The hauler rolled through the foggy ruins, headlights cutting a tunnel through dust and hanging miasma. Aaron drove one-handed, boots firm on the pedals, gnawing a ration stick like it had personally offended him.
Roy lounged on the bench opposite Karauro, helmet in his lap, red hair damp with sweat. He watched Karauro’s knee bounce like it was trying to escape.
Having Roy there—his constant stream of noise against Karauro’s stillness—made the trip feel less like being hauled to a grinder alone.
“You’re gonna drill through the floor at that rate,” Roy said. “First outpost jitters?”
Karauro forced his leg still. “Just thinking.”
“Same thing,” Roy muttered.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” Aaron added, not looking back.
Karauro watched the broken skyline slide past—tilted towers, sagging bridges, dead windows. “We keep killing them, but they keep coming back,” he said quietly. “With all this tech—why hasn’t anyone ended it?”
“Because survival isn’t about endings,” Aaron replied. “It’s about keeping the lights on one more night.”
Roy snorted. “That, and no one pays us if the job’s actually finished.”
Vesta rose out of the murk ahead—a squared-off outpost sunk into the ruins, cold silver walls gleaming like a wound stitched with glass.
Spotlights swept the perimeter. Shield-lines shimmered overhead, turning the rain into veils of hissing steam.
Inside the walls, soldiers moved with practised precision, faces hidden behind black visors. They took the core from the hauler, signed manifests, checked serials. No one looked up for longer than a heartbeat.
Sirens wailed from the western fence.
No one panicked. Two Grievers had breached a weak spot; turrets spat fire, incinerating them in seconds. Defenders re-engaged their safeties and went back to work like they were just clearing trash.
Karauro stared, throat tight. “So this is winning?”
Aaron shook his head. “No. This is control. Don’t confuse the two.”
Roy bumped his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to how ugly it looks from the ground.”
They secured their helmets by the ramp. Karauro slung his rifle. Riven fell in behind him, visor down, footsteps ghost-soft. Roy matched Karauro’s pace, tapping his mag to feel the weight.
“Keep your head low. Don’t shoot unless you have to,” Aaron said over comms. “We’re here to reinforce, not redecorate.”
A young mechanic stumbled out from behind a crate, welding torch clutched like a weapon. He froze when he saw the crimson Spine insignia on Aaron’s and Riven’s shoulders.
“Spine actually came?” Relief and disbelief tangled in his voice. “They said no one would.”
“We don’t leave people to stray in the dark,” Aaron grunted.
Karauro noticed the tremor in the kid’s hand. “You got power?” he asked.
“Barely. South grid’s fried. We’re patching with spit and tape.” The mechanic swallowed. “If you’re going in… watch the ones that crawl. They come quiet. Through the drains.”
Roy grimaced. “Always the drains. Why is it never roof access with a nice ladder?”
The stink of ozone and burnt flesh thickened deeper in the compound. Somewhere, a medic shouted for hands, voice cracking on the last word.
Karauro moved on reflex, but Aaron’s grip closed on his shoulder. “Stay focused. On me.”
Roy spun his helmet on, visor sealing with a soft click. “Stay glued to Aaron and don’t lick anything. You’ll be fine, Rauro.”
The joke was stupid, but it clipped the edge off the panic buzzing in Karauro’s chest. If Roy could still talk like that, maybe things weren’t completely lost. His hands shook a little less on the rifle.
They pushed through a half-shattered roll-up door into a corridor washed in strobe red. Emergency lights pulsed, painting the walls in bleeding colour.
A girl about Karauro’s age lay ahead, long black hair curtaining her face. A fallen beam pinned her legs. Her eyes were wide and glassy with pain, breaths coming in short, shocked bursts.
Karauro didn’t hesitate.
Boots pounding, he shoved aside the echo of Nera’s voice and let something else fill the space it left.
“Damn it, kid!” Aaron dropped to a knee, cybernetic arms biting into concrete. Crimson EDP flared from his gauntlets, casting harsh light up the walls as he intercepted a Griever host dragging itself toward the girl. Red ichor slicked its carapace; mandibles clicked in a hungry tremor.
Blue sparks snapped from Karauro’s glove as he seized a jag of twisted metal from a collapsed rack. Above, Riven’s rifle cracked—precise shots walking a line into the host’s chest until a faint glow pulsed beneath the armour.
“Core,” Riven said.
