Relics: The Ashes of a Lost World

Nur woke up sprawled in the snow, the cold gnawing at him like icy teeth. His body trembled, still bruised and exhausted from the fight before his arrival. The ache in his muscles was a constant reminder of how hard he had pushed himself—and how far he'd come. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, his fingers sinking into the frozen ground.

He forced himself upright, shaking off the snow clinging to his clothes. The frigid air was sharp against his skin, stinging his exposed face. The surroundings were alien—a vast expanse of ice and jagged cliffs that loomed like sentinels guarding a barren wasteland. The wind howled like a living thing, rushing through the frozen terrain.

In the corner of his vision, an arctic hare darted across the snow, its small frame blending almost seamlessly into the white expanse. It was the first sign of life he'd noticed, though it didn't bring him any comfort.

Nur instinctively reached around his surroundings and paused as his fingers brushed against cold metal. He froze, momentarily confused. The goggles. Memories rushed back—the hidden compartment in his basement, the strange room, the box that called to him. And now, they were here.

He slid the goggles over his eyes, hoping they'd help him navigate the snowy area obscuring his vision. The etchings along their frame pulsed faintly, as if alive, resonating with his heartbeat.

"What the hell is this place?" he muttered, his breath forming a visible cloud in the icy air.

A faint noise interrupted his thoughts. Clicking. Metallic. Rhythmic.

Nur crouched instinctively, his muscles stiff but responsive. The Academy had drilled these reflexes into him, even though nothing could truly prepare him for a moment like this. The sound grew louder, each click echoing ominously in the silence.

And then he saw it. Emerging from behind an icy outcrop, a low-tier Mercha clattered forward. Its insect-like frame glinted under the pale light, its sharp limbs moving with mechanical precision. Red eyes glowed like embers, locking onto him with an unsettling, predatory focus.

Nur's heart raced, but he steadied his breathing. The Academy had taught him about Merchas in theory—low-tier ones like this were common in expeditions to the Ruins. In his first year, he had studied their forms and movements extensively, but only upperclassmen were allowed field training where they face them directly.

This one was insect-like, a type known for speed and precision strikes. Low-tier Merchas came in many shapes and forms: insect-like, animal-like, humanoid, beast-like, and even demon-like. The more complex forms, particularly those with human-like intelligence, were considered high-tier or S-tier—the deadliest of all—depending on their abilities. But this one wasn't intelligent; it moved with a cold, calculated simplicity, its defined nature dictating every motion.

Even so, Nur knew better than to underestimate it.

The Mercha lunged. Nur sidestepped, his movements fluid despite his lingering fatigue. Its claws sliced through the air, striking the ground with a force that sent shards of ice flying. He countered immediately, delivering a precise kick to its joint. The machine staggered but recovered quickly, its red eyes glowing brighter as it recalibrated.

Nur ducked low, narrowly avoiding another swipe. He moved with the precision of a seasoned fighter, landing punches and kicks where it mattered most. His mind worked quickly, analyzing its patterns, exploiting its weak points.

As he swung his fist for another strike, heat surged through his arm, unbidden. Flames erupted from his hand, striking the Mercha and leaving a scorched mark on its metallic body.

Nur froze for a fraction of a second, staring at the fire licking at his fingers. The Mercha took advantage of his distraction, lunging again. He twisted out of the way, delivering a sharp elbow to its side. The flames flared again, this time licking at its legs and throwing it off balance.

His movements quickened. His punches landed harder. He felt stronger, faster. Every strike carried a weight he hadn't known before. The relic wasn't just giving him fire—it was enhancing him.

The Mercha stumbled but kept coming, its mechanical legs clicking with an eerie rhythm. Nur pressed the advantage, sweeping its legs out from under it. As it collapsed, another burst of flame shot from his hands, engulfing its core.

The machine screeched—a metallic, distorted sound—before falling still, its red eyes fading to black.

Nur staggered back, his breathing labored. The flames on his hands vanished, leaving only steam rising from the scorched snow. His muscles ached from exertion, the lingering exhaustion from his fight with the hooligans earlier still weighing him down.

He flexed his fingers, staring at his hands in disbelief. The goggles on his face pulsed faintly, as if mocking his confusion.

"This… is my relic," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind.

The cold rushed back in, biting at him with renewed vigor. His body, pushed to its limits, could take no more. He stumbled forward, his vision blurring as the last remnants of adrenaline faded.

The snow rose to meet him as he collapsed, the world fading into darkness.

Amidst the encroaching blackness, faint voices pierced through the haze. They were distant, muffled, like echoes in a cavern, but they stirred something deep within him.

"Should we help him?"

"He won't survive out here if we don't."

A pause, then a quieter response: "Are you sure he's worth it?"

"He's breathing, isn't he?"

There was movement, the crunch of boots on snow drawing closer.

"Fine. Let's get him out of here before something else finds him."

Nur felt a faint pressure on his arm, and then the cold began to dissipate, replaced by a strange warmth. He tried to speak, to open his eyes, but his body refused to respond.

The last thing he registered was the sensation of being lifted and carried before the darkness claimed him completely.

—day 1