Square One
Smoke curls into the sky, lazy and indifferent. The ground beneath me is a graveyard of charred wood and blackened earth, still warm under my bare feet. Every step crunches too loud in the silence. The air reeks—burnt canvas, scorched flesh, and something chemical-sharp, like the magic hasn’t fully burned off yet.
Sprocket moves beside me, quiet, alert. His fur bristles at the nape, shifting slightly as he sniffs through the ashes. No whining. No growling. Just taking it in, same as me.
I exhale, long and slow. The attack was fast. Precise. No warning, no chance to fight back. My tent? Gone. Supplies? Scattered. The reinforced storage chest—supposedly indestructible—is now a melted, twisted husk. My inventory flickers into view, cold and impersonal:
[Rations: 2]
[Healing Salve: 1]
[Durability Potion: 0]
I huff out a dry laugh. "Back to square one." My voice is rough, like it’s been dragged over gravel, but Sprocket’s the only one around to hear it.
I crouch, sifting through the wreckage with rough fingers. Beneath the soot, embers still pulse, fading, dying. Then—a flash. A sliver of light, just for a second.
Something survived.
I reach for it.
The locket sits in my palm, its ruby core dulled with soot, the once-bright glow reduced to a weak flicker. I turn it over, my thumb tracing the flame insignia etched into the metal.
The first ruby vein I ever found. Forged with my own hands.
A flicker in my vision—UI text sliding into place.
I exhale slowly. “Guess some things don’t burn so easy.” My voice is rough, barely more than a breath. I close my fingers around the locket, the metal cool despite the fire that tried to claim it. The chain dangles, swaying idly—adrift, like me.
Beneath me, the ash shifts as I move. The wreckage sprawls ahead—charred bedrolls, shattered crates, the skeletal remains of my forge. Smoke clings to the air, thick and cloying, but there’s something else beneath it. A faint hum. Magic, still lingering, like an ember buried in the coals, refusing to go out.
A soft chime pings at the edge of my vision as Sprocket lifts a paw.
A faint green glow pulses from his antlers, the air growing dense, charged with something unseen. Wisps of light unfurl from his fur, twisting outward like roots feeling their way through the wreckage. The clearing shifts, the world tinged in an eerie, shimmering haze. Shadows coil through the scorched earth, drifting like smoke, tainting the air with the sharp bite of burnt metal.
I sigh, rolling my shoulders.
Sprocket chitters, his nose twitching as his magic traces the devastation. The spell pulses again—this time, something flickers at the heart of the blast.
A shimmer. Barely there.
I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. The ground crackles beneath my boots, brittle from the heat. I crouch, reaching out. A pulse trembles against my fingertips, subtle but steady.
Something’s still here. Hidden beneath the ashes.
My fingers hover just inches from the anomaly.
A soul shard. soul shard.
My stomach knots. I know better than to grab it outright. Could be a trap. Could be unstable. Could be another mess waiting to blow up in my face.
A deep pull settles in my chest. The shard stirs, trembling against the dirt before it lifts, weightless, suspended in the air. A faint glow pulses at its core—like the heartbeat of something long buried.
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I exhale, steadying myself, then reach out. The second my fingers brush the surface—
Light explodes around me.
A shockwave of sensation slams through my body. Ice and fire race through my veins, burning and freezing all at once. My breath catches. My vision fractures.
Then—memories, broken and scattered, spill into my mind like ink spreading through water.
A crackling campfire. Smoke curling into a star-freckled sky. The distant chirp of crickets.
My son—dark-haired, grinning, a marshmallow skewered on a stick, holding it too close to the flames.
My daughter—curled up beside me, head tilted back, wide-eyed as she stares at the sky.
she says, her voice small, full of wonder.
I follow her gaze. A bright ember burns in the night—deep red against the dark.
I chuckle. I nudge her lightly.
She giggles.
She hums in thought, then grins.
The memory flickers. My chest tightens. I try to hold on, but their faces blur at the edges, slipping away like sand through my fingers. Their names—gone.
A weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying eases from my shoulders.
A piece of me—lost, forgotten—finally returned.
I don’t have time to think.
I drop to one knee, pressing my hand against the cracked ground. Heat surges through my palm, spreading outward in waves. The air thickens with tension, then—
Light explodes in silver and violet bursts.
Tiny motes of energy flicker and spiral, gathering into the shapes of my fallen companions.
A low growl rumbles through the clearing as Nike’Deimus solidifies—his sleek black fur rippling, ember-like eyes locking onto mine. Then Twitch shakes himself off, armor clanking like a suit of plate mail. The Ninja Nutcrackers—Luna, Chatter, Velvet, Pounce, Quil—materialize in a blur of motion, their eyes already scanning the area, alert like they never left.
Something flashes past me, crackling with energy.
Twitch stumbles back, blinking—barely registering the movement before Sprocket barrels into him, knocking them both down.
“Aha!” Twitch laughs, flailing. “See? You’re the one that spoons me. Every. Single. Time!”
Sprocket huffs, untangling himself with a long-suffering look. “You like it. Admit it.”
A familiar chime rings in my head.
I exhale, the tension draining from my shoulders. “You’re back,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I meant. My hands ball into fists, then slowly loosen. “Damn glad to see you all.”
Nike’Deimus steps forward first, pressing his snout into my palm with a low, grateful whine.
“Burgers?” he asks, his tail wagging.
I scratch behind his ears, the warmth of his fur grounding me. “Sorry, buddy. No burgers today.”
The others blink, still coming out of the fog of resurrection. Twitch stretches, his armor creaking, and nudges Sprocket’s shoulder.
Luna and Chatter yawn, stretching like cats, before leaping onto Nike’Deimus’s back. They curl up there like they own the place. Pounce, Quil, and Velvet follow suit, climbing onto the wolf’s broad form without hesitation.
Nike’Deimus huffs, but he doesn’t move.
Twitch claps his feet together—his hands tangled in Sprocket’s tail and antlers—while Sprocket looks at him with the same unimpressed stare.
A perfect set of tens.
I can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, you missed each other.”
I glance at the remnants of my loot bag, half-buried under debris. I crouch and grab the strap, the weight of it grounding me. My gear’s still intact—so’s Twitch’s and Sprocket’s.
Good.
Time to rebuild.
I start pulling materials and salvaged scraps from the wreckage. Twitch’s armor needs work first. It’s tough, but too heavy—I redistribute the weight, adding some mana-infused metal to reinforce it without slowing him down. Nike’Deimus gets a custom chainmail harness, padded at the joints for better mobility. I attach a reinforced pack to his back—one of my own designs, built to work as a mobile storage unit. A walking bank.
The Nutcrackers watch me for a moment, fascinated, then scamper off behind a burnt-out tree. A few minutes later, they return—decked out in sleek ninja gear, bracers reinforced, short blades shining, hidden compartments packed.
A final chime echoes in my mind.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and nod, satisfied. “Alright,” I mutter. “We’re back in the game.”