Perhaps it was because everyone was exhausted—having survived a demolition, an aerial battle, and a death-defying glide. Even Brad, usually the most energetic, was slumped in the back seat, uncharacteristically silent. Or perhaps it was because of the "superweapon" locked in the metal crate behind us—the core of that Dragon Heart engine, pulsing with a faint, violet light that demanded a certain fearful respect from everyone on board.
The Land Crawler Mk.I drove across the wasteland in solitude. The treads crunched over the frozen earth with a monotonous, repetitive clack-clack, sounding like a hypnotic lullaby designed to induce sleep.
I kept one hand on the steering wheel, feeling the vibrations from the ground, while the other habitually rested on the dashboard, aimlessly fiddling with a homemade radio knob.
Of course, this vehicle didn't have a real radio. That "knob" was actually part of an audio converter I’d built to monitor the stability of planar rifts. Connected to the induction antenna on the roof, it usually emitted nothing but meaningless cosmic white noise—the sound of spatial turbulence.
“Static... Crrr-hiss...”
As usual, the speakers put out a dry, sandy rasp, hollow and distant. This sound gave me a strange sense of peace; it reminded me that I was still a safe distance from that maddening rift.
“How much longer until we're home?”
Zayla broke the silence from the back seat. She was in better shape now, clutching her Moon-Severing blade and vigilantly watching the unfamiliar sky through the rear window.
“About thirty kilometers,” I replied, my voice raspy. I glanced at the odometer. “Once we clear that Blackrock ridge ahead, we’ll be able to see the smokestacks of Skyreach. If Salak hasn't been slacking off, we should see the black smoke from the boiler rooms.”
I reached out to turn the knob again, wanting to dampen the annoying static.
In that exact moment, it happened.
“Static... Crrr... Good morning... Chicago...”
My hand jerked violently.
Screech—!
The Land Crawler Mk.I drew a tiny ‘S’ shape on the flat wasteland, its treads screaming against the dirt as I swerved.
“What happened?!” Lyn, sitting in the passenger seat, clutched her ledger like a startled rabbit, looking around in terror. “More monster fish? Did the griffins catch up?!”
“Shhh! Don’t talk!”
Before I could even open my mouth, Brad lunged forward from the back. His massive mechanical arm nearly punched through the back of the driver's seat as he squeezed himself between the front chairs. His breathing grew ragged, and his eyes—usually full of easy-going humor—were now wide, staring at the crude speaker with a desperate intensity.
“That’s... that’s WGN Radio!” Brad’s voice trembled with an unbelievable longing. “That’s the morning news intro! That’s the station I listened to every morning on my run! Alex, turn it up! Quick!”
My heart began to hammer against my ribs, threatening to burst. My fingers shook as I micro-adjusted the knob, trying to catch that fleeting frequency that seemed to drift from another dimension.
It was the sound of Earth. The sound of home.
“Static... Temperature... 45 degrees Fahrenheit, with a light breeze off Lake Michigan... Static... In local news...”
The signal was terrible, the voice intermittent and hollow, like an echo traveling through a deep sea.
“...Regarding the disappearance of university student... Alex Reed... Static... police are scaling back the search... due to a lack of viable leads...”
In that instant, the world seemed to stand still.
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“...His mother... declined to comment... Static... simply stating her hope... that if he is still out there...”
Though the voice was faint and blurred, every word hit like a sledgehammer, crashing into the narrow iron cabin, crushing the air out of my lungs.
I sat there, frozen, feeling the blood in my veins turn to ice. Even though I had expected this day, even though I had told myself a thousand times to accept reality, when those cold phrases—"search suspended," "lack of leads"—actually reached my ears, my heart skipped a beat.
Over there, I was dead. My existence had been erased.
“Hey! Wait! What about me?!”
Brad suddenly lost control, shouting at the dashboard and breaking the suffocating silence. He even tried to grab the dial himself.
“What about Brad Johnson?! I’m missing too! I was the quarterback for the football team! My mom?! Jessica?!”
Brad roared at the iron box like a child abandoned at a school gate. “Don’t change the station! Don’t! Just say one word! Say ‘Brad’s a jerk who owes the bar fifty bucks!’ Just don't ignore me! I was in that car too!”
