I climb the tower every day, waiting for a world that may have already forgotten me.

Each morning, I settle on this ledge to scan the graveyard of steel and stone stretching before me, wondering what it must have been like. The elders say the cities were once bright—full of rhythm. Used to hear them reminisce about gleaming towers and crowded plazas, markets spilling into the streets, with arc trains humming overhead. I try to picture it, but the Red Veil has been with us for nearly a century, slowly turning our planet into a desert of scorching winds and sand-choked ruins. All I’ve ever known is the dust and crumbling monuments of their lost world.

My team was en route, traveling between green zones on a civilian transport, when a savage storm tore through the plains. The wind howled like a beast, while twisted claws of lighting slashed at our hull. Our transport never stood a chance.

We crashed here, beneath the looming shadows of Trellia, an ancient city whose skeletal towers still scrape the clouds. I lost count of how many there were when we went down. Raiders were on us within minutes. We would have fared better, but with so many civilians to protect, it was chaos. Only a handful of us made it to the tower. Lost half the team.

That was two weeks ago. The others are still with me, clinging to the hope of rescue, though it’s been days since we’ve heard anything but static on the comm. Supplies are low. Ammo’s not much better. A few of the others talk about making a run for it, leaving the tower behind, but it’s a long trek to the nearest zone, and they’ve all seen what’s out there.

Yesterday, I was headed up and heard one of the civvies call me the Watcher. She wasn’t talking to me, and it didn’t seem like an insult, so I didn’t bother explaining what a deepsight was. Besides, it’s actually fitting. Up here, I scan the ruins below, looking for raiders, scavengers, and all the twisted things the Red Veil has left behind. They aren’t an organized force, just packs of the desperate and the damned, scrabbling for scraps. But starving animals are often the most dangerous. So here I sit, the Watcher, rifle in hand, sweeping the streets below, picking off any threat that comes too close.

I’m not sure why I do it. Day after day, hours on end, a lone sentinel watching over a dying world. Of course, I want to be here when help finally comes, but it’s more than just survival. I feel it, deep down, that stubborn defiance, a refusal to let this darkness claim what’s left of me. But as the wind howls through the shattered windows and sand-washed streets, I wonder how much longer we can hold out. How much longer I can keep watching this broken world, waiting for a dawn that may never come.

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The clank of metal echoes up through the shafts, and I remember what matters most: line of sight, wind shear, and how many slugs I’ve got left in this box. I bring the rifle to my cheek. Under the pale light of the dying sun, my scope wanders over the fractured streets below, scanning spectrums, searching for the commotion.

It’s hard to believe there was a time this city seemed too big to ever feel this small. Now, it’s just a maze of decay, this tower our island, surrounded by an ocean of rust and despair.

Another clank leads me to the source, two rencha foraging through some rubble. Nasty little critters—eat just about anything. But wildlife’s the least of our worries. I’ll save the slugs for the real animals.

The trap door creaks open behind me. It’s Durjen, his boots scraping against the weathered concrete. He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands alongside me, watching the horizon. He’s always been like that, quiet, steady. The kind of calm you can mistake for indifference. I’ve seen him stand his ground when it mattered, though. He’s no deepsight. None of the others are. But going close to mid range? Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have at my side.

“Anything?” he finally asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to break the silence.

“Just the usual,” I say, with a slow shake of my head. “Wind, broken glass, twisted metal. Few rencha.” I lower the rifle, letting it rest against the ledge. “Doesn’t mean it’s clear, though.”

“Is it ever?” His voice is bitter, and I understand. We’ve all lost so much. Friends, family, a future to believe in. But Durjen’s wound is fresh. His brother was with us when the transport went down. He didn’t make it to the tower.

“You should get some rest,” I say.

He huffs. “Yeah, right.”

None of us really sleep anymore. We just pretend. Pretend we’re somewhere else, pretend the sky isn’t always red, pretend we’re not one bad day away from the end.

“Civvies think we should try the comm again tonight,” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from the quiet despair hanging between us.

“We should save the charge,” I reply. “Might be days before the sun’s out again.”

Even as I say it, I know they will anyway. They always do. The comm’s our tether to the world. A world that might have forgotten us, but they still need to try. Hope’s the only currency they have left.

Durjen lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then turns and disappears back down the stairs. I watch him go, feeling that familiar ache of loneliness even though I’m not alone. There are eight of us left. Eight souls clinging to this rotting tower, our fortress against the darkness.

I glance at the fading light. Soon, the shadows will deepen, and the winds will howl louder. That’s when they come—the scavengers, the desperate, the twisted things lurking in the ruins. Some nights, it’s just a flicker of movement in the gloom, a whisper on the wind. Other nights, they come in force, wailing like beasts, clawing at our sanity and the base of the tower, trying to break through.

But I’m here. The Watcher. As long as I have a rifle and a clear view, I’ll keep them back, buy us time. Time for a miracle. Time for someone to remember we’re here. Or time for this world to finally burn away.

The wind picks up, rattling broken glass in the windows. I pull my scarf tighter, steady my rifle, and settle back into my vigil. Because no one else can do what I do as well as I do it.

This is my watch.

Until rescue.

Until the world forgets us.

Until the end.

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