A vast expanse of glass stretched across the horizon, just wide enough that one couldn’t tell where it ended or where it began. Sunlight reflected off of the murky surface in a way that would blind anyone who directly looked at it. Once you got past that though, the pale green and hues of the landscape were quite extraordinary. Some areas were perfectly smooth, curves and contours flowing into natural hills. Others were heavily faceted as if a jeweler had expertly cut them with fine precision, forming jagged outcrops and cliffs.

The Glassway, people called it.

No historian or scientist could quite pinpoint exactly how the Glassway had formed, but the debates about it had long since quieted. Some people lived in a fantasy that it was a divine creation from heavenly spirits. Others presumed it had been a normal and sandy desert at one time, terraformed by the intense heat of the warheads and hellfire that rained from the sky centuries ago like an enormous kiln. 

Despite its beauty however, the Glassway wasn’t quite a hospitable area to live. The surface absorbed the sun’s rays with ease, creating a ground that was often hot enough to fry an egg. Without soil, plants refused to grow in the area, and without a steady supply of food animals weren’t too keen on it either. Thankfully The Glassway was an anomaly, and not the norm. It only stretched for a dozen or so miles before the glass quickly turned back into a sandy environment that some creatures could thrive in.

One sign of civilization stood strong though, easily noticeable from even miles away due to the mostly flat expanse it was settled on. Lowlam had primarily been founded as a small research base to study the Glassway, but quickly expanded into a small town that was home to nearly four hundred people. More if you counted the heavy foot traffic of travelers and merchants passing through from the Barrens.

A mile out from the city sat a small encampment, a large vehicle with six wheels parked next to what appeared to be a freshly dug ditch. A steady hammering and cracking could be heard from the hole, presumably from the owner of the vehicle. An awning extended over a broken lawn chair and small fire fit, the fabric torn and a bit tattered, having seen better days.

Rontu wiped his brow, setting his rock pick aside and sitting back on his rear. He breathed out an exasperated sigh of frustration and weariness.  A hand ran through his matted gray hair that betrayed the fact that he appeared to be in his late twenties at most. Working in the desert was never fun, at least during the day. Not when the ground was nearly entirely made up of a dense and reflective glass. Light constantly shone in his eyes, even with a pair of tinted goggles. Skin contact with the surface during the day was practically asking for a blistering burn. Rontu only made that mistake once before, and every trip afterwards had his slender frame nearly covered from the neck down in some sort of clothing.

Rontu stood up and surveyed his work. He’d made more progress than he had thought, standing in a trench nearly twice as deep as he was tall. It stretched for forty feet or so behind him, gently sloping upwards to ground level. It would be quite impressive for a one man job, but the crystal of the Glassway was rather fragile. Single swings could easily break chunks apart if you had the intent.

He moved to a satchel that was hanging from a spike he had impaled into the side of the trench wall, opening it and pulling out a canteen. It took him all but a second to unscrew the cap and begin greedily drinking from it, a bit of excess water running from the corner of his mouth for a moment before he pulled it from his lips, unsatisfied with the amount left in the container. Shrugging his shoulders, he placed it back inside, careful to not damage any of the specimens he had collected from within his makeshift mine. 

Geology was something that fascinated Rontu. A look into the past, how the very Earth he stood on formed. There was always history in every rock, and most of them were damn pretty to boot, Lowlam was a hotspot for rare gems and the occasional fossil or insect trapped inside the glass. Unfortunately the local government was pretty strict on digging or damaging the glass in or near the actual settlement. Constructing the buildings and infrastructure had already done enough of that, leading people like Rontu to venture far outside of the city limits to engage with their prospecting fantasies.

The sun was slowly getting lower, hinting that he had maybe another half an hour or so before he needed to pack up and get back to Lowlam. As much as he loved being on the glass, it was far from a campground he wanted to stay at alone. He bent down to grab his rock pick, pausing as something glinted in the corner of his vision. Well, everything glinted in the Glassway, but it was a different type of reflection. The kind that only a talented geoscientist could use to discern glass from something far more valuable: Gems and treasures.

Rontu took a step back and smirked, gripping his pick with one hand and swinging it with enough force to puncture the surrounding area. Several more swings easily chipped away in a rapidly forming circle. It seemed reckless to the untrained eye, but Rontu had nearly perfected the art of quickly excavating anything that caught his attention. After a few more swings, he had carved out enough space to fit his hands, his prize looking like a small meteor nestled in a crater of its own making. Two rough tugs was all it took to dislodge the chunk from its resting place. Rontu set to work.

A chisel and a bit of finesse were two incredibly important tools to have when cleaning up a find. Too rough and you risked damaging your goods. Too gentle and you weren’t getting through mother nature’s protection. Scraping and cutting, it didn’t take long for Rontu to trim down the excess glass that hung off of whatever it was that he found, leaving just enough that it was still encased yet identifiable. 

Except, identifiable wasn’t really what this was.

Rontu’s eyes squinted at the object, two verdant scanners looking over his discovery with more confusion than knowledge.

“The hell is this?” he huffed out loud to himself.

He could make out a small cylinder, no wider than the handle of his rock pick and just a tad longer than his index finger. One end seemed to flare slightly, making a trapezoidal cone like a stubby arrowhead. It didn’t shine in the same way lustrous gems did, but light did reflect from its silvery exterior in its own kind of pretty way. He’d have to examine it in town where he had more precise tools. His best guess was something along the lines of old data, which was exciting in its own right.

Shrugging, Rontu turned back to his bag and carefully slid the hidden treasure into its own pocket away from the rest of his stock. It had been a good day, all things considered. He had plenty of finds to keep him busy for a week or so and it was unlikely anyone would mess with or take over his spot. Miner’s code and whatnot.

He shouldered his bag, clipping it to his chest for safekeeping and swinging it to hang around his back as he grabbed onto the spike he had hammered into the wall. As he did, he looked to the left, eyes widening ever so slightly as he gripped the metal.

A dark ichor slowly made its way down the wall, zigzagging across the facets of the glass wall and staining it crimson. It reminded Rontu of the stained glass he had seen the glassblowers make, though it was more...morbid. He gulped and slowly raised his head. Less than six feet from his head was one of his worst fears. Not just his, but anyone who had to brave the Barrens and wastes of this world. Even trained soldiers looked ill when they were discussed.

A jagged maw hung open, dripping the fluid Rontu had seen before. It was lined with teeth so varied in size and shape it appeared like they all came from different creatures. Clawed hands gripped the edge of the trench with enough force that hairline fractures could be seen expanding across the surface like tiny spiderwebs. He locked eyes with the creature, or where they would be if it had them. Instead it had merely deep-set sockets covered in a thin flesh, an unblinking face.

There was one thing even the bravest men in the Glassway- no, the world, were terrified of.

The monster let out a low growl that sounded like a mixture of an infant crying and a canine whining, sending a shiver down Rontu’s spine and bringing tears to the corners of his eyes.

Honno.