But the cold box offered no reply. With a sharp, piercing whistle, the unstable temporal window slammed shut.
“Static——————”
The speakers returned to their relentless, eternal cosmic white noise. A deathly silence filled the cabin. Brad kept his hand outstretched, frozen for half a minute. Then, as if his spine had been removed, he slumped back into the rear seat with a dull, heavy thud.
“Damn it...” Brad covered his face with his good hand, his voice cracking. “I don’t even get a mention in the obituary? I knew it... the jocks always get overlooked...”
Staring at the cold system text, I took off my glasses and rubbed my face hard, trying to scrub away the numbness.
“I’m a dead man, Brad.” My voice was as dry as if I were swallowing sand. “Over there, we no longer exist. No one is looking for us anymore.”
Two young men from Earth, in the freezing wind of another world, had just lost their home. The loneliness of being forgotten by an entire world was colder than the blizzard outside—it cut straight to the bone.
A rustling sound came from the back. Brad took a deep breath and wiped his face aggressively. He looked up, and though his eyes were still red, he managed to force a smile that looked more painful than a sob. He reached out his good left hand over the seat back and slapped my shoulder hard—so hard I nearly pitched forward.
“It’s fine, Boss. Since they don’t want us over there...” Brad looked out at the desolate wasteland through the glass, gritting his teeth. “Then we’ll live like legends over here. Once we build our city, once we build our ships, hell, once we build our rockets... We’ll fight our way back. And then, I’m buying that damn radio station and making them broadcast our heroics twenty-four-seven!”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Even if we’re dead men, we’re going to be the most badass dead men ever. Right?”
I felt the strength radiating from my brother's hand, and the massive void in my heart seemed to fill, just a little. Right then, a warm hand covered the back of mine on the steering wheel. It was Zayla’s hand. It wasn't soft like a human's; it had light calluses from sword training and the faint prickle of claws.
“I don’t understand what that box just said.” Zayla leaned forward, her golden pupils meeting mine. There was no pity in her gaze, only a fierce, predatory determination—the same look she gave her comrades on the battlefield. “But in Valsalia, you are not a ghost.”
She let go and pointed through the windshield. At the edge of the grey horizon, beyond the Blackrock ridge, several plumes of black smoke were rising slowly. It was the industrial district of Skyreach, running at full capacity. It was the home we had built with our own hands.
“In that city, there are a thousand people waiting for you to pay them, waiting for you to keep them warm. There is a pack of wolves waiting for you to set the rules, and...” Zayla paused, her ears flushing a slight pink, but she didn't look away. “...and there is a cat waiting for you to build her walls.”
Her voice was quiet, but it was ten thousand times clearer than the radio broadcast.
“The people over there think you are dead. But the people here are alive because of you.”
I looked at Brad’s steady gaze, Zayla’s firm hand, and Lyn, who was quietly resting her hand on my arm while still clutching her ledger.
“You’re right.” I took a deep breath, put my glasses back on, and gripped the wheel. This time, my hands didn't shake. The old Alex Reed might have vanished. but the "Builder" here was just starting his legend.
“Alex from Earth might be dead.” I shifted into gear and slammed the pedal. The Land Crawler Mk.I roared again, its treads firmly crushing the frozen earth. I looked at the smoking city in the distance and spoke softly: “But we’re still alive. Sit tight, everyone.”
“We’re going home.”
Question of the Day: Now that Alex is fully committed to this world, what should be the first "Modern Monument" he builds in Sky-City?
(Click to choose)
?? A) The Clock Tower: To synchronize the city's time and labor.
Result: Standardization. Efficiency skyrockets as the city begins to move as one industrial machine.
?? B) The Central Heating Grid: To eliminate the fear of winter.
Result: Loyalty. The people see Alex as a god of warmth. Survival becomes a certainty rather than a struggle.
?? C) The Fortress Wall: To mount the Dragon-Heart artillery.
Result: The Engineer's Choice. Defense is the best offense. Let the world know that Sky-City is an iron-clad sanctuary that cannot be breached.
Follow and Rate for more industrial madness!