The sky above remained a faded stretch of blue-grey, thick with a wandering hush that hung in the air like a breath held too long. The massive wargon groaned softly beneath its weight, shifting a bit as its plated hide creaked like old trees in the wind. A faint, ever-present rustle of the wind brushed across its sides, tugging at the tattered cloths and ropes looped around its gear. Dust clung to everything here—dry and fine, turning even sweat into grime.
Luke had been silent. Still seated on the broad spine of the beast, he sat hunched forward slightly, the battered silver of his pocket watch glinting dully in his palm. Its weight pressed into his hand like a piece of time that refused to move forward.
His face was unreadable at first, eyes half-lidded, locked somewhere far off—not in the present, not even in the past. Somewhere deeper.
Then, as if a thread snapped behind his eyes, something shifted.
His fingers jerked. His mouth opened just slightly.
"Eh?"It escaped like a startled whisper. Barely a sound, more breath than word—but clear.
His head turned abruptly, dark hair catching the soft sunlight bleeding through the clouds.
"Liora. Kairo. Vivy," he called out, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the camp's quiet rhythm. "Come here a second."
Liora's voice chimed back almost instantly, laced with an energetic buzz—part playful, part focused.
"I can't right now!" she called, slightly breathless. "Almost done here! We should get ready to move—especially your stuff, Luke. You've got all the food cargo, remember?"
Luke's brows lifted slightly, an amused exhale brushing past his lips as he tucked the pocket watch back into his coat.
"Well, yeah. I'll do that while we talk, then," he replied, standing with a smooth stretch and then carefully dismounting from the beast's broad, warm back.
He landed with a soft thud, boots crunching faintly against the dust-caked ground. His shoulders rolled once as he stood up straight, adjusting the old harness around his chest.
"Sure, Luke!" she called back, without turning, her voice trailing behind her like a scarf in the wind.
Kairo had been leaning quietly against the wargon, half-shaded beneath its underbelly. He pushed off the side, brow furrowed a little, still chewing over the urgency in Luke's voice.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked as he approached.
Luke didn't answer at first. He bent down beside one of the crates, his hands beginning to untie the thick rope cinched over the top. His jaw tightened slightly.
"…That shopkeeper," he said, not looking up. "The one you met."
Kairo blinked. His head tilted slightly. "The shopkeeper?"
Luke nodded slowly. "Describe her. Everything you can remember about her appearance."
Kairo paused. There was a short flicker in his eyes—uncertainty, or maybe unease. His voice slowed.
"From what I remember… she was asleep when I first saw her," Kairo said.
He crossed his arms as he tried to recall.
"She looked young. Really young. Her hair was this… I don't know. Violet. And it was long. Long enough to cover her whole face. At least, at first."
Luke's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows.
Kairo continued.
"When I saw her face—pale skin. Like… not the kind of pale from staying inside. Almost like porcelain. Fragile but cold. And…" He hesitated. "There were these marks. Around her wrists. I only caught a glimpse when she stretched. That's all I remember."
A thick silence followed.
Is she—?
Kairo didn't finish the thought. He only glanced sideways at Luke, whose face hadn't changed, but whose stillness felt louder than any words.
Luke's hands moved mechanically now, lifting one of the crates with a small grunt and shifting it a few steps toward the new wargon. The tension in his shoulders was palpable—like something had nested beneath the skin.
Vivy moved silently beside him, her soft steps muffled by the sand-packed ground. She didn't interrupt at first, only leaned down and helped lift one of the smaller containers—more jerky, dried fruits, old grains packed in tight cloth.
"And the shop itself?"
Luke said after a while, his voice flatter than before. "Old, right? Against her age?"
"Yes," Kairo replied. "It looked old. Fell apart at the edges. Dust, crooked shelves, that kind of thing. Didn't match her at all."
Luke's lips pressed into a line.
Then, nothing.
He just stood still, his hands resting on the edge of a crate, not moving—eyes slightly glazed, lost in some whirl of memory that pulled tight around his chest.
Kairo lingered for a moment longer, but something in him said to leave it be. He turned and stepped back to the other side of the beast, letting Luke have his silence.
But Vivy didn't leave.
She shifted her weight, head tilted slightly. Her long lashes lowered, voice gentle but clear.
"Luke?"She tapped his arm lightly.
He flinched, blinking sharply as if pulled back from the depths of a cold dream.
"Oh—yeah. I'm fine." His voice cracked slightly before he cleared it. "Just… maybe after we load all this stuff into the new wargon and start moving again… there's something I think you all need to know."
There was a flicker of alarm in Vivy's eyes, but she nodded without a word.
Luke looked down at his hands again. Fingers stained with dust. He didn't know why, but they felt heavier.
She had those markings.
And that shop.
He hadn't spoken the name yet.
Not even to himself.
But in the pit of his stomach, something told him—
This wasn't a coincidence.
And whoever that woman was….
Finally the final hiss of lacquer settling into form echoed in the air like a whispered breath of something old and otherworldly.
Liora stood still beside the book that had fallen to the dusty ground, her fingers slightly curled, chest rising and falling with shallow excitement. The golden lacquer—ever-shifting, rippling like molten sunlight—wound itself into the air, its motion graceful yet deliberate, like the brushstrokes of a divine painter unseen.
Before her, the air warped and folded inward with unnatural fluidity, bending like water under pressure. Light twisted and shimmered in impossible angles, coalescing into a form—growing, expanding—until the new wargon began to emerge, piece by radiant piece.
It was massive.
Larger than the one before. Nearly one-and-a-half times the size of their previous beast, yet its form felt leaner, more alive. The lacquer hardened into brilliant colors—not one, but many. Streaks of shimmering crimson raced across its flanks, edged with deep obsidian lines that twisted into clawlike motifs, while the undercarriage glowed with soft, inner amber, as though lit from within by captive stars.
