Roughly 10 cycles ago—when three boys were still too young to understand fear—the sky broke.

  There was no warning.

  No war declared.

  No sin accused.

  No final broadcast, no evacuation order.

  Just fury.

  The heavens split apart as if struck from above, long fractures ripping through clouds and atmosphere alike. Light bled through those wounds in violent pulses, followed by soundless devastation—fragments of burning stone tearing through orbit and atmosphere without roar or flame, descending like judgment stripped of ceremony.

  Cities burned in silence.

  Oceans recoiled, their surfaces shuddering as shockwaves raced across the planet faster than sound could follow. Tidal walls rose and collapsed before anyone could scream. Entire coastlines vanished beneath boiling spray.

  Above it all, the sky rained debris that had once been moons.

  Great fragments struck land with enough force to fold continents inward, punching craters deep enough to expose the planet's glowing scars. Smaller shards fell like needles, punching through buildings, through bodies, through history.

  In mere hours, nations ceased to exist.

  Not conquered.

  Erased.

  When the storm finally passed, it left behind something worse than silence.

  A world that should not have survived.

  Terrosia had once been hostile—but alive. Lush valleys carved between lethal terrain. City-districts built by those strong enough to endure its atmosphere. Towering cloudbanks brushing mountain peaks that scraped the heavens themselves.

  That world died when the sky cracked.

  What remained was something fractured.

  The land split and warped, teetering between rebirth and collapse. Craters glowed faintly years later, their edges fused into glass and twisted stone. The sky never healed, its clouds threaded with luminous fractures like veins exposed beneath wounded flesh.

  The air hummed.

  Not with wind—but with residue.

  The echo of something vast. Something divine. Something furious.

  And still—

  People lived here.

  Somehow.

  Terrosia became a cradle of lingering cosmic force, its atmosphere pulsing with the aftershocks of that day. Power seeped into the soil, the sky, the blood of those stubborn enough to remain. Stories spread—whispers of realms beyond the horizon, of entire realities layered atop one another, stretching endlessly outward into darkness and light.

  Places where laws bent.

  Where freedom still existed.

  Some sought those places for wealth.

  Some for power.

  Some for knowledge forbidden by distance and fear.

  But all of them knew the same truth.

  Everything—every world, every path, every breath taken beyond one's birth-sky—existed under the shadow of higher hands.

  Hands that ruled without question.

  When the storm ended, what remained was a broken world with broken skies—

  And survivors too stubborn to die.

  Among them, in the crumbled city-district of Braetan, stood a shelter built from salvage and refusal. Its walls were patched with wreckage. Its floors are lined with insulation torn from ships that would never fly again. It housed the forgotten, the injured, the unlucky.

  And within that shelter—

  Three boys grew up.

  Not by blood.

  But by bond.

  Beyond the Gate.

  That morning started like any other.

  "Don't get caught," Luto muttered, tightening the strap on his scavpack until it sat exactly where he wanted it.

  "Don't start fires," Onyx added, slinging the carbon-hammer across his back with practiced ease.

  "No promises," Ryu said with a grin, tying his dreadlocks back with the same worn bandana he'd had for as long as he could remember.

  They were halfway to the shelter gate when Lady Destra's voice cut through the clatter of morning prep.

  "And where do you think you're going?"

  All three stopped.

  Onyx turned first. Luto followed. Ryu… took a second longer.

  Lady Destra stood at the top of the shelter steps, arms folded, posture rigid out of habit more than anger. Her hair had gone more gray in the last few years. Everyone's had. The air did that to people. So did responsibility.

  "You were out yesterday," she said. "And the day before that."

  "We brought back food," Ryu offered helpfully.

  "And circuit cores," Luto added. "Three still functional."

  "And you came back late," Destra said. "Again."

  She waited for a response that didn't come.

  The scolding faded before it finished forming. She exhaled, slow and tired, gaze moving over them—over the scars, the gear, the way they stood like they belonged outside the walls more than in.

  "…Just don't be stupid," she said finally.

  Onyx nodded once. "We won't."

  She almost laughed at that.

  "You always are," she said, softer now. "Just—come back."

  They passed her.

  As they reached the gate, Ryu turned around, walking backward for a few steps just to grin at her—wide, bright, unbothered by the weight she carried for them.

  "We will!" he called.

  Lady Destra watched them go until the gate sealed behind them.

  Only then did she whisper, "Be safe."

  —

  Braetan was already awake.

