The Alchemical Age Rebirth of the Wasteland

Ash-gray mist devoured half the sky, and leaden clouds hung so low they threatened to crush the lifeless ruins. Kael lifted the edge of his gas mask. An acrid stench of sulfur instantly seeped into his nostrils, carrying the corrosive tang unique to alchemical toxins that made his throat burn. He spat out a mouthful of rust-tasting saliva, his fingertips brushing the scratch along the mask's edge. It was a souvenir left by an ironclad rat beast three months ago, and a medal marking eight years of his struggle in the wasteland. The concrete beneath his feet was crisscrossed with spiderweb cracks, filled with blackened metal shards and desiccated plant remains. In the distance, skyscrapers had long since been reduced to shattered walls and exposed steel bars, like the skeletons of dead giants looming faintly through the haze. Occasionally, roars of mutant beasts echoed through the thick fog. Their origin was impossible to pinpoint, but they were enough to send a chill down every scavenger's spine. "Thirty minutes left before the toxin concentration spikes. Need to hurry," Kael muttered to himself, pulling his mask back on and gliding a metal detector slowly over the ground. The detector emitted a faint beeping sound, his only hope for the day. The camp's antibody supplies were almost depleted, and Old Joe's cough was growing worse by the hour. If he failed to find alchemical components to trade for more antibodies, the old man who had taught him to scavenge and once shared half a compressed biscuit with him would not survive until tomorrow. The detector's beeping suddenly turned frantic. Kael's eyes lit up. He knelt down, using his rusted iron shovel to brush away gravel and dirt. A palm-sized fragment of broken metal emerged, etched with intricate patterns, its edges still radiating a faint energy hum. It was a piece of alchemical pipeline from before the Great Cataclysm. Though fragmented, it would be more than enough to barter for two vials of basic antibodies in the Iron Dome City-state's black market. He carefully tucked the metal shard into his canvas pouch, his fingertips accidentally brushing against another object inside—a pigeon-egg-sized crystal, dull gray and lusterless. He had picked it up casually in a pile of ruins the previous day, dismissing it as an ordinary ore. At that moment, the sound of chaotic footsteps approached. Kael froze, holding his breath, and ducked behind a broken wall. He peeked out to see three figures in black uniforms walking toward him. Embroidered on their chests was a silver gear emblem, and standard-issue alchemical pistols hung at their waists. They were men from the Alchemists' Guild of Iron Dome City-state. The law of the wasteland had always been the survival of the fittest, and the Guild's men stood at the very top of the food chain as looters. They monopolized all alchemical knowledge and relic exploration rights. Any valuable item a scavenger found, if spotted by them, had only two fates—surrender it or die. "There's a scavenger over there," one of the shorter alchemists shouted, pointing in Kael's direction, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Hey, kid, hand over everything in your pouch, and don't take another step forward. The ruins ahead belong to the Guild." Kael's fingers tightened around his shovel until his knuckles turned white. The metal shard in his pouch was the camp's lifeline. He couldn't give it up. "This is the wasteland, not your Guild's territory," his voice rasped through the mask, but it carried unyielding resolve. The taller alchemist scoffed, raising his alchemical pistol. A pale blue energy orb coalesced at the muzzle. "Arrogant little scavenger. You dare talk back? One more word, and you'll be fertilizer for the wasteland." Kael stepped back slowly, his eyes fixed warily on the three men as his mind raced. He couldn't take on three well-equipped alchemists in a fight. His only option was to buy time and wait for a chance to escape. But just then, the dull gray crystal at his waist was jostled somehow, knocking against the broken wall with a soft click. A thread of extremely faint green light seeped out from a crack in the crystal, vanishing in the blink of an eye. Yet that single glimmer triggered a low rumble from the gravel-buried ruins not far away. "What was that?" The shorter alchemist froze, lowering his gun instinctively. The rumble grew louder, sending gravel tumbling down. A rusted stone gate covered in alchemical runes began to rise slowly from beneath the ruins. A strange, pale green energy hum emanated from its cracks, accompanied by a faint, fresh scent unlike the noxious fumes of the wasteland. The taller alchemist's eyes lit up with greed. "It's a relic! An untouched alchemical ruin!" Kael was stunned too. In eight years of scavenging the wasteland, he had never seen anything like it. But he quickly snapped back to his senses. This was his only chance. Either he rushed into the relic and hoped to find something even more valuable, or he would be killed by the Guild's men, dooming the camp along with him. The taller alchemist turned back to Kael, his gaze cold and greedy. "You're lucky, kid. But everything inside that relic belongs to the Guild. Now, either hand over your pouch and get lost, or die here." Kael tightened his grip on the metal shard in his pouch, then touched the now slightly warm crystal. The gray mist grew thicker, the stench of toxins stronger by the second. Old Joe was waiting for him back at the camp, and the slowly opening relic gate seemed to be calling out to him. He raised his head, his eyes hardening with resolve, and tightened his grip on his iron shovel. "Come and take it, if you can." The stone gate swung fully open, the green energy hum surging with intensity. The scene beyond remained shrouded in mystery, yet it felt as if it held secrets that could change everything. The taller alchemist roared with rage, charging at Kael first. And Kael spun around, sprinting toward the mysterious stone gate.