Part 1: The scavenger...

The wind howled through the crumbling ruins of Torva as Dorian kept his eyes peeled, his hand gripping the worn hilt of his guardless blade. His breath came in shallow bursts, cutting through the chil-heat that took over everything in this forsaken world. The outskirts of House Decus, the Imperium that had taken him in as one of their own, were a dangerous place—a region where the remnants of the old world clashed with the present's brutal survivalist needs. The land was nothing but a dusty desert wasteland.

At 17, Dorian wasn't a child anymore, but he wasn't a warrior either. Today, however, he had no choice but to step up. He and the patrol crew were tasked with monitoring the borders of their Kingdom. House Decus had a reputation for its wealth of Cibus and its ability to safeguard its resources, but there were many out there who would gladly tear it apart to claim it for themselves. The outskirts were always a place of danger, where bands of marauders or rogue Imperiums roamed, always on the lookout for weak points to exploit.

A soft grunt came from beside him. He turned, meeting the gaze of Eric, the patrol's leader—a seasoned warrior of Decus, heavily scarred and with an unblinking stare that could freeze anyone in place. Erik was a living reminder of the brutality the world had molded people into. His long, jagged sword, nicknamed The Reaver, was the size of a small child and looked like it had seen as many battles as the old world itself.

"Stay alert, boy," Erik's deep voice broke through the howling wind. "The last time we patrolled these parts, we came across scavengers, and they're getting bolder. They'll do anything to get their hands on our shit."

Dorian nodded, clenching the sword harder. The blade was far lighter than the ones Erik wielded, but it had been reforged from an old-world knife—now twisted into something much sharper. It hummed quietly as he adjusted his grip, still unsure if it was his weapon or his nerves that made his hand shake. The feeling of danger was always there, lingering like a shadow in every crevice of the ruins.

"You think they'll come for my dad King Decus ?" Dorian asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

Erik didn't immediately answer, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape. The long vast desert seemed to go on for god knows how much. The air smelled of rust or maybe that was just sand, and the sand was deep, dangerously deep. In the distance, dark clouds rolled over the horizon.

"The Cibus shipments have been making their rounds more often," Erik muttered, his face grim. "The scavengers know that. They'll come."

Dorian's chest tightened as Erik's words hung in the air. House Decus controlled some of the richest Cibus deposits, but their enemies knew this, too. As the leader of the patrol turned and gestured for them to keep moving, Dorian couldn't help but feel the weight of the decision. This was their world now. The world where people fought and died for resources. In a place where death lingered behind every corner, survival often meant becoming just as savage as those you fought against.

The patrol moved deeper into the outskirts, the silence only broken by the crunch of their footsteps over the cracked sand. Every so often, Dorian would glance up at the sky, watching the far-off ships of House Decus glide overhead—each one powered by the precious Cibus that made their civilization possible, the ships vibrations heard within themselves.

It was always an eerie sight, the ships sailing through the clouds, casting shadows across the wasteland below. For a brief moment, Dorian imagined what life might've been like before the Collapse—before Cibus had become the most needed resource in the galaxy and before the war machines had replaced all semblance of peace. But that was a dream dead. The old world was gone. Torva was the only reality now.

"Stay sharp!" Erik snapped, bringing Dorian back to the present. He had stopped at the edge of a ruined building, peering into the wreckage with a trained eye. "There's something off here."

Dorian immediately took his place beside Erik, his sword raised. He could feel the tension in the air—the kind of tension that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat quicken. Every survivor of Torva was a potential enemy, and the wrong move could cost you everything.

They crouched low behind a pile of debris, watching the road that ran between the ruins. For a long time, there was nothing—just the endless wind, carrying with it the acrid scent of decay. But then, a figure appeared.

A lone survivor, moving cautiously but purposefully. He was ragged, dressed in the scavenged remnants of old-world armor. His posture was hunched, his gaze darting nervously as he navigated the dangerous expanse of the wasteland.

"Scavenger," Erik muttered under his breath. "He doesn't know we're here yet, but don't let your guard down. We'll question him first, then decide what to do."

Dorian's grip tightened around his blade. The scavenger was alone, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. In Torva, it wasn't uncommon for individuals to travel in packs or with the backing of a faction. One lone figure could easily be a decoy for an ambush.

"On my mark," Erik whispered, nodding for Dorian to follow his lead.

Dorian nodded in return, preparing himself for whatever might come next.

The wind howled again as Erik and Dorian crept closer. With a swift motion, Erik launched himself from behind cover, moving like a shadow across the wasteland. Dorian followed quickly, adrenaline surging through him as the scavenger turned just in time to face them.

"Stay where you are," Erik's voice was cold, a command more than a suggestion. "Who are you, and what are you looking for in Decus territory?"

The scavenger froze, his eyes wide with fear. His hand hovered over a makeshift weapon—a broken blade, jagged and rusted. His breath came in rapid gasps, his muscles tense, ready to flee.

"I... I'm not here to steal anything," the scavenger stammered. "I was just... looking for shelter. I didn't know—"

"Enough!" Erik's voice was sharp. "We don't trust wanderers in Decus territory. You'll come with us, and we'll decide what to do with you. You might just be the first to give us a reason to show mercy."

The scavenger's eyes flickered to Dorian, and for a split second, there was something in them—desperation. And yet, it was a familiar desperation. One that Dorian had seen in the eyes of many, including his own.

Survival had a way of erasing the lines between right and wrong, leaving only one truth:

In Torva, death was always a step away, and every day brought a choice between mercy and violence.

As they marched the scavenger back toward Decus, Dorian couldn't help but wonder—How long before the Kingdom itself falls into ruin?

The air was heavy with the possibility that no one, not even the mighty House Decus, could outrun the inevitable.