  The district sprawled outward in uneven layers—rebuilt sections stitched together from scrap and stubbornness, older ruins left half-standing where no one had the energy to clear them. Craters dotted the streets like old scars, some shallow enough to walk through, others fenced off and marked with warning glyphs burned into metal.

  Vendors shouted from makeshift stalls welded to broken walls. Smoke curled from cook-fires fed by whatever would burn. Gérmons lounged in the shade of collapsed structures, unbothered by the noise, thick hides barely moving as people passed.

  Ryu waved to everyone.

  "Morning!"

  "Hey!"

  "Did you fix the water valve yet?"

  Some waved back. Some smiled. Some turned away.

  An old man near the ration depot spat when they passed. A woman pulling a child close glared at them like trouble had a smell.

  Ryu didn't notice.

  Or didn't care.

  "Are they still mad about the Dravok thing?" he asked, hopping over a crater rim.

  "They're mad about everything," Onyx replied. "We just make it easier."

  Luto adjusted his pack. "Statistically, they're more likely to remember the damage than the benefit."

  Ryu frowned. "That's dumb."

  "Yes," Luto agreed. "People often are."

  They moved deeper into the district, past fallen spires braced with scaffolding, through breach-gates welded from ship hulls and reinforced with layered plating. The noise thinned. The air grew harsher.

  Beyond the last checkpoint, Braetan gave way to the western deadlands.

  Open ruins stretched out beneath the broken sky—collapsed highways, exposed conduits, skeletal towers half-sunk into ash. Wind howled through hollow structures, carrying grit that stung the eyes and coated the tongue.

  Ryu breathed it in like it was freedom.

  "So," he said, "what are we hoping for today?"

  "Old circuits," Luto replied. "High-grade if we're lucky."

  "Trade those for boots," Onyx said. "Mine are almost done."

  Ryu grinned wider. "And probably fight something stupid."

  Neither of them disagreed.

  They moved forward together, disappearing into the ruins like they always did.

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

  The Ravine That Hunts Back

  Veterans called it the Crossing.

  Not because it led somewhere—but because most people didn't make it across.

  The western deadlands narrowed here, collapsing inward into a jagged ravine carved deep into Terrosia's crust. Water flowed through the bottom in slow, luminous currents, thick with debris and residue that shimmered faintly against the stone. It wasn't clean. It wasn't natural.

  Cosmic fallout had soaked into it over years.

  The result was evolution without permission.

  Onyx slowed as they reached the edge.

  "We turn back here," he said.

  Luto nodded. "Resources past this point increase by forty-seven percent. Mortality spikes with them."

  Ryu leaned over the edge anyway.

  "Looks fine."

  It wasn't.

  The ravine walls were riddled with tunnels—wide, claw-scraped entrances half-submerged in glowing water. Heat rolled up from below, carrying the scent of metal, rot, and something sharp enough to sting the lungs.

  Dravok territory.

  Not the smaller ones near Braetan. These were bigger. Heavier. Scales thickened and darkened by prolonged exposure to the irradiated water below. Their eyes reflected light wrong—too bright, too aware.

  "Ryu—" Luto started.

  Too late.

  The ground gave way.

  Ryu vanished over the edge.

  Onyx lunged—

  —and missed.

  For half a heartbeat, the ravine swallowed him.

  Then Ryu hit stone.

  Rolled.

  Twisted.

  He caught himself on a jagged outcrop, boots scraping sparks as he pushed off again, momentum carrying him sideways instead of down. A Dravok snapped where he'd been a second earlier, jaws crashing shut on empty air.

  Ryu landed hard—skidding, recovering faster than he should have.

  "HA!" he laughed.

  Onyx's stomach dropped.

  Another Dravok lunged.

  Ryu ducked beneath it, grabbed a protruding shard of fused metal, and swung—connecting squarely with the side of its skull. The impact rang through the ravine. The creature staggered, stunned, snarling in confusion.

  Ryu didn't wait.

  He moved.

  Too fast. Too clean.

  Then Onyx and Luto were there.

  Onyx dropped beside him, carbon-hammer already in motion, forcing the nearest beast back with a brutal swing that cracked stone instead of scale. Luto grabbed Ryu by the collar and yanked, dragging him bodily toward safer ground.

  They didn't stop moving until the ravine stopped echoing with roars.

  Onyx shoved Ryu back once they were clear.

  "What were you thinking?"

  Ryu laughed, breathless. "I wasn't."

  "That's the problem," Luto said flatly.

  Ryu wiped grime from his face, still grinning. "I'm fine."

