RISE FROM THE VOID

Chapter 6

Day one alone and Xander understood why so few survived the Void.

The wraiths moved differently here, beyond the Exiles' protected territory. They hunted in coordinated packs, driving prey toward kill zones. Xander spent six hours crouched inside a hollowed-out refrigerator while three wraiths circled, sniffing for heat signatures.

His bracers stayed dormant, wire cold against his skin. Any activation would draw them like blood in water.

When they finally moved on, Xander emerged shaking. The toxic air burned his lungs. Chemical rain had started falling,thick, oily drops that sizzled on metal. He pulled his salvaged hood tighter and consulted Veyra's map.

Two more days to the western wall.

He moved through a canyon of crushed vehicles, boots crunching on shattered glass. Something skittered in the shadows above,not a wraith, something smaller. Scavenger rats, mutated by the Void's toxins into things with too many legs and eyes that glowed red.

Xander's hand found Kael's borrowed daggers. They pulsed once, recognizing the threat wasn't worth their power.

The canyon opened onto a lake of chemical sludge. No way around,the walls rose sheer on both sides. The map showed a submerged path, marked in Harlan's handwriting: 

‘"Twelve feet down, fifteen feet across. Hold your breath."’

Xander stared at the glowing yellow surface. Whatever was in that sludge would burn skin, maybe dissolve it entirely. But Harlan had crossed it. Had marked it safe enough.

Trust in a dead man's notes or turn back.

Xander's bracers formed a breathing mask,wire woven so tight it filtered air. Not perfect, but better than nothing. He waded in.

The sludge was warm, sickeningly so. It clung to his clothes, his skin, trying to seep through. Xander dove under, following the submerged path by touch. The wire mask held, barely. Chemical burn spread across his exposed neck.

Fifteen feet felt like fifteen miles.

He burst from the sludge on the far side, gasping. His skin was red, blistering. But he was across. He used precious water to wash the worst off, then kept moving.

Night fell,or what passed for night in the Void. Darkness so complete Xander couldn't see his hands. He found shelter in a crushed shipping container, its door half-torn away. Inside, he risked a small light from his bracers,wire glowing faintly.

Mira's photograph fell from his pack. He'd taken it without asking, a reminder that others were suffering too. The girl's face stared up at him, forever captured in happier times.

"I'll make it mean something." 

He whispered. 

"Your fall, Harlan's death, all of it. I promise."

Something scraped outside the container.

Xander's light died instantly. He gripped Kael's daggers, heart hammering.

The scraping came again,rhythmic, deliberate. Not a wraith's shambling gait. Something else.

"I know you're in there." 

A voice, human but wrong. Too smooth, too controlled.

 "Fresh exile, traveling alone. The Council would call you foolish."

Xander said nothing. The voice could be anyone,another Exile, a survivor, or worse.

"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to offer you a choice." 

A figure appeared in the doorway, backlit by the Void's faint bioluminescence. They wore a mask,not the white porcelain of Harlan's killer, but something cruder. Salvaged metal, welded together. 

"My name is Torrin. I'm what you might call... unaffiliated."

"You're not an Exile."

"No. The Council and I had a disagreement about methods." 

Torrin stepped inside, and Xander saw they carried a Remnant,a whip made from barbed wire that coiled around their arm like a living thing. 

"I believe in survival through any means necessary. They believe in honor, rules and community."

 The word dripped with contempt.

 "How's that working out for you?"

Xander's daggers stayed ready.

 "What do you want?"

"I want to help. I've been tracking you since you left Rust Haven. You're heading for the western wall, which means you're either suicidal or desperate. My bet is desperate." 

Torrin crouched, staying just outside striking distance.

 "You're looking for something. Evidence, perhaps? Something that old tinker Harlan hid?"

Every muscle in Xander's body went taut. "How do you…"

"I know lots of things. For instance, I know Celestara sends agents into the Void. I know Harlan discovered this and was killed for it. I know you want revenge." 

Torrin's mask tilted. 

"And I know the exact location of Harlan's workshop in the under-rings. The wiring patterns, the hidden compartments, everything."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because chaos up there…" 

Torrin pointed toward distant Celestara.

 "...means opportunity down here. If you expose Celestara's secrets, if you start a war between the under-rings and the elite, the power structures collapse. And in that collapse, people like me thrive."

Xander studied Torrin, trying to read them. The mask made it impossible. "What's the cost?"

"Smart boy. The cost is this: when you get back up, when you find whatever evidence Harlan hid, you share it with me first. Before the Council, before the under-rings, before anyone. I get to decide how best to use it."

"That's insane. You could bury it, use it for blackmail…"

"I could. Or I could amplify it, spread it so wide Celestara can't suppress it. You don't know me, so you can't trust me. Fair enough." 

Torrin stood.

 "But I'm offering you expertise, supplies, and most importantly,a way through the wraith territories that doesn't involve drowning in chemical sludge."

They pulled out a map, far more detailed than Veyra's. Routes marked in red, safe zones highlighted, wraith nests clearly labeled.

"Twenty-four hours to the western wall instead of three days. And I'll guide you personally, keep the wraiths off your back." 

Torrin rolled the map up. 

"Or you can refuse, travel alone, and probably die somewhere between here and there. Your choice."

Xander's mind raced. This could be a trap. Torrin could be another agent sent to silence him. Or they could be genuine, just morally flexible.

But alone, his chances were slim. With help, even questionable help, they improved.

"If I agree, I want answers first. Who are you really? Why do you know so much about Celestara's 

operations?"

Torrin laughed,sharp and bitter. 

"Because I used to work for them. I was an agent, sent down here five years ago to monitor the Exiles. Report on their numbers, their capabilities, their potential to threaten the city." 

The mask tilted. 

"Then I met people down here. Real

people, not the criminals and degenerates Celestara claimed they were discarding. I saw what they did to stay human in this hell. And I realized I was on the wrong side."

"So you defected..."