Broken

Orick moved slowly along the hallways of the World of Dust—a name given to the castle of Hathur, by its own citizens. Its highest tower loomed at the height of one kilometer, overseeing the sandy night.

Orick's feet were padding softly on the cool tiles. In his arms, his faithful Bond—a tiny pup with soft, green fur—sniffed the air, alert. Orick's wide eyes were fixed ahead as he made his way to Vivian's room.

He couldn't quite shake the heavy feeling in his chest. Every step felt like walking on fragile glass, as if the solid ground of this world would shatter beneath him at any moment.

He remembered, in flickers of recollection, a cave filled with the sound of flowing water. He wondered, with a mix of guilt and envy, why Leon had always seemed so calm, so untouched by it all.

At last, Orick reached Vivian's door. He hesitated, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on him. The door creaked open, and Vivian's steady eyes met his.

"Orick," she said. "Come in."

Inside the small room, the air was still. Vivian sat by a low table, her dark eyes scanning Orick's face as he set his Bond on the carpet. Her hair, tied back neatly, shone faintly in the low light.

Orick fidgeted. "I… I've been thinking about that cave," he began, voice barely audible. "What did you feel… when... when those girls…?"

Vivian sighed softly, shaking her head as if the question made no sense. "Orick, I already told you," she said gently, "I felt only that it was meant to be."

Orick's small face scrunched. "But I feel it every day," he murmured, glancing away as his Bond nuzzled against his leg. "It's like my chest is… heavy."

Vivian's eyes narrowed for a moment, but she quickly masked her own feelings with cool detachment.

"Sometimes, some things get better when left alone," she replied, her voice even. "Not everything is felt the same way by different people."

Orick's eyes widened, and he bit his lip. "But I don't want to feel alone," he whispered, the words trembling as they left him.

He picked up his Bond, hugging it tightly. "I wish… I wish I could be like Leon. He never seems so sad."

A flicker of dismay crossed Vivian's face, but she only said, "You know, Orick, we all have to do what we must to survive." Her tone was soft, yet the underlying message was clear: Move on.

Orick frowned, his small hands clenching—which caused his Bond to whimper. "It's not fair. It's not fair. I don't... I don't want to think about it, but I do."

He stared at Vivian, "I can't leave it alone."

Before Vivian could reply, a sudden noise outside drew their attention. The distant echo of hooves on stone, loud voices, and whirlwinds of sand reminded them that their families, their old lives, were a world away.

They were helpers now—helpers in a place where betrayal and danger had replaced familiar warmth.

Vivian's gaze hardened briefly before she spoke again, "You must trust me, Orick. We cannot change what happened. But we can choose what will."

Orick's tears fell on the pup as he looked at her. "I just… I don't want to be alone in all of this," he whispered.

Vivian reached out, placing a small hand on his shoulder. "Let's go." As she began moving.

There was a long pause as Orick stared at her back, his emotions swirling like the storm outside. His Bond let out a small whine, and he gently patted its head.

"Will you help me?" he finally asked, voice small and uncertain as he followed behind Vivian. "I don't want to keep feeling so..."

Vivian grimaced, and stopped walking. Though she kept her tone measured. "I will. But you must understand, sometimes we make choices that hurt others so that we can find our own way." She spoke without turning around.

Orick sniffled, blinking away tears. He repeated. "But why does it seem that only I feel this way? Why does Leon never feel any of it?" Every time Leon did something, he did it in a way that seemed so overwhelming to Orick.

'Why can't I be the same?'

Vivian hesitated, then replied, "Maybe because Leon is different. Perhaps his path is not meant for the likes of us." She spoke with a scowl as she resumed walking.

Orick lowered his head, swallowing hard. He followed.

Later, as they walked out of the room, the heavy silence of the corridor pressed in around them. The corridors of Hathur now felt like a prison. The two of them stepped into the cool night.

Outside, the strange new wind whispered promises of a future where maybe, just maybe, the past could be left behind.

They moved slowly toward the common hall where others waited, their footsteps light but measured. Neither carried much with them, as Integrated, both had ways of keeping themselves clean in long journeys.

The flowing sand caused both of them to squint. And the dim light of the path and nearing voices made Orick feel oddly excited. He looked at Vivian's back, thinking. 'She always seems to know what to do.'

'Why can't I be the same?'

The two walked in this World of Dust.

* * *

The world was upside down.

The occupants of the room now stood on the ceiling, clinging onto grooves and protrusions from the bricks on the walls.

Soot was coiled around a wooden beam at one corner, not finding the chaos troublesome. Belphet was the same, he did not stand—he floated.

