Eden's Bad Apples

It wasn't an understatement to say that half of the city itself had been massacred. Posts, buildings, stalls and streets, those which were nearest to the gate Atlas had come from, had been melted down by the Zorthulax's poison. Was this also one of the creature's of the depths instincts? To undo all of that civilization had built on this land? It was a question without an answer, but a question that made many academics have sleepless nights nonetheless.

The silence was eerie and the surrounding atmosphere felt too thick and thin all at once, even more so when one considered that the market Atlas was currently passing on used to be a city's center of bustle, its kaleidoscope of life.

Atlas grabbed his chest, his heart beating unnaturally loud, as he searched for the tram station. - "I thought I was past these kinds of emotions...." - It was a gruelling walk until he had managed to find the latter.

As he was preparing to resume his journey once more, Atlas could not help but to take the scenery of the fallen city he was leaving behind one last time.

A defeated sigh escaped from his lips because he knew that it was a matter of time before the Quanta reclaimed the Dome and with it, the city in front of him.

With that thought in mind along with the feelings creeping within, Atlas pulled his dagger out, pressing the fist that held it against his heart. With a careful step, he planted one foot forward and sank one knee, his back remaining perfectly straight as he did so, then he bowed down - for the soldiers who had felled a calamity like the Zorthulax, for the innocent people resting within the city and, even if Atlas himself or anyone else for that matter would never learn, for the cherished memories of everyone who had lived within - for he would be be the last living being to go through this city's high ashen gates.

The bow lasted a full minute. Afterwards, Atlas left decisively, his speed faster than the one he had come in. Not once did he look back.

*****

From then on, Atlas had made it his priority not to linger in a place for too long, only occasionally stopping to rest and check that he was still going on the correct direction or to offer his respects to the fallen. It was only after repeating this routine for half a day did he finally catch a glimpse at the monolithic walls of the Dome's capital.

Nochae is the capital's name, and by the empire's naming convention this is also the Dome's. Even within the Empire's thousand Domes, this was a place infamous for its debauchery.

Its nightlife was second to none, gambling dens, lawless streets and large red light districts. It was the very example of what the nobles of the inner ring thought a Dome in the outer ring to be like - lawless, filthy and corrupt.

"Hypocrites..... I'd barter my coin on the fact that not a single one of them is untouched by drugs" - It was a well known secret that they did. - "...No gentry untouched by vice"

This was a common saying in the empire and it was part of a triplet famous to the populace: No officer's word is worth the ink, coin speaks lounder than honour and no gentry untouched by vice. Atlas thought about this as he approached Nochae.

"But of course, there's no use about thinking about this place's debauchery now...."

When he was close enough to distinguish each of the buildings within the walls, he dismounted from the railway, opting for the steathiness that came from travelling on foot instead.

He felt the urge to look into the sky and when he did, everywhere he looked at in the horizon in front of was covered by the Acacia.

"The tree of life..." - Atlas internalised as he felt the dryness in his mouth. He was now close enough to realise that his fears had come true. Similar to the "woodpile" he had examined when he first entered the Dome, the Acacia in front of him had taken the colour of ash.

How did it ever come to this? Some of those that had managed to get out mentioned it malfunctioning, the light within its crown giving out before the fateful moment in which the monsters of the fog decided to break in.

- "Or so we have been told through word of mouth...." - But this was no machine but an eternal being that preceded the Empire itself; it could not just decide to suddenly malfunction. - "Because if it did then, none....." - Atlas decided not to finish his own thoughts.

It was for this reason that none wanted to believe it to be the truth, Atlas, well, he had seen enough in his short life so as not to rapidly dismiss the impossible and now, he was a step closer on figuring out whether the survivors had indeed been telling no lies.

Atlas entered Nochae, being careful not to alert anything that might have made this place its lair. He had expected to see a similar scenery to the other districts he had been in. But as he went in even deeper, breath caught in his throat, an icy grip of disbelief wrapping itself around his back.

"Something's wrong here..." - It was as if the city hadn't been besieged at all. Nochae's streets were meticulously maintained yet hauntingly empty and the silence was punctuated by the sounds made by a streetlight flickering intermittently. The buildings were also intact, with not a single blemish in their surface to be seen.

This situation made it all the more haunting. Almost instictually, from this point on, Atlas only slithered from shadow to shadow, taking care so as not let even the tiniest sound escape from his body, as he made his way towards the Acacia.

It was in front of it that he was shown undeniably proof of the survivor's words - "....What the...." - for this was a sight that would make even the most devout Accians lose faith.

The tree's trunk was riddled with deep, jagged cracks, weaving like scars across its surface. On some spots, they had become so big that the bark had started splintering.

*Thrum-crk* *Thrum-crk* *Thrum-crk*

Then suddenly, before Atlas could even make sense of what had happened to the Acacia, like the first note of a dirge sung from the depths of the soul, a resonant crack, originating from the bark, resounded throughout the surroundings.

*Thrum-crk* *Thrum-crk* *Thrum-crk*

As if it had been the start of a performance, groans rippled from the Acacia's timber in rising waves, each fracture a powerful, aching mournful crescendo - an act accentuated by the relentless drumming Atlas could hear in his ears.

It was the pillar that held up the skies.

It was the pillar that held up their entire world.

A being that had protected humanity after the Hollowing.

The drumming within Atlas's ears was becoming unbearable, each beat heavier and more insistent, as if his blood itself itself was roaring with urgency.

*Crraaacck*

A long wavering moan, until with a final piercing crack, the trunk sank under its own weight.

*Craashh*

Dust and debris followed, billowing into the air, finally forcing Atlas to break his gaze away from the Acacia before running to take cover within the nearest building.