Leaving Xylos

The blinding white light subsided, replaced by an inky blackness that disoriented Brad. His stomach lurched, a sickening sensation of weightlessness overwhelming him. He flailed his limbs, panic clawing at his throat. He was falling.

Then, with a jolt, he hit water. The impact knocked the breath out of him, a searing pain shooting through his limbs. He choked and sputtered, the taste of salt heavy in his mouth. Disoriented, he struggled to the surface, gasping for air.

He treaded water, his vision adjusting to the dim moonlight. He was in a vast ocean, waves crashing around him. The vessel, his cobbled-together escape pod, bobbed precariously nearby, a testament to the ingenuity of Xylos technology and his own hard work.

Relief washed over him, a wave so powerful it almost eclipsed the fear churning in his gut. He had escaped Xylos, the metallic city and its monstrous inhabitants a fading nightmare. Now, he was adrift in an unknown world, a lone speck at the mercy of the elements.

Using the meager survival training gleaned from the System's database, he maneuvered himself towards the escape pod. Hauling himself onboard, he collapsed onto the cramped metal floor, exhaustion claiming him. He had built a vessel capable of interstellar travel, but navigating it through the vast emptiness of space was a skill he sorely lacked.

As dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, the System's voice echoed in his mind, devoid of its usual clinical tone. "Emergency protocols initiated. Escape pod critically damaged. Life support systems failing."

Brad's heart hammered against his ribs. He wasn't just lost; he was dying. Panic threatened to consume him, but a deep breath forced it back. He had faced death before, and somehow, he had survived. He wouldn't give up now.

"System," he rasped, his voice hoarse from saltwater. "Any chance of repairs?"

A long pause followed, then the System replied, "Limited options available. Basic repairs possible with sufficient resources."

Resources. He scanned the pod's interior, his gaze landing on a dented metal toolbox bolted to the wall. Inside, he found a meager collection of tools – wrenches, screwdrivers, and a strange device that resembled a miniaturized welder. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Following the System's instructions, Brad spent the next few hours hunched over the damaged control panel. He spliced wires, patched flickering lights, and replaced burnt-out components. It was a delicate dance, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate hope for survival.

Finally, with a sputter and a cough, the control panel flickered back to life. Relief washed over him, so intense it brought tears to his eyes. He had bought himself some time, but for how long? The vast expanse of the ocean mocked his accomplishment.

The System chimed in, its voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction. "Emergency repairs successful. Life support systems operational at minimum capacity. Current location: Unidentified oceanic region."

Unidentified. The word hung heavy in the air. He had no idea where he was, no way to contact help. He was a solitary speck, adrift in an endless blue expanse.

Days bled into nights, the sun a relentless tormentor, the moon a silent observer. His meager rations dwindled, hunger gnawing at his insides. He caught fish with a makeshift net, the raw flesh a poor substitute for the dehydrated bars he had grown accustomed to.

Despair gnawed at him, a constant companion in his solitude. He had escaped Xylos, but had he simply traded one prison for another? Was this endless ocean to be his final resting place?

Then, on the horizon, a flicker of hope. A dark shape emerged from the misty haze, growing larger with each passing moment. Land. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. He wasn't alone.

As he drew closer, the island came into sharper focus. Towering cliffs rose from the emerald green landscape, capped with snow-capped peaks. He steered the escape pod towards a small cove, a sliver of beach nestled between the jagged rocks.

With a final groan, the escape pod ran aground, the mangled hull scraping against the sand. Brad stumbled out, his legs wobbly from disuse. He fell to his knees, the solid ground beneath him a foreign sensation. He had made it. He was alive.

Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his surroundings. The air was crisp and clean, the scent of pine and damp earth a welcome change from the metallic tang of Xylos.

Brad crouched behind a jagged rock, the coarse texture biting into his palms. He strained his ears, the rhythmic crash of waves against the cove the only sound breaking the silence. The island was unnaturally quiet, devoid of the usual sounds of life.

He had beached the escape pod just before nightfall, collapsing on the sand in a blissful stupor. Now, with the rising sun painting the sky in vibrant hues, he was filled with a cautious optimism. Land, any land, was better than the endless ocean.

Carefully, he peeked around the rock. The cove was small, barely large enough to accommodate his escape pod. A narrow path snaked its way inland, disappearing into a dense forest that carpeted the lower slopes of the mountains.

Taking a deep breath, Brad shouldered his makeshift backpack, a cobbled-together affair from the escape pod's salvaged materials. He gripped the strange welding tool in his hand, a meager weapon but the best he had. Leaving the pod behind, he ventured into the unknown.

The forest floor was damp and spongy, littered with fallen leaves that crunched under his boots. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, casting the path in an eerie twilight. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth.

As he ventured deeper, an unsettling feeling began to gnaw at him. The island felt… wrong. An unnatural stillness hung heavy in the air, the absence of birdsong particularly unnerving. He quickened his pace, his hand constantly hovering near the welding tool.

After what felt like an eternity, the forest began to thin. He emerged into a clearing, his breath catching in his throat. Before him lay the ruins of a vast city, its once magnificent structures now mere skeletons of stone, ravaged by time and the elements.

Towers, their tops clawed by the wind, reached towards the sky like decaying teeth. Crumbling arches and shattered walls spoke of a forgotten civilization, its secrets buried beneath layers of dust and debris. An overwhelming sense of desolation washed over him.

Suddenly, a glint of movement caught his eye. A large, dark shape perched atop a crumbling wall, its obsidian scales shimmering in the filtered sunlight. A dragon. But unlike the fire-breathing beasts of Westeros, this one was smaller, its form emaciated and sickly.

Brad froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. Dragons were mythical creatures, the stuff of legends. To see one alive, even in this weakened state, filled him with a mixture of awe and terror.

The dragon stirred, its head swiveling towards him. For a heart-stopping moment, their eyes locked. Its gaze was intelligent, filled with a melancholic weariness that sent shivers down his spine.

Then, with a rasping cough, the dragon launched itself from the wall, its wings beating with a lethargy that belied its immense size. It soared away, a mournful cry echoing through the ruins, its destination lost in the swirling mists.

Brad stared after it, his mind reeling. This wasn't just any random island. This was a place steeped in history, a remnant of the once-mighty Valyrian Freehold, the cradle of dragonlords. The weakened dragon was a stark reminder of their downfall, a chilling testament to the power and fragility of empires.

He took a tentative step forward, curiosity warring with caution. This was a place of secrets, a place where the past whispered on the wind. He didn't know what dangers awaited him within these ruins, but one thing was certain – his journey had taken an unexpected and potentially perilous turn.