Leon, however, had to balance Nyssa's form in his arms while navigating the chaos. Blood trickled from her ears, her body limp and eyes frozen in shock.

'The room broke off.' The building flipped again, Leon wrapped his legs around the vertical beam Soot was on. The room was now on its side.

'We have to leave.' He looked at the elf, still unsure of whether he was friendly.

Belphet met his gaze, then, he landed softly on the wall—which was now the floor—and with a graceful motion, leapt. He left through the long shattered window.

Sighing, Leon looked at Soot and ran, leaping through the open window. Soot slithered from the beam, coiling around Leon's chest to secure Nyssa in place.

It was loud. A cacophony of nonsensical sounds were ringing from the ceaseless downpour.

Now outside, he faced west. The streets were in ruin. Buildings had collapsed, bodies littered the ground, and ships had fallen from the sky, crushing homes beneath their weight.

And yet, some people simply sat among the wreckage, gazing blankly at the storm to the east, behind Leon—through the missing buildings and ships that once obstructed their views. Leon disregarded them.

Then—everything began sliding westward. The bodies, the debris, the broken, and Leon.

The world was tilting.

Angling himself, Leon accepted it. He was moving in that direction after all, deeper inland.

As Leon ran, he noticed a few officers and Amalgams weave through the slanted landscape. The Navy calmly took the new orientation, continuing their efforts to save the people.

'It was them.' Leon could accept Finch tilting due to his nature, but for all of the officers to do the same, it was likely that it was their doing.

Tilting Finch to cover the storm, despite the damage it would cause.

Leon was jumping from building to building, going slightly downwards as he did. Looking down at Nyssa, now unconscious, he was thinking. 'What of the people from Tipun?'

The thought was interrupted—

His eyes widened for an instant, and he jumped up as high as he could. And at the places where he saw the Navy were, barriers of light emerged.

Then, an explosion tore through the eastern edge of Finch, razing fragile structures near the sea.

Without warning, the ground surged upward. Grabbing a steel support as it rose past him, Leon clung desperately as the force nearly tore his arms from their sockets. He climbed, muscles straining, until the movement slowed and he could catch his breath.

He held on until it stopped moving, its momentum almost throwing him down. Leon climbed on the "roof" of the building, and turned around. Before, Finch was once tilted in a way that covered the eastern sea under the Navy's will.

But now—in a way that seemed so natural in this illogical world—Finch's orientation was once again altered.

And Leon saw it. The sight that broke the minds of the Finch folk.

A wall.

The eastern sky was obscured by a cascade of rain that defied understanding.

Colors bled through the storm, hues that defied nature—violets that pulsed like dying stars, molten gold flowing in spirals, and abyssal black consuming whole swaths of sky.

But—Leon stared—within this curtain, streaks where rain did not hide the horizon appeared sporadically.

Cracks in the wall. Gaps that failed to obscure the truth.

Leon studied each streak of what lay beyond, piecing together a terrible puzzle. His legs trembled at the thought—a view that could drive one mad.

He turned around and began to climb, but not with his previous confidence. The repeating image of Tuh'du's raging heart seared into his mind.

He knew that the storm was no mere tempest, but that could not begin to describe what was behind the wall. It was like a cataclysm given form, a divine event that churned with chaotic fury.

The sheer weight of the downpour birthed shockwaves that rippled through the atmosphere, sending tremors even through Finch's floating foundations.

'We are only experiencing the edges.' He thought as he continued moving up, to the gates of Finch.

Leon remembered the clear skies of Oran. The beautiful view that would show itself when no storm obscured it. A sky of celestial bodies—distant clouds that lit the calm nights of Oran.

It was like these clouds had descended upon the ocean, revealing their true forms. And they were—

It was only natural, wasn't it? For even the sky to turn out a liar.

'Ugly.'

The Laws of reality warped within each raindrop, and where they struck the sea below, matter twisted—the surface inverted, currents boiled into crystalline structures, and waves erupted into flames that burned cold.

The city was now perfectly vertical, perpendicular to the beach. Its once top side now faced the storm.

He glanced down. There was no longer any beach. The black sand, the road that lead to Finch, and the bottom of the ridge—were gone. Swallowed by the ocean.

From the safety of Finch's position, its people could do nothing but stare. The floating city hovered above the chaos, its reinforced barriers groaning under the weight of unseen forces.

Bolts of lightning, each crackling with unnatural properties, arced across the sky like the lashes of a furious god. Some flashed silently, others detonated with roars so deafening they shattered glass and made ears bleed.

Leon continued to climb.