Pushing his way through the wall of rain, Draemir felt the thunder crash around him, so loud and close that his heart seemed to leap with every rumble. Each step sent a jolt through his body, the cold, pounding rain hitting his skin like ice-cold needles. The wind whipped at him, a relentless force that seemed contained within the storm itself, howling and pressing against him from every direction. Yet, somehow, he kept moving forward, each slow, determined step a small victory against the chaotic elements.

He had to admit, he was holding up better than he’d expected. For a scrawny, half-starved kid from the outskirts, he was doing alright. The harsh wind and biting rain should’ve knocked him over by now, but he pushed on, stubbornly planting one foot in front of the other. He didn’t know what he was moving toward, but he was too deep in to turn back now.

The cold began to sink in faster than he’d anticipated. The rain was colder than he thought it would be—so cold it was sapping the warmth from his body with alarming speed. His thin shirt and patched trousers offered no protection, and he could feel his skin chilling, his fingers stiffening as they clenched into fists to stop his hands from trembling.

‘Am I going to die from the cold? ‘ The thought struck him like an unwelcome slap.

Somehow, the idea of freezing to death seemed even worse than being struck by lightning or drowning. Lightning, at least, would be over quickly. Drowning would be horrible, but at least it would be a struggle, a fight. Freezing to death, though… that sounded slow. Inevitable.

He shivered, forcing himself to keep moving. His steps were cautious, his pace steady, but the cold was already seeping into his bones, turning each movement into an effort.

‘Well,’ he thought grimly, ‘at least I wanted my death to be painless. But this? This is ridiculous.’

The rain was falling so heavily now that he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. Everything was a hazy blur of gray and silver, the world reduced to a tight sphere of visibility that seemed to shift and shrink with each step. Every so often, a flash of lightning would pierce the darkness, illuminating the storm in stark, violent white, and Draemir would flinch as it struck close by, the boom of thunder rattling through his bones.

Looking down, he noticed that the ground was becoming more treacherous. The ashen soil, dry and cracked outside the storm, had turned into a sludgy, waterlogged mess. His boots sank into the mud with each step, the ground sucking at his feet, trying to hold him back. He grimaced, pulling his feet free each time, struggling to keep his balance as he pressed onward. Somewhere to his left, he caught sight of what looked like a river—a dark, rushing current that had formed out of the torrential rain, winding its way through the fissures in the ground.

‘A river?’ Draemir stared at it for a moment, baffled.

He’d heard stories about rivers—real rivers, with clean, drinkable water that ran for miles. In the outskirts, the idea of that much water flowing freely was unthinkable. Water was something you rationed, guarded, fought over. The idea that it could just… run like this, in a steady, endless stream, seemed impossible. He didn’t believe it, not really.

“Yeah… no,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and turning his focus back to the path ahead. He didn’t trust the river or the ground it was churning through. The mud was unsteady enough without wading into unknown water.

The thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and he flinched as a bolt of lightning struck uncomfortably close, lighting up the world in a harsh white that left him momentarily blind. He stumbled, catching himself just before he fell face-first into the mud. His heart pounded, and he had to take a steadying breath, forcing himself to calm down.

Focus, he thought, his nerves fraying. You’re still alive. You just have to keep moving.

The rain was relentless, drowning out every other sound except for the occasional roar of thunder. He tried to focus on that—the steady beat of the rain, the rhythm of his own footsteps. But every so often, he’d hear something louder, a deep rumbling that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the edge of his view, resonating through the air and ground. It was almost like… like something massive moving in the distance. An unsettling sound, low and constant, louder than even the storm’s own fury.

Draemir glanced around, straining his eyes against the downpour, but he couldn’t see anything past the wall of rain. The sound sent a spike of anxiety through him, and he shifted his path, trying to steer away from the direction of the rumbling. Whatever could overpower the sound of thunder and rain was nothing he wanted to get closer to. For now, he’d keep moving forward, avoiding the loudest parts of his surroundings.

He was tired, soaked to the skin, and shivering violently, but he had no other choice.

He kept moving, shivering as he pushed forward through the unrelenting downpour. A few more times, he heard those strange, low rumbles echoing through the storm, each one sending a chill up his spine. Whatever was making those noises, it was massive, and Draemir knew better than to go near it. He adjusted his path each time, veering away from the direction of the sound, hoping that if he kept his distance, whatever was out there wouldn’t notice him.

Beyond the ominous rumbling, though, the cold remained his worst enemy. His thin clothes were soaked through, and the relentless wind seemed to pierce straight to his bones. The rain was icy, each drop like a needle, and he could feel his fingers growing numb, his movements stiff and slow.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

At one point, he came across another river—a darker, wider stream that cut across his path. He walked along its edge for a bit, scanning for a way across, but soon found himself at the edge of a steep canyon. The river cascaded down the cliffside in a wild torrent, falling into a pit so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. He stopped for a moment, staring down into the darkness, mesmerized by the sheer power of the water as it plunged into the depths below. It was beautiful in a way, a rare glimpse of something dynamic and alive in this otherwise dead world.

But there was no time to linger. He continued along the canyon’s edge, his legs growing heavier with each step. He counted his paces, tracking his direction in his head, until he was sure he’d made it past the obstacle. By then, the sound of the waterfall had faded behind him, swallowed up by the steady roar of the storm.