Karauro lunged and drove the scrap into that pulsing light. The host convulsed, limbs jerking wide; the glow went dull, and the thing folded in on itself with a wet sigh.
“Nice!” Roy shouted over comms. He’d taken position at an intersecting corridor, rifle covering their flank. “You heard the man—keep going!”
Karauro pivoted back to the girl. He planted his boots and poured power into the glove. Metal screamed as he levered the beam an inch, then two, then clear. The girl wheezed as blood rushed back into numb legs.
“You okay?” he asked, breath ragged.
“Y-yeah,” she panted, clutching his forearm. “Thank you… I thought—”
“Movement,” Riven cut in. “Drainage line.”
Vents popped along the baseboards. Small forms spilled from the grates—Cantor mites, knife-long, mandibles rasping as they swarmed.
Aaron surged forward, crimson fire rolling from his arms. “Push the line!”
Riven’s fire turned metronome—head, joint, head—dropping anything that twitched.
“Left side!” Roy barked, catching a fresh stream of mites veering along the wall. He swept fire in a controlled arc, shredding the leading cluster before they could curl around their flank.
Backup poured in from the bay, rifles strobing through the fog.
“Got you, boy—keep moving!” Riven called, never breaking rhythm.
Karauro hauled the girl with him, blade slashing at ankles, driving back the closest mites. He shoved her behind a shattered barricade into the shelter of the firing line.
Then he slung his rifle down, planted the stock, and fell into formation.
“Breathe, centre, squeeze,” Roy said in his ear, voice calm now that the shooting had started. “You know this.”
The words anchored him more than the rifle butt. It was easier to trust his hands when Roy sounded like this—steady, unfazed, like the world hadn’t narrowed to claws and teeth.
Some shots skittered. The next ones sank home. Karauro adjusted his stance, stealing quick looks at Roy and Riven until the recoil settled into familiar motion. They rode the line together until the skittering faded and the corridor fell still.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Griever mites lay sprawled on their backs, twisted legs in the air. Several Cantors were torn open from head to toe.
Silence settled over Vesta—thin, fragile. Only acid rain hissed against the outpost shield. Metal ticked as it cooled. Someone sobbed once and swallowed it back.
Karauro sank to a knee, lungs scraping. His glove chimed a heat warning; he flexed his fingers until the alert blinked out.
Aaron popped his helmet, sweat bright at his hairline. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “You’ve got spark, kid. Without Nera here, we might even admit it out loud.”
Roy stripped his helmet off with a hiss and shook out his hair. “You did good, Rauro. Actually listened for once.”
Karauro let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching. If Roy said he’d done okay, maybe he hadn’t just stumbled through it by accident.
“Honestly didn’t expect that many,” Karauro said, a shaky laugh slipping out. “Felt like I died a hundred times.”
Riven strode over, lowering his rifle. “That was something else,” he said. “Ten out of ten—never again.”
A ragged cheer erupted from the bay—the mechanic kid, the girl, outpost workers who’d believed no one would come. The Spire boy stood there, helmet in hand, caught in the glow of their noise.
Aaron clapped his back. “You did your part, Rauro.”
“Rauro?” Karauro blinked.
Roy grinned. “Too many syllables in your full one. You’re stuck with it now.”
Before he could protest, the girl leaned in and kissed his cheek—swift, grateful, hands still trembling.
Roy let out a low whistle. “First mission, first admirer. Show-off. Where’s mine?”
“You can get one from the older ladies,” the girl shot back, glancing toward a cluster of medics.
“I’ll note that in the report,” Aaron said, flicking a pebble at Roy’s shin.
The mechanic sprinted over, still panting. “You types saved our skins,” he said. “I’m Jhett. That’s my sister, Anvi.”
Anvi straightened, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “We’re just grateful you came,” she said to Karauro. “They said help wasn’t on the way.”
“Guess they were wrong,” he answered, cheeks hot under the grit.
“Come on,” Jhett said. “We’ve got cores to process before your next run. You can’t leave till we sign off anyway. Might as well make yourself useful.”
“See?” Roy bumped him. “Rescuing sisters comes with free labour. Welcome to Spine economy.”
They passed through the main hangar. Vesta’s heart was noise and heat: generators humming, welders sparking, crates of shells and rations stacked to the ceiling.
Anvi’s father—broad shoulders, greying hair—oversaw a processing rig where Griever cores sat in reinforced clamps, their inner light beating like sick hearts.
