Capítulo 21: Journey in the city

With the weight of the rifle secure against his back and the heft of the armor settled around his torso, James felt an unfamiliar sense of preparation—a contrast to the frantic, scrappy survival he had grown accustomed to. He checked the contents of his backpack one last time: water, nonperishable food, basic first aid supplies, a flashlight, extra ammunition, and a small toolkit. Every item was meticulously chosen, each serving a vital purpose for the journey ahead.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep purple and orange, when James began his unconventional journey. He opted not for the streets below, where the creatures roamed in their ceaseless hunger, but instead took to the buildings, moving from one structure to the next with a stealthy precision.

He started by prying open a window, its lock giving way under the gentle but firm persuasion of his tools. Once inside, he would navigate through the desolate remnants of the once-inhabited spaces, mindful of the sounds of his own passage, before finding another window on the opposite side, continuing his high-wire act from building to building.

The trail Walter had charted was a network of interconnected paths through the city's upper levels, a safer route that kept one above the dangers prowling the streets. James followed it with care, pausing at each new vantage point to survey the city spread out before him—a patchwork of destruction and eerie beauty.

The jumps were a calculated risk; each leap from window to window was measured, his body tensed for the impact, the roll, and the quick recovery. He moved like a shadow, a silent wraith traversing a city that had become a tomb for the world he once knew.

As he made his way across one precarious ledge, the city's symphony rose to meet him—the distant cries of the creatures, the rustle of wind through abandoned corridors, the occasional creak and groan of a building settling into its ruin. But above it all was the silence—a profound, encompassing silence that spoke of the absence of life, of movement, of the soul of the city itself.

He entered another building, the inside gutted by fire long since burned out, the charred remains a blackened skeleton of a life that once was. James's footsteps were soft on the ashen floor, his presence a trespass on a grave. Yet he moved with purpose, with a respect for the past and a focus on the future.

The night wore on, a tapestry of stars unfurling above as he continued his journey. His path was a zigzag across the urban expanse, a constant balancing act between the heights and the dark abyss below. He was a man alone but not lost, a man on a mission, a sentinel in search of signs of hope amidst the ruins.

And as the first light of dawn began to touch the edges of the city, James found a secure place to rest—a rooftop garden long abandoned, where wildflowers had taken root amidst the decay. Here he would wait out the day, hidden from the creatures below, a silent guardian watching over a sleeping world.

With the city laid out before him, James allowed himself a moment of rest, his eyes closing not in sleep but in quiet reflection. He had covered ground, made progress, but the journey was far from over. When night fell again, he would continue, following the trail of a man he had barely known, toward a future he dared to shape with his own hands.

The first light of dawn cast a gentle glow over the broken city, painting the crumbling edifices in a palette of soft gold and rose. As the world around him gradually illuminated, James settled into the solitude of the rooftop garden. The juxtaposition of wildflowers thriving amongst decay was not lost on him—a natural assertion of life amid a tableau of death. Here, high above the desolate streets, he found a pocket of serenity in the maelstrom.

James made a quiet survey of his makeshift camp, ensuring no traces of his presence were visible from the street level. Satisfied with his precautions, he nestled into a corner where the remnants of a trellis provided additional concealment. He removed his backpack, using it as a makeshift pillow, and allowed himself the closest semblance of relaxation he had felt in what seemed like an eternity.

He didn't sleep; the luxury of true, deep sleep was one he couldn't afford—not when any slip could mean death. But in these quiet moments of respite, his mind wandered down the myriad paths of memory and possibility. He thought of the friend he was searching for, their last moments together replaying like an old film, the details starting to fray at the edges. He wondered if they were out there, somewhere, looking up at the same sky, sharing in the same determination to survive.

James's vigil on the rooftop was marked by the movement of the sun across the sky. He kept his body still, conserving energy, while his mind stayed alert, mapping out his next moves. The route ahead was a tapestry of urban decay, and he plotted his course with the meticulous care of a cartographer charting unknown lands.

As the shadows grew long and the light began to wane, James prepared to set out once more. He refilled his water bottle from a rain collection barrel in the garden, rationed out a small meal of preserved food, and checked his equipment. The rifle, a grim companion, was loaded and ready; the armor, a shell that carried the dents and scratches of his travels, was secured; and the backpack, a lifeline, was packed and hoisted onto his shoulders.

Night descended like a curtain, and with it came the cloak of anonymity that James used to his advantage. He climbed down from the rooftop, his movements deliberate and soundless. The trail he followed, the path charted by a man whose trust he had betrayed, now served as his guide through the urban labyrinth.

Each leap from building to building was a silent dance with gravity, each landing a reaffirmation of his purpose. He was a shadow flitting through the night, a specter on a quest that was as much about redemption as it was about reunion. The city around him might have succumbed to the darkness, but James carried his own light within—a flame kindled by the thought of his friend and the hope of a tomorrow that held more than just the struggle to survive.

Through the night, James moved like a ghost, tracing a path through a city that had become a stranger to him, driven by the unyielding force of a promise he had made to himself. He would find his friend, or he would find an end to the search. Either way, he would not stop moving, not stop hoping, not stop fighting, until fate itself told him it was time.

The city lay barren, its once teeming life reduced to silence and shadows. The only signs of movement were the creatures, their forms occasionally silhouetted against the broken skyline, grotesque parodies of the life they once destroyed. They moved without purpose or reason, driven by base instincts that knew only hunger and aggression.

James traversed the cityscape, each step taking him further into the desolation that had claimed the world he once knew. Buildings stood like tombstones, marking the death of the civilization that had built them. The wind carried whispers of the past, rustling through empty streets and overgrown parks, stirring newspapers that spoke of events that seemed like ancient history.

As he journeyed, James found himself alone with his thoughts, a solitary figure against the vast canvas of ruin. The emptiness was suffocating, a physical presence that seemed to press against him from all sides. It was in these moments of isolation that he spoke, his voice a soft but firm defiance against the silence.

"They called it a 'new moon,'" he said to the night, his words dissipating into the air. "But there's nothing 'new' about this desolation. This... Salor," he named it, the word coming to him like a revelation, a fitting title for the celestial interloper that had torn the old moon asunder and brought about this age of darkness.

"Salor," he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue, "you are no moon of mine. You are a harbinger, a herald of the end. But I will not let you dictate the closing of my days."

He paused, looking up at the darkened sky where Salor hung, a brooding presence that seemed to watch the world with indifferent eyes. "You took the night from us," James continued, his monologue a challenge thrown at the heavens, "but I will take back the night. Piece by piece, shadow by shadow, until this world knows light again."

His words were a balm to his soul, a reaffirmation of his purpose amidst the quiet apocalypse. Salor had changed the tides, had altered the very nature of the world, but it would not change James's resolve. He would continue his search, continue to fight, continue to hope, for as long as his heart beat and his lungs drew breath.

With Salor's grim visage overhead, James moved through the city, his form melting into the darkness, a part of it and yet apart from it. The creatures roamed, mindless and without purpose, but James—James had a mission, a promise to keep, and a name for his adversary in the sky. Salor would be a constant reminder, a symbol of what had been lost and what he was fighting to regain.

The night wore on, and James's journey continued, a lone quest in the shadow of Salor, against the backdrop of a world rendered empty and silent by calamity.