Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game
Chapter 119: Ch116. Luna Sea

Chapter 119: Ch116. Luna Sea

The Horizon did not have mornings.

No sun rose. No birds called. There was just a slow change in pressure, a subtle shift in color that turned the air from dreamless void to something closer to ’awake’. Still bleak. Still unnatural.

But awake.

Miles stirred with a grunt, blinking up at the ceiling of twisted sheet metal and rotted support beams. His body ached in the familiar way. The dull, bone-deep exhaustion that said he was alive, but not particularly grateful about it.

He sat up.

Pain flared across his shoulders and ribs, courtesy of yesterday’s encounter with a lesser Revenant that thought gnawing through human torsos in the middle of their sleep was a good idea.

His shirt was soaked through with cold sweat. The trinkets he had summoned the day before still laying around, like toys that belonged to a child who did not like cleaning up their mess.

Across from him, Kurt was already awake.

He was seated cross-legged near the blue fire, getting ready to grill a few pieces of meat he had just gotten from his morning hunt.

"You snored." Kurt said casually, eyes still on the coin.

"I was tired." Miles rubbed at his face, the smell of the sizzling meat invading his nostrils as soon as Kurt tossed it into the fire. "You kept watch?"

Kurt smirked.

"Didn’t feel like rolling the dice on another dream-ambush. And besides..." He turned the meat over. "Some of us just enjoy the quiet."

"That’s not quiet. That’s dread wearing a soundproof suit." Miles yawned and stretched, pointing at the structure around them, each muscle creaking like rusted machinery.

"Poetic. Maybe I’ll stitch that into my next cloak." Kurt chuckled under his breath.

After they were done eating, they packed as quickly as they could and got ready to move without wasting any time. Only the gods knew what would happen in their journey toward Luna Sea, and they could not afford to lose time.

Miles could feel the weight of the items in his inventory now, even though the Horizon kept him from peering into it or even opening his stats window. There was the weight of possibility in them, and even though the possibility was uncertain, it felt good after the ominous revelation that the White Rabbit was a Revenant.

What did it mean, though?

"Ready to move?" Kurt asked, already at the exit, blade sheathed, coat fluttering slightly as if caught in a breeze that did not exist.

Miles nodded, and they left.

***

The walk toward Luna Sea was just like any other walk across The Horizon.

Ominous, alert, full of imminent danger.

The terrain had changed since they’d left the structure. The air tasted different now. Metallic and heavy, like someone had left an old battery to rot under the sun.

The land sloped into a vast plain of twisted, rust-stained metal, old rails and cables coiled like serpents beneath their boots. In the distance, the silhouette of Luna Sea clawed up from the earth, uneven and chaotic. Jagged buildings leaned together like gossiping drunks, their patchwork roofs made of scrap, neon, and hubris.

"I’m just saying," Kurt said, hopping over a collapsed antenna, "if a construct offers to trade you a kidney for a laugh, say no. Laughs are worth more in Luna."

Miles frowned, adjusting the straps on his makeshift pack. Inside, nestled between cloth and leather wraps, were the items he’d summoned from his inventory. Kurt had told him that it was not a good idea to summon the items directly from his inventory there since the crafters were not used to players who still had a connection to the system – no matter how feeble it was.

So, he kept them inside the makeshift pack, way slower to be used, but still...

"Tell me more about the people there," Miles asked, partly to distract himself from the Revenant’s noises in the distance. "The crafters."

Kurt huffed a laugh.

"People’s generous. They’re more like walking urban legends. Half of them aren’t even sure if they’re still human. Luna Sea’s a buffet of what’s-left-over, and that includes sanity. But..." He paused, pointing toward a plume of violet smoke spiraling up from the town’s center. "They know how to find things that shouldn’t exist. And that’s exactly why we’re going."

"For supplies?"

"For a few answers."

They crested a ridge, and Luna Sea unfolded below them.

It was... Beautiful in a way only chaos could be.

Shanties and market stalls were cobbled from bulletproof glass, engine parts, bone, and holographic ads frozen mid-frame. A crashed subway train split the main road in half, its back end converted into a bar with a flickering sign:

The Hollow Pint.

Laughter echoed from within. Music that did not use any instruments Miles recognized spilled out, warping in the air like smoke.

Everywhere, people moved with purpose, too fast for a casual town, too relaxed for a war zone. Faces were masked, augmented, painted, or covered with reflective tape. A child walked by with a mechanical owl perched on her shoulder. Two men argued over the value of a broken drone wing. A headless mannequin danced in time to the beat, even though no one was playing it.

Miles and Kurt were barely three steps in when someone tried to sell something to them.

"Genuine nightmare, filtered for clarity!" The vendor croaked, holding out a neon-blue vial. "Fresh from the Maw!"

"You’d have better luck selling water to a drowning man." Kurt didn’t break stride.

"Hey!" the vendor shouted, indignant. "I am that drowning man!"

Miles frowned at the weird exchange, but did not say anything. They turned down a side street, ducking under a suspended refrigerator hung like a wind chime. Kurt walked like he owned the place.

Which, maybe, in some crooked way, he did.

"You sure we’ll find someone willing to talk?" Miles asked, his gaze flitting to a trio of figures draped in electrical wiring like prayer beads.

"Not sure," Kurt said. "But I know where they would be, if they were."

They stopped outside a sloping structure made from what looked like a downed mech’s torso. It still bore the insignia of some long-dead faction: a shattered crown over a black sun.

A rusted placard read:

SCRYBAY – Relics, Rumors, Repairs.

Inside, the space was dim and vast, more like a cathedral of trash than a shop. Trinkets floated in glass globes. Maps stitched from synthetic skin adorned the walls. A floating eyeball tracked them from a perch in the ceiling.

Behind the counter sat a thin, ageless figure, robed in cables and wire, their face obscured by a television screen showing static and fragmented memories. Miles saw an orchard, a crying child, a flood.

"Scryer." Kurt greeted. "Got a moment?"

The figure tilted its head. The screen flickered to a new image.

A chessboard mid-game, one piece missing.

"You bring chaos." The Scryer rasped, voice filtered through a dozen glitching frequencies. "What’s your wager?"

"No wager yet," Kurt said, jerking a thumb at Miles. "Just a seeker."

The Scryer’s screen turned toward Miles, flashing a pulse of red.

"You carry hunger." it said.

Miles froze.

"I carry items." He said carefully. "Things I don’t yet understand and need a use for."

The Scryer laughed, a hollow, broken modem sound.

"Even better." It raised a hand, palm out, and the items inside Miles’ makeshift pack hummed, as if responding to the Scryer’s call.

"What you seek is resonance." it said.

"And I’m guessing it has a price..." Miles retorted, unsure of what the Scryer even meant by that.

"Correct. I want three keys. Remembrance, Ruin, and Reckoning."

"Didn’t think we’d get that lucky." Kurt whistled low.

Miles looked at Kurt. "What does he mean?"

The Scryer’s static glitched into an image of a black flower, blooming in reverse, before Kurt could respond.

"Just a truth." It said.

Then, without prompting, Miles felt something pulled from him.