“Spine?” he asked, looking Karauro over with a quick, sharp eye, then flicking a glance at Roy. “Heard you pulled my girl out from under a beam. Glad someone remembers how to move.”
“We all moved,” Roy said. “He just picked up the heavy bit.”
“Just did what anyone would,” Karauro murmured.
“Not everyone,” the man replied. “Name’s Harun. We’ve been seeing things—sudden hordes, attacks hitting outposts in patterns. Feels… off.”
“Scouts have been reporting it too,” Aaron said, wiping ichor from his arms with an oily rag. “It’s not just you.”
“Think it’s that cult?” Roy asked, voice losing its usual lightness. “Porcelain masks, broken chants?”
Couldn’t be anyone else, Karauro thought, remembering the crate, the tunnels, the fall.
Harun’s mouth tightened. “Could be. Never seen Grievers move like this. Feels less like wild things and more like… orders.”
The cores on the rig pulsed, red light beating against his gloves.
“Either way,” Harun went on, “you won’t be leaving tonight. These need to be bled, cooled, then forged into something your Spire loves. That takes time.”
“How much?” Aaron asked.
“Three days, minimum, if you want them stable and worth the haul.” Harun studied them again, then jerked his chin toward a side corridor. “You four can use my guest bunks. It’s what passes for comfort out here.”
Roy whistled. “Beds? Real walls? Careful, Harun, we might defect.”
Harun snorted. “I’ll risk it.”
As Jhett led them away, movement at the far edge of the hangar snagged Karauro’s gaze.
A medic in a stained white coat pushed a gurney toward the lift, two other figures in similar gear behind him. Three black body bags lay strapped down, zippers sealed, labels smeared. The medic’s visor was cracked, patched with tape; a thin porcelain charm hung at his throat, snapped clean down the middle.
He paused, as if he felt Karauro staring.
For a moment, the medic tilted his head, face hidden behind fractured glass. The gesture was too slow. Too deliberate. Then he gave the faintest nod—as if acknowledging a piece on a board—and pushed the gurney on. The other “medics” fell into step, silent.
Karauro shivered, aware of how quiet that corner of the hangar was compared to everywhere else.
“Hey, Rauro.” Roy snapped his fingers in front of his face. “You zoning out?”
Karauro blinked. The medic and the body bags vanished into the lift as the doors slid shut.
“Just… tired,” he said.
“Yeah, well, wait till you see what passes for a mattress,” Roy replied. “Then you’ll really be tired.”
Night One — Porch
The guest rooms were more like bunk cells, but they had doors that closed and showers that ran hotter than Spine’s rationed pipes.
Karauro scrubbed until the water turned mostly clear, watching blood and grime spiral down a cracked drain. His reflection in the shattered mirror came in pieces—a dozen versions of himself trying to line up.
The fog from Spine wasn’t gone, but it had thinned. Battle noise still echoed in his bones.
He dressed in the spare clothes Harun had dropped off—a too-big work shirt, soft from overuse—and wandered.
The outpost quieted at night. Noise folded inward. Generators rumbled like a tired heartbeat. Somewhere, someone laughed too loud, then hushed as sirens whooped once and cut off.
Karauro found the front porch almost by accident—a metal platform bolted to Harun’s quarters, overlooking a strip of dead earth and the shimmering line of the shield. Beyond it, the ruins breathed red under a clouded sky.
He sat on the steps, arms resting on his knees, glove heavy in his lap. For a while he just watched the shield catch rain and turn it to steam.
“You always look like that when you’ve just saved an outpost?”
Anvi’s voice pulled him back. She stepped outside barefoot, hair damp, an oversized sweater swallowing her frame.
Karauro straightened a little. “Like what?”
“Like someone stole your favourite thing and told you it was for the greater good.” She hesitated. “Is it okay if I sit?”
“Yeah. It’s your porch.”
“Technically my father’s,” she said, sitting anyway. “But I’m the one who appreciates it.”
They sat in almost-silence, listening to Vesta’s low murmur.
“I wanted to say thank you again,” Anvi said eventually. “For earlier.”
“You already did,” Karauro said. “With the… uh. Kiss.”
Colour warmed her cheeks. “That was for not letting my legs get crushed. This is for not looking away when everything started crawling.”
His throat tightened. Her eyes stayed on his, steady, like she was trying to read past his skin.