  Onyx stared at him for a long moment.

  Then turned away.

  They moved on.

  —

  Luto took point through the open plains beyond the ravine, guiding them along paths veterans marked but rarely walked. The land opened up—flat stretches of scorched grass and broken earth, wind sweeping debris into long, whispering trails.

  Onyx glanced back.

  "Where's Lee?"

  Ryu blinked. "Huh?"

  "Your gérmon."

  "Oh," Ryu said. "Didn't wake up. Lazy."

  Onyx frowned.

  Lee never missed a run.

  Luto opened his mouth—

  —and stopped.

  All three froze.

  They hadn't expected to find a corpse.

  "Uh…" Ryu said, crouching slowly. "Is it just me, or did we find a dead man's pi?ata?"

  The figure lay sprawled in the sun-scorched grass, unmoving. Black-and-silver armor cracked and warped, blood pooling beneath him. One arm was twisted at an angle no joint should allow.

  Faint glyphs glimmered along his exposed skin—alien, ethereal, not carved but embedded.

  "He's not dead," Onyx said, already kneeling. His voice was flat, but his grip was careful as he checked for a pulse.

  Luto crouched beside them and sniffed. "Smells like space metal and regret," he said. "Definitely not from Terrosia."

  Ryu squinted. "Should we poke him?"

  "Don't poke him," Onyx and Luto snapped together.

  They moved anyway.

  Fast.

  Onyx hauled the man onto his back without comment. Luto wrapped him in cloakcloth, hands steady despite the glow seeping through the fabric. Ryu took watch, palms faintly lit by the hum of his embedded capacitor chip as he scanned the horizon.

  They dragged him beneath the broken curve of a collapsed sky-dome—once meant to regulate weather, now just another skeleton of a world that failed.

  Whoever this man was…

  He'd been through hell.

  His armor bore molten scars—patterns Onyx didn't recognize, but instinctively distrusted. His veins shimmered with stardust corruption, light moving beneath the skin like an infection.

  He wasn't just wounded.

  He was running.

  From something.

  Ryu crouched beside him.

  "Hey," he said. "You owe us. Medical fees. Time. Snacks. Luto's food is expensive."

  The man stirred.

  His eyes opened—bloodshot, unfocused, but aware.

  "You…" he rasped. "You don't know what you've done."

  Luto tilted his head. "Saved you?"

  The man coughed.

  Light spilled from his mouth.

  Not blood.

  Actual, radiant light.

  "You've drawn the gaze…" he wheezed, "…of gods."

  Silence fell.

  Ryu scratched his head.

  "Well, shit."

  Under Broken Moons

  The man collapsed before anyone could argue about it.

  One moment he was breathing—ragged, shallow, but steady enough to pretend. The next, his body seized and went slack, weight dropping hard against Onyx's shoulder.

  Onyx swore and lowered him to the ground.

  "Great," Ryu muttered. "He picked now."

  "He's bleeding internally," Luto said, already moving. He dropped to his knees and unshouldered his pack, hands flying through compartments with practiced urgency. "And whatever that glow is, it's not helping."

  Onyx crouched beside them, scanning the ruins, jaw tight. "Can you fix it?"

  "No," Luto said flatly. "But I can slow it."

  Ryu huffed and leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting upward despite himself.

  Above them, the sky was wrong in its usual way—clouds torn thin, light diffused into a pale haze. Three moons hung overhead. Two real. One pretending, the sun dulled into something distant and cold.

  "Y'know," Ryu said casually, "I've always wondered what's past those."

  Luto didn't look up. He tore a strip of cloakcloth and pressed it against the man's side, where light still pulsed faintly beneath the skin. "Based on this?" he replied. "Nothing friendly."

  Ryu grinned and elbowed Onyx lightly. "Hear that? One day you gotta build us a ship, Lu. Get us off this rock."

  Onyx didn't respond.

  Luto didn't either.

  Both were watching the man now.

  The glow beneath his veins flickered—erratic, unstable. Luto's hands slowed, just slightly. Onyx felt it too, that tightening in his chest. The kind that came right before something went wrong.

  Ryu noticed the silence.

  "…What?" he asked.

  The man jerked violently.

  His back arched as he sucked in air that burned his lungs, coughing hard enough to rattle bone. Light spilled from his mouth again, brighter this time, splashing across the cracked stone beneath them.

  Luto recoiled.

  Onyx grabbed the man's shoulders, bracing him.

  The coughing didn't stop.

  And whatever had been chasing him—

  Was no longer far behind.