Four days had passed since the fall of Calden's Reach.
The once-thriving village was now nothing but a graveyard of charred wood and ash, its fields turned to barren wastelands. The air still held the stench of smoke and death, but the true devastation lay in the unnatural stillness. No birds, no insects, not even the whisper of wind through the trees. The land had been hollowed out, its life force drained by the void.
Oboe stood at the edge of the ruins, sniffing the air. His green, slitted eyes scanned the wreckage, his scarred, grey-furred arms crossed over his chest. The old wolfman had seen plenty of destruction in his time, but this? This was something worse. He crouched, his claws brushing over the blackened soil.
"Still fresh."
Behind him, his band of scavengers picked through the remains, overturning collapsed houses and shattered carts in search of valuables. The group was rough, hardened by a life of taking what the dead no longer needed.
But this time, the dead had left something behind.
"Boss," came Banjo's voice. The chubby, middle-aged man wiped sweat from his brow, his round face twisted in something between fear and curiosity.
"I found something you should see."
Oboe turned. Banjo stood at the base of a fallen hut, next to a half-buried bundle of rags and bloodied cloth.
No… not cloth.
A boy.
A small, frail child lay amidst the debris, his black hair matted with dust and dried blood. His body was littered with bruises and cuts, his breath so shallow it was barely there at all.
Oboe exhaled through his nose, his ears twitching. A kid. A survivor.
"Still breathing," Banjo murmured.
Oboe squatted down, resting a clawed hand on the child's chest, feeling the faint rise and fall. Barely alive, but alive.
The boy clutched something tightly in his hand—a pendant, its silver chain tangled in his fingers. It was simple, but well-worn, clearly something important.
Oboe's gaze lingered on the pendant before he let out a sigh.
"Alright," he grumbled. "We take him."
Then, without another word, he lifted the boy onto his back and walked away from the ruins.
Pain, Weight, Blurry light, Lyric woke with a start.
His breath came out in short gasps as he sat up, heart pounding. His body screamed in protest, pain flaring across his ribs, his arms, his head—his head.
He clutched it with a wince, trying to steady himself.
Where…?
The air smelled of fur, damp earth, and firewood. He was lying on a makeshift bed of animal pelts inside a worn-down canvas tent. It wasn't home. It wasn't… anywhere he knew.
Footsteps.
Lyric tensed. His fingers gripped the blankets as a shadow appeared at the entrance.
A round-faced man stepped inside, his eyes going wide as he locked onto Lyric. "Oh! Uh, Oboe! The kid's awake!"
Lyric flinched.
A moment later, another figure ducked into the tent.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Covered in scars and grey fur. His long wolf-like ears twitched as he knelt beside Lyric, sharp green eyes studying him.
Lyric's breath caught in his throat.
"Easy, kid," the wolfman said, his voice rough but calm. He placed a firm hand on Lyric's shoulder, pinning him down just enough to keep him from bolting. "You're safe. We found you in the ruins of a village—one that got hit by the void."
The void.
Images slammed into Lyric's mind all at once.
Chime's laughter.
The sky darkening.
His father's final stand.
His mother's bloodied hands.
The rift swallowing Chime whole.
His stomach twisted, and he shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut.
Oboe exhaled, easing back. "I'm Oboe. Leader of this little group. That one over there—" He jerked his head toward the chubby man. "—is Banjo. What's your name, kid?"
Lyric swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus.
"Lyric."
Oboe gave a slow nod, as if tasting the name. "Alright, Lyric. Come on. You should meet the others."
Outside, the air was cool and crisp, the sky above speckled with stars. A small fire crackled in the center of a makeshift camp, illuminating the figures gathered around it.
Oboe gestured lazily toward them. "This here's the crew."
A towering, muscular man with a long, wild beard gave Lyric a nod, idly sharpening a blade. "Drum," he said in a gruff, deep voice. "I make sure nobody gets stabbed in their sleep."
A lean, wiry man with constantly twitching fingers snorted. "Only because you stabbed someone once by accident." He scratched at his arm absentmindedly. "Piccolo. I handle tech, traps, and anything that might explode."
A dark-skinned woman with short, silver-dyed hair gave a playful salute. "Lute. I scout, I fight, and I sing better than all of these guys combined."
A broad-shouldered, rough-looking man leaned against a pile of scavenged weapons. "Bassoon. Weapons expert. We test 'em before we sell 'em."
Oboe let the introductions settle before turning to Lyric. "We're scavengers. We go where no one else dares to, take what's left, and make sure it doesn't go to waste."
Banjo grinned. "No use letting valuables rot with the dead, eh?"
Lyric's fingers curled.
Oboe studied him. "Got anywhere to go, kid?"
Lyric shook his head. "I have to find my sister." His voice was hoarse, but firm. He clenched the pendant in his fist.
Oboe exhaled through his nose. "Look, Lyric. You're seven. You won't survive out there." He gestured to the others. "Stay with us. Train. Get stronger. When you're seventeen, you can go wherever the hell you want."
Lyric's jaw tightened. He wanted to refuse. Wanted to scream that he didn't have time.
But Banjo just chuckled. "Kid, let's be real. You ain't finding anything in this state."
Oboe's gaze softened, just barely. "We'll help you grow strong enough to survive the dimensions. Then, when you're ready, you find her."
Lyric stared down at the pendant.
He didn't have a choice.
"...Fine," he muttered.
The group let out a satisfied hum before Piccolo suddenly perked up. "Boss. We got another space-time disturbance a few miles west."
Oboe's ears twitched. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. "Well, then. Guess it's time to move."
Lyric frowned. "What's a space-time
disturbance?"
Oboe turned, grinning. "It's what we do, kid. We scavenge 'em. But a celestial shard falling? Now that's rare."
The wind shifted. In the distance, the air seemed to ripple, the stars above bending unnaturally.
A disturbance had appeared.
The scavengers packed up. And with that, Lyric took his first step into the unknown.