Weird patterns covered its armored frame—glyphs that pulsed faintly with an amber-violet light, none of which Liora recognized. Spirals within spirals. Arcs intersected by jagged lines. They danced across the outer hull like tattooed scars of something ancient, and angry, and proud.
But it was the wheels that truly stole the breath.
Each of the six wheels stood as tall as a grown man, crafted not from anything resembling wood or metal, but from a smooth, dark substance like polished bone or stone fused with lacquer. The patterns on them were alive—twisting coils shaped like serpents or vines devouring themselves, symbols folding in on themselves in impossible geometry. And at the very heart of each wheel, there was a core—glowing a dull gold—turning slowly, as if it had its own internal orbit.
The wheels do not roll... they resonate, Liora realized, watching the faint pulses travel up the axles into the body of the wargon. It gave off an unnatural hum—quiet, but ever-present. Something between vibration and breath.
The beast was unlike anything seen in the Wastes.
She walked slowly around it, her boots brushing the dead grass and fine dust. Her fingertips grazed the hull as she circled—smooth and warm to the touch, as if the vehicle remembered being born of heat. Her breath hitched softly.
"...gorgeous…" she murmured under her breath. Her eyes darted across every detail, jaw slack in awe and fascination.
Then, with a swift movement, she climbed into the inner carriage. The door—a swirling oval of lacquer that unraveled like petals—folded open at her approach with the gentleness of a sigh.
Inside, the light dimmed. The air smelled faintly metallic, tinged with something floral and almost too clean.
The interior was a seamless blend of alien design and strange elegance. Smooth surfaces of dark enamel and carved patterns ran along the inner walls. Strange branching inlays like nervous systems pulsed faintly beneath the floor and seating. There were no clear controls. No visible reins or wheels. It felt more like a chamber of intent than a vehicle.
And then she saw it.
Her book.
It lay flat on the lacquered floor in the center of the room, spine slightly bent. The worn leather cover, still dust-streaked from earlier, looked strangely out of place in this unnatural space.
She stepped toward it, heels echoing in the chamber with soft, ringing taps. She bent down slowly, brushing her hand against the floor as she picked the book up and slipped it into her satchel—
And then she froze.
There was something beneath it.
An inscription. A sentence, etched into the lacquer where the book had rested—glowing faintly, like heat seen through fogged glass.
Her brows drew low. The script was… wrong. Like shards of a language shattered and reassembled incorrectly. Jagged curves. Backward angles. It almost moved when she stared at it too long, like a spider twitching in place.
She crouched lower, tried tilting her head. Her lips parted slightly.
"What the hell is this…"
Her voice caught in her throat.
She tried to make sense of it—but the symbols offered no roots. No structure. No phonetics. It wasn't made for human tongues.
She blinked hard and stood up sharply.
"Tch… no way I'm figuring that out."
With one final glance, she turned on her heel, her voice echoing down the corridor of the strange new wargon.
"Kairo! Luke! Vivy! New ride's here!" she called, raising her voice. "Let's move our stuff in first!"
There was a brief pause, then Luke's voice drifted from somewhere near the rear storage.
"On it."
Kairo echoed moments later, "Be there in a second."
But Vivy didn't answer.
She was already on the move, the subtle crinkle of her steps swift and quiet, cutting across the dry ground back toward the old wargon.
The air inside the old wargon was warm and dim, filled with the musty scent of stored cloth, smoked meats, and old wood. Shadows loomed from the sun's angle, and the sounds of the outside world faded to dull murmurs.
There, sprawled lazily on the floor, was Nymei. It hadn't moved. Its rainbows hair curled across It face in disarray, and one arm was flung over her forehead in theatrical sleep.
Vivy narrowed her eyes and approached. She drew her leg back gently—then aimed a soft kick toward Nymei's hip.
Before her foot could even touch Nymei—
She vanished.
Like smoke scattered in a sudden wind.
A sigh drifted from the ceiling. "It's like what you think," Nymei's voice slurred in sleepy rhythm, as it reformed sitting cross-legged on the bedroll, rubbing its eyes. Its tone was laced with playfulness and lingering fatigue.
"Even though I'm in a human body, I still have all my powers… just like when I was Vel'kyren."
Vivy folded her arms, watching carefully.
Nymei yawned, stretching—then pointed lazily at itself. Around her torso and arms, faint trails of smoke began to seep—light gray tendrils that didn't move with the air, but spiraled inward like breath being drawn in reverse.
"But as you can see…" Nymei continued, dragging the words like silk across gravel, "...if I do that too much, my real body leaks through. Which would be very bad."
It twirled a finger above its own head. "Because then this—" It gestured at her vaguely humanoid shape, "—gets all glitchy."
It paused, then grinned with narrowed eyes.
"Well… if we were in a city, or anywhere with people…"
Vivy's stare turned cold. "Right. If they know you're a Vel'kyren…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Nymei finished it for her, softly, smirking, "Disaster."
Vivy sighed, brushing her fingers through her hair. "Anyway. New wargon's ready. Time to move."
Nymei rolled its eyes dramatically. "Yes, yes, I heard." Nymei stood up, cracked its neck with a sharp pop, and strolled toward the door. Its steps were exaggerated and theatrical, as if it was on stage.
"I'll be right there this moment, Lady Vivy," it said in a sing-song tone.
And true to her word, It climbed into the new wargon… and immediately collapsed face-first onto the strange, glowing floor.
"Ughhhhhh," came the muffled groan. "This feels too smooth. Like sleeping on a slice of glass…"
Vivy watched it for a moment longer—expression unreadable—then turned away to finish gathering the last of the supplies.