse she walked through wasn’t just a desert. It was a crater, an immense scar upon the earth. The curvature of the land, imperceptible from her position, told the story of a catastrophic event that had erased whatever once stood here. The edges of the crater stretched miles away, their subtle rise blending with the distant horizon.
The ruins she approached were perched near the edges of this immense void, the remnants of a time before the Cleansing, before whatever cataclysm had reshaped this region. Sand and time had hidden the truth from those who walked it, but from above, the scale of the devastation was undeniable. She was in the right place, technically. This was Bunker 4—if it had ever truly existed.
Patrick’s voice broke through her focus. “You feel it, don’t you? This place is wrong.”
She stopped, glancing back over her shoulder, though there was nothing behind her but more sand. “What do you mean, wrong?”
“Not just the emptiness,” Patrick said, his voice quieter now, almost somber. “The air’s heavier here. Like the land’s still holding its breath.”
Vigdis’s lips tightened, but she didn’t respond. She turned back to the ruins, her steps quickening. Whatever this place had been, it wasn’t a wasteland by chance. And whatever answers lay ahead, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were buried deep—perhaps too deep for her to reach.
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Vigdis entered the outskirts of the ruined town, her boots crunching over broken asphalt and fragments of brick. The remains of low buildings stretched in uneven rows, their facades crumbling but still hinting at their original purpose—shops, homes, maybe even a diner at some point. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the hollowed-out shells.
She didn’t know it, but this was one of those small towns that always spring up near military installations. The architecture was practical, unadorned, the kind built for efficiency rather than charm. To her, it was just another ruin, but to anyone familiar with old-world history, the clues were unmistakable. This was the kind of place where soldiers’ families might have lived, where the local grocer sold rations and the hardware store stocked items for home repairs. It had once been alive with mundane routine, its purpose orbiting something larger and more secretive just beyond its borders.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Vigdis paused in front of what had probably been a gas station. The faded remnants of a sign dangled precariously from a rusted frame, and the skeleton of an old fuel pump stood as a sentinel in the dust. She ran her eyes over the street ahead. It was eerily uniform, with the same squat buildings lined up in neat rows. Even in ruin, the town felt organized, like it had been planned with precision rather than grown organically.
Patrick’s voice emerged from the axe, low and thoughtful. “Not much left here, is there? Seems... deliberate, almost.”
She glanced at the weapon, her brow furrowing. “Deliberate?”
“Like someone cleaned house,” Patrick said, his tone quieter. “Burnt the bridges, salted the earth. Whatever this place was, someone didn’t want it remembered.”
Vigdis didn’t respond, instead moving forward. She stepped through the shattered doorway of what might’ve been a general store, her gaze sweeping the interior. Empty shelves, a few overturned displays, and the faint outline of where a counter had once stood. Dust covered everything, but beneath it, she could almost imagine the bustle of long-lost patrons.
She exhaled heavily, stepping back into the street. The place felt like it should hold answers, yet all she found were fragments of lives long past. Still, the thought lingered in her mind—if this town had been here to serve something larger, then Bunker 4 couldn’t be far away.
Her grip on the axe tightened as she scanned the horizon. If the map wasn’t wrong, there had to be something out here. And she intended to find it.
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Vigdis moved deeper into the ruins, her boots crunching softly against the broken pavement. The faint echoes of her movements seemed to reverberate through the desolate streets, a ghostly reminder of a time long gone. The town wasn’t large, but its eerie silence was oppressive, magnified by the sense of abandonment that clung to every cracked wall and shattered window.
Signs of a long-past struggle were scattered across the ruins. In one corner of a crumbling square, skeletons huddled near a barricade of rusted metal and debris, their tattered clothing fluttering in the faint breeze. Nearby, a weathered sign leaned against a wall, its bold letters barely legible: "Let us in!!!" The words were jagged, carved with desperation.
Further along, another cluster of bones marked what might have been a desperate last stand. The faded remnants of a painted slogan were smeared across a collapsed storefront: "Tech Lords Are Not Our Saviors!"
Vigdis turned down another street, her footsteps stirring the dust as she passed an overturned vehicle. Signs lay scattered around it, their messages eerily preserved:
* "No Billionaire Bailouts!"
* "We Are Not Your Experiment!"
* "The Future Isn't For Sale!"
Each message was a fragment of a forgotten time, their meaning unclear to her but undeniably full of passion. To the reader, they told a story of a fractured world, of protests that had spread far and wide in response to something monumental.
In another corner, the bones of a lone figure rested against a wall, clutching a placard with bold, angry lettering: "White power scum!" Vigdis paused, her green eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. She didn’t understand the slogans, didn’t know the context or history that had led to this. But the sheer spread of the messages—the scale of what had once happened here—was undeniable.
Patrick’s voice broke her reverie, his tone laced with quiet curiosity. “They were angry, weren’t they? Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a single street—it was the whole town.”
She nodded faintly, stepping over the remnants of another sign. “Whatever it was, it ended badly.”
The Magician’s request flickered in her thoughts again, its implications becoming harder to ignore. She didn’t have answers yet, but the echoes of these long-dead voices made it clear that the world she walked through had always been complicated.
Vigdis continued out of the town, her boots carrying her toward the open sands. Behind her, the ruins stood as a silent testament to a past she couldn’t quite understand but couldn’t entirely ignore. It was time to make camp, and time—finally—to confront what she was really doing here.
She glanced at the ruins around her, her green eyes scanning for movement or signs of danger. The town was still, too still, as if even the wildlife avoided it. After a moment’s hesitation, she made her way out of the ruins, stepping onto the flat expanse of sand that surrounded the town.
This would do for the night.
Vigdis set up her camp just outside the town’s boundaries, her position chosen to give her a clear view of the horizon and the marked location on the map. The setting sun painted the desert in fiery hues, casting long shadows over the silent landscape. She unslung her axe and placed it within arm’s reach, her instincts honed from years of travel and survival.
Patrick’s voice emerged from the weapon, his tone thoughtful. “Odd place, this. Feels like the kind of spot where the past hangs heavier than the present.”
She glanced at the axe but didn’t reply, instead focusing on kindling a small fire. The warmth was a welcome comfort as the desert chill began to set in.
Her gaze drifted toward the marked location on the map, the emptiness of the wasteland beyond gnawing at her resolve. She wasn’t in a hurry, not now. But she needed to make up her mind—what was she doing here, really? The Magician’s words echoed in her mind, and the weight of her choices pressed down on her. Whatever lay ahead, she knew it wouldn’t be simple.
But then, when was it ever?