Hours seemed to pass, though it was hard to tell in the unchanging gray light of this world. Somewhere along the way, Draemir found himself growing strangely accustomed to the rhythm of this journey. The hunger gnawing at his stomach. The endless walking. The constant cold. It was miserable, yes, but not so unfamiliar.

This… actually isn’t the worst, he thought, surprised by the thought. In a way, it reminded him of life before the trial. Back when he was just another orphan scrounging through the outskirts, always on the move, always looking for food. He’d spent countless nights pacing the streets, shivering in the shadows, scavenging for anything edible. Cold and hunger were old companions, ones he’d grown up with.

But… this was different. Back then, he’d always had options, even if they were desperate. If he grew too hungry, he could try breaking into a bakery, slipping through a broken window or jimmying a lock. If he got too cold, he could sneak into abandoned buildings or find some sheltered alleyway. The risks had been high—people didn’t take kindly to thieves—but he’d always had something to fall back on, no matter how dangerous.

Here, he had nothing.

There was no shelter, no stolen bread, no half-rotten vegetables tossed aside in the market. Just endless mud, streams of icy water, and the relentless weight of hunger clawing at his insides. At one point, he tilted his head back, opening his mouth to catch a few drops of rain, letting the cold water slide down his throat. It wasn’t enough, but it staved off the worst of the dryness in his mouth. For a moment, he considered bending down to drink from the thin layer of muddy water pooling around his feet, but the thought made him grimace.

That sounds… terrible, he thought. He could already imagine the taste of grit and grime filling his mouth, the sickly, stagnant feel of it sliding down his throat. No, he’d have to be even more desperate than this to try something like that.

He trudged forward, his legs aching from the effort. He was used to walking—he’d done it every day on the hard, cracked sidewalks of the outskirts. But here, every step sank into thick, unyielding mud, forcing him to pull his feet free with each movement. He was used to streets and alleys, solid surfaces that didn’t try to trap him, but here, the ground seemed determined to hold him back, dragging him down into its mire.

The constant struggle of it was exhausting, more draining than anything he’d experienced before. In the outskirts, he might’ve walked for hours on end, but he’d never had to fight for every step, never had to worry about his feet getting stuck, his legs weighed down by mud and water.

As he slogged through the muck, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness. The streets of the outskirts were harsh, unforgiving, but they were familiar. He knew every corner, every alley, every hidden path he could take when he needed to disappear. He’d grown up there, learned to survive there. Out here, though, in this endless gray wasteland, he was out of his depth. There were no landmarks, no places to hide, no sense of direction.

Only the storm, thundering around him, cold and merciless.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, and took a moment to catch his breath. His stomach ached with hunger, his limbs felt leaden, and his skin was numb from the cold. The temptation to just sit down, to rest for a moment, tugged at him, but he forced himself to keep going. If he stopped now, he wasn’t sure he’d find the strength to start again.

‘Just keep moving,’ he told himself, clenching his jaw. ‘Just a little further.’

So he continued. Step after step, dragging his frozen, exhausted body forward through the unrelenting storm. The cold had seeped deep into his bones by now, numbing him completely. He could barely feel his hands and feet anymore, only the dull ache of his muscles as they struggled to keep him upright. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to his skin like a layer of ice, each step sending fresh shivers down his spine.

It had been at least another half hour since he’d decided to push forward, though it felt like days. The storm had only grown worse, the rain pounding harder, the wind howling louder. His visibility had shrunk to just a couple of feet, the sheets of rain forming a thick, impenetrable wall around him. Every so often, lightning would crack through the sky, and the thunder would rumble so close it made his teeth clench, rattling through his bones.

His breaths came out in ragged, shallow gasps, each one a struggle. He was beyond tired; he was drained. Empty. Every ounce of strength felt like it had been wrung out of him, leaving nothing but a hollow shell stumbling through the mud.

‘I can’t do this,’ he thought, though his legs kept moving as if by sheer instinct. ‘I can’t… I can’t keep going.’

The thought lingered, a whisper of defeat echoing in his mind. He tried to shake it off, but the weight of exhaustion was crushing him, pressing down on his shoulders, his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. His vision was blurring, his head swimming with fatigue.

Then, as if to confirm his worst fears, his foot caught on something hidden in the mud, and he tripped.

Draemir went down hard, landing face-first in the thick, icy sludge. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, he just lay there, his cheek pressed into the cold, wet ground. The mud clung to his skin, filling his nose with the smell of damp earth and rot. His arms refused to move, his muscles too weak and frozen to obey.

I can’t go on anymore, he thought, the realization settling over him with a dull finality. There was nothing left in him. No strength, no warmth. Just emptiness. He didn’t even have the energy to push himself up; the best he could manage was to turn his head, twisting his face out of the mud so he could breathe.

As he did, a flash of lightning cut through the darkness, illuminating the storm for a brief, blinding instant.

And in that split second, he saw it—a dark, towering silhouette, barely visible through the sheets of rain. The structure loomed in the distance, massive and unyielding, like a stone monolith standing defiant against the storm. It was hard to make out the details, but the shape was unmistakable: broad, angular, almost like the outline of a flattened triangle. Pillars, perhaps, or walls rising up in jagged lines, reaching toward the sky.