“At first you looked… empty,” she admitted. “When you walked in. Like someone scooped you out and left you on autopilot.”
“Comforting,” he muttered.
“But when you moved?” She smiled, small but bright. “When you dragged that beam and pulled me out? Your eyes lit up. Just a little.”
Something warm flickered behind his ribs.
“Tomorrow,” she said, shifting the subject before he could fumble a reply, “I’ll show you something. There’s a spot on the outer scaffold. You can see the old highway, the broken towers, everything. It’s ugly, but it’s honest.” Her shoulder brushed his. “If you’re not too busy being Spine’s secret weapon.”
“I’m not a weapon,” he said automatically.
“Then you’re someone who keeps people from dying. That’s close enough for me.”
The warmth widened. For the first time in days, the numbness didn’t feel like it owned everything.
Roy’s voice drifted faintly from inside. “Rauro! You fall in the shower again or what?”
Anvi snorted. “You’d better go before he starts knocking on every door.”
Karauro stood, awkward. “So… tomorrow. The spot?”
“Tomorrow,” she confirmed. “Don’t bail on me, Spire boy.”
“I won’t,” he said—and realized he meant it.
Day Two — The Scaffold
The next day smelled less like blood and more like metal dust.
Vesta limped through repairs. Soldiers patched walls. Mechanics argued with welders. Somewhere in the hangar, the core press hissed and thumped as Harun’s team bled Griever hearts into something usable.
Aaron spent half the morning with Harun and Jhett, arguing calibration numbers. Riven disappeared into the range with a cluster of anxious soldiers, adjusting their grips with quick taps. Roy floated between them all, talking, carrying tools, keeping tension from tipping into panic.
“Your kid’s different with my girl around,” Harun remarked, nodding toward the porch.
“Whose kid?” Roy asked.
“Ours,” Aaron and Riven said at the same time, then glared at each other.
Roy laughed. “Whoever’s he is, he’s lighter. That’s Anvi, I’m betting.”
Karauro found himself back on the porch, boots hooked under the step, glove resting beside him. The ache in his chest was still there, but muffled, like someone had draped cloth over it.
Anvi found him there, just like she’d promised.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Ready as I get.”
They walked in companionable quiet through maintenance corridors and up a narrow service stair clinging to Vesta’s inner wall.
The air grew colder. The hum of the shield deepened from a buzz to a low pressure in his bones.
The spot was a narrow platform halfway up the scaffold—just wide enough for two. The shield glimmered inches above, catching rain and hurling it sideways in luminous sheets.
Ruins rolled out in jagged waves. Towers slumped like broken teeth. The old highway snaked through the wreckage, half-buried under collapsed overpasses.
“See?” Anvi said softly. “Ugly. But it doesn’t lie. Out there, you know exactly what wants you dead.”
“Can’t say the same inside the walls,” Karauro replied.
She hummed agreement and dropped onto the grate, patting the space next to her. He sat.
The view should’ve been crushing. Instead, with the shield humming overhead and Anvi’s shoulder brushing his, it felt… solid. Real, in a way the Spine’s endless corridors didn’t.
He realised, after a minute, that his hands had stopped fidgeting.
“I like it up here because no one expects anything,” Anvi said. “Down there I’m Harun’s daughter—the one who knows every busted pipe. Up here I’m just someone tired of sirens.”
“Spine’s the same,” Karauro said quietly. “Inside, I’m the rat who keeps surviving. Out here… I’m just a person trying not to screw up.”
“You didn’t screw up yesterday,” she said. “You moved. You pulled. You fought. That’s more than most.”
He had no idea how to answer that, so he didn’t. The warmth in his chest answered for him.
A gust slammed into the shield, making the air crackle. Anvi shivered, then leaned sideways until her shoulder pressed fully against his.
He tensed on instinct—muscles coiled—but didn’t pull away.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he’d like. “It’s… fine.”
They stayed like that a long time. Ruins breathing beyond the shield. Vesta’s noise dim under their feet.
Footsteps clanged on the stair.
Roy’s head popped up over the edge of the platform, eyebrows raised. “Well, well,” he said. “Should I come back later, or…?”
Anvi didn’t move. “Relax, Roy. I’m just checking his shoulder. Medic’s orders.”
“You’re not a medic,” he pointed out.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” she shot back.
Karauro felt his ears heat. Roy’s chuckle echoed off the scaffold.
