Oblivion's Edge: Voidborn

7 Weightless Between Worlds

Aēllion's eyes flew open just in time to see the soldier standing in front of him jerk backward, a sharp beam of energy tearing through his chestplate.

The young man's mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His rifle clattered to the ground.

Behind him, another soldier lowered his weapon, his face twisted in cold disgust.

"Yōu wērē āctūālly līstēnīng tō hīs nōnsēnsē," the newcomer spat.

The first soldier collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.

Aēllion's pulse exploded in his ears. He didn't wait to think.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he lunged sideways.

"Yōu! Stōp rīght thērē!" the second soldier barked, already raising his weapon again.

Aēllion didn't stop.

He bolted, boots pounding against the metal walkway, air burning his lungs. A beam of plasma slammed into the ground beside him, searing the metal and spraying sparks across his path.

Another shot.

Too close.

He didn't look back. He didn't dare.

The Gateway loomed ahead, a massive ring of pulsing energy. He could feel its buzz vibrating in his bones, taste the static on his tongue.

One last leap..

And the world vanished.

It was like falling into nothing.

The moment Aēllion passed through, his body went light, too light. His stomach lurched as if the ground had dropped away.

Weightlessness.

No air.

No sound.

Only the slow drift of his own body tumbling through an endless, shimmering void.

Stars glimmered all around him except they weren't stars. They were fractured shards of light, rippling in colors he couldn't name. He couldn't tell which way was up, or if "up" even existed here.

He floated for what felt like forever, every second stretching longer than the last.

Then..

Impact.

Cold water swallowed him whole.

Aellion broke the surface with a gasp, coughing and kicking toward the bank. He dragged himself out, rolling onto solid ground, and lay there for a moment, shivering and soaked, staring up at a sky that didn't look real.

But it was real.

The moon hung above him, soft and pale. Stars glittered across the blackness, twinkling in ways the fabricated sky in the Edge never could. They weren't perfect or uniform but they felt alive.

He sucked in a breath.

The air was different here, cooler, crisper, carrying scents he couldn't place. Damp earth. Wild grass. Something faintly sweet, like flowers carried from far away.

For a moment, all he could do was sit there, staring at the night sky like a child seeing it for the first time.

Because he was.

When he finally looked around, the wonder gave way to caution.

The place he'd landed was silent, but not peaceful.

Beyond the riverbank stretched a barren expanse of cracked stone and wild weeds. Farther off, jagged ruins jutted toward the sky, what remained of buildings that must have once been massive. Metal skeletons rusted in place, their walls half-collapsed, glass shattered into glittering dust.

It looked... human.

Or at least, it had been.

"Wār," he murmured to himself. "The alien-human war..."

He'd seen war footage before. At least, the versions they showed in the Edge. But seeing the aftermath here, untouched for what must have been decades, was different.

This was death you could feel in the air.

- Info: The Outcast Lands is one of the few places on earth still scarred by the alien-human war. Before the war, it was a large human city filled with beauty and life.

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He moved carefully, scanning for anything useful. Weapons. Supplies. Even food, though he had no idea what was safe to eat out here.

That's when he saw it.

A small house, or what was left of it, tucked between two collapsed towers. Its roof had caved in on one side, but part of it still stood.

Every instinct told him not to go inside.

But he went anyway.

The door creaked open under his hand, the sound too loud in the stillness. Inside, dust coated everything like a heavy blanket. The air smelled stale, mixed with something faintly metallic.

The kitchen was a wreck, broken plates littering the floor, chairs overturned, a table cracked down the middle.

In the main room, photo frames lay smashed, the images inside faded almost to nothing. He could make out faint outlines, faces, maybe, smiling ones.

He crouched by a low shelf, brushing away a layer of dust. Books. Actual books.

One was half-buried under rubble, its cover warped with age. He pulled it free, coughing as dust swirled into the air.

The pages were yellowed, the ink faded but still legible.

English.

The same language his mother had taught him in secret when no one else was listening.

His hands trembled as the pieces clicked into place.

It was real. She'd been telling the truth all along.

A sound broke the moment.

Faint. Low. Almost like breathing, but too steady.

Too deliberate.

Aellion froze, listening.

It came again.

Closer.

Not breathing.

Tracking.

He moved to the window and peered out. At first, he saw nothing but shadows. Then movement.

Figures emerged from the dark.

Human-like in shape, but wrong. Their limbs were too long, their movements too smooth, too quiet. And their eyes...

Glowing.

Red.

Lifeless.

They swept the ground with slow precision, heads tilting, nostrils flaring.

They were tracking him.

His mind raced.

If he stayed here, they'd corner him. The house had only one exit. The moment they reached it, it would be over.

So he ran.

The instant his boots hit the dirt outside, the creatures turned.

They didn't roar. They didn't speak. They just moved fast.

Too fast.

Aellion sprinted, lungs burning, legs pumping as hard as they could.

Aellion wasn't a strong or formidable soldier, but he was certainly not slow. He once ranked twelfth in speed among over two hundred trainees in his cohort, but it doesn't matter now.

The gap between them shrank with every step.

"Come on, come on..." he muttered to himself, pushing harder. His chest ached, his breath tearing ragged through his throat.

They weren't getting tired.

They weren't slowing down.

Was this the end for him?.

He thought to himself.

A flash of movement ahead.

Not them.

Something else.

A sleek, metallic shape skimmed the ground, dust whipping up in its wake. It wasn't gliding, it was driving. Fast.

A mini-ship.

It cut across his path and screeched to a halt, its side door sliding open with a hiss.

A girl leaned out. Blue hair framed her face, her eyes luminous even in the dim light. She extended her hand toward him.

"Get in!" she shouted.

Aellion didn't think.

He grabbed her hand, and in one desperate motion, she hauled him inside.

The door slammed shut, sealing out the night.

And the creatures.

...