symptoms 2

Hope didn't waste time. Fear clawed at his chest, but he forced his body to move, ignoring the heaviness in his limbs and the cold sweat soaking his shirt. He stumbled through the crumbling hallways of his hideout, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The edges of his vision flickered, dark spots creeping in like a slow eclipse.

I can't let this happen.

He pushed out into the streets, the familiar chaos of the outskirts greeting him with indifferent hostility. But today, it felt distant, like he was moving through a dream—or a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

Vendors shouted over each other, gangs marked their territories, and scavengers like him prowled for scraps. But Hope barely noticed any of it. The voices sounded muffled, like they were underwater, and the colors of the world bled into dull grays. His legs felt weaker with every step, his muscles burning as if they were being eaten from the inside.

He'd seen people go through this before—the slow drain of life before The Veil took them. They'd collapse in the streets, convulsing as their souls were ripped from their bodies, leaving behind hollow shells.

Hope had always avoided that fate. Always kept his head down, stayed out of trouble.

But now? Trouble had found him.

His mind raced for solutions. There had to be a way to fight this. There had to be. But even as he clung to that thought, the signs were undeniable. His soul was slipping away, piece by piece, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

By midday, his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed against the side of a rusted-out vehicle, his breaths shallow and uneven. The sky above blurred into a hazy smear of light and shadow.

And then... the world went still.

The sounds of the city faded into silence. The air grew colder, thick with something unnatural, something wrong. The shadows around him deepened, stretching out like claws, reaching for him.

Hope's heart pounded, but his body wouldn't move. It felt like invisible chains were wrapping around his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter.

And then he felt it—the unmistakable pull. A force, cold and relentless, dragging at something deep inside him. Not his body, but his soul. It was being yanked out, drawn toward something he couldn't see, something waiting in the darkness.

The Ashlands.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His vision darkened completely, and for a moment, he thought it was over.

But instead of death, he felt the ground disappear beneath him.

And then... he was falling.