“Right, right. Carry on,” Roy said, backing down. “If anyone asks, I saw nothing. Except maybe a slight improvement in morale.”
When his footsteps faded, Anvi laughed quietly.
“He’s going to tease you forever,” she said.
“He already does,” Karauro replied—but there was no real weight behind it.
For the first time since the Ripper, the numbness didn’t feel permanent. It felt like something he might actually move through.
Day Three — Shadows on the Edge
On the third morning, the sky was a little clearer.
The forge rig glowed, sealing the last core capsule. Aaron signed the transfer. Riven checked hauler diagnostics. Their “break” was over.
“Looks like you’re shipping out,” Harun said. “Try not to die before next time. We like repeat business.”
“We’ll do our best,” Aaron said. “No guarantees.”
Jhett helped Roy load the last crate. “You come back,” he said. “You still owe me the whole fall-from-Athereon story.”
“Only if you admit you nearly crushed your own foot,” Anvi said.
“I did not—”
Karauro watched them bicker, something like warmth and envy knotted together.
The crooked ring in his pocket suddenly felt heavier.
When Anvi ducked aside to grab a toolbox, he followed.
She turned, surprised. “Need something?”
He opened his hand. The ring sat there—wire twisted into a rough band, a dead core shard seated in it, catching light in a cloudy way.
“It’s just junk,” he said. “Put it together in your dad’s shop. Wanted to say… thanks. For not looking at me like I’m already finished.”
Her expression softened. She picked up the ring, thumb brushing the shard. “You made this?”
“Yeah. If you don’t want—”
“Idiot,” she murmured, almost fond. “Of course I want it.”
She took his hand, fumbling to slide the ring onto his finger.
Old slum reflex kicked in.
He let her get halfway, then slipped free and, with the same quickness he used to steal ration chips, palmed the ring and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
She blinked. “Did you just—”
“Guess I’ll have to sneak another one next time,” he said, trying for casual and not quite managing it.
“Another what?” she asked, quieter now.
“You’ll… figure it out.”
They stared at each other for a heartbeat.
Then she closed the gap, fingers gripping his shirt, and answered it for him.
Anvi kissed him.
Sure, not tentative—warm and certain, outpost noise falling away.
She pulled back just enough to breathe. “That what you meant?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he managed.
“Good,” she said, and kissed him again—deeper, like she wanted to nail the moment into him so the ruins couldn’t tear it loose.
When she let go, his hands were shaking in a way that had nothing to do with claws or recoil.
A pointed throat-clear cut in.
Roy leaned against a crate, eyebrows up. Jhett stood beside him, trying and failing not to grin.
“Fantastic,” Roy said. “Now we definitely have to come back. Our boy’s got loot to collect.”
Anvi just patted her jacket pocket where the ring now rested. “You should go before my dad keeps you for more work.”
Karauro forced his legs to move. “I’ll… see you,” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied. “You will.”
He joined Roy at the ramp. Roy leaned close. “So. You planning to ‘sneak another one’ next time, or do I bring a chaperone?”
“Shut up,” Karauro muttered, but there was no bite.
“Look at you,” Roy said softly. “Almost human again.”
They boarded as the hatch closed. Through the small side window, Karauro caught one last glimpse of the wall.
Anvi and Jhett stood at the top, framed against the bruised sky. Anvi lifted her hand in a clear wave.
A crooked ring flashed on her finger—wire catching what little light filtered through the shield.
Karauro’s chest tightened.
Guess I’ll… have to come back.
For once, the thought didn’t feel like a lie.
Meanwhile — Vesta Med Annex
On the far side of the outpost, away from guest rooms and scaffold views, a freight lift sank into the lower levels.
A ceiling camera in the med annex flickered, checked in, then glitched.
For one frame, the feed froze on the lift doors and a black-bagged shape rolling into red light.
The same medic from the hangar stood beside the gurney, fractured visor hiding his face, broken porcelain charm hanging at his throat.
Two other figures in stained coats fl anked him, hands resting lightly on the body bags, as if soothing something inside.
Something in one bag shifted—slow, deliberate.
The image stuttered to static and snapped back, showing an empty corridor, monitors reading normal. The sound feed hummed on a low, wet frequency, like a heartbeat under concrete.
No one in Vesta’s control room noticed the dip in the signal.
No one on Harun’s porch heard the extra pulse under the generators’ rumble.
Next chapter will explore what’s left behind after the light fades. Thank you for reading — your support means more than you know.