4. Jax
JAX
S ophie keeps moving even when the desert is clearly done negotiating.
She rides the crawler’s rear step when the ground allows it, drops to walk when the terrain turns too rough, then climbs back on without being asked.
Her steps stay stubbornly even, her breathing controlled in a way that tells me she’s hurting and refuses to admit it.
Sweat darkens the collar of her borrowed clothes.
Sand clings to her skin. Every few minutes she wipes her face with the back of her hand and lifts her chin like daring Zhankar to say something about it.
That kind of determination gets people killed here.
It also makes it hard to look away.
“You’re pushing,” I say, keeping my tone neutral as I guide the crawler through a field of broken stone, engine growling low.
She doesn’t slow. “I’m walking.”
“Those are different things.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “You always narrate other people’s bad decisions, or am I special?”
“Only when I care if they survive.”
The words land heavier than I intend. I hear it the second they leave my mouth.
Sophie pauses, just long enough to glance at me, then faces forward again. “Lucky me.”
I should leave it there. Personal attachments are a mistake. Temple training drilled that into me young enough that it lives in my bones. You protect the many, not the one. You move on. You do not linger.
She makes lingering difficult.
We crest a low ridge, the crawler’s suspension groaning softly as it tops the rise, and the land opens up into a basin of cracked earth and scattered stone formations that bake under the sun like punishment.
Heat shimmers in layers, bending distance until it’s impossible to judge how far anything really is.
Sweetwater lies somewhere beyond that distortion.
“Still think you can just find your father and leave?” I ask, watching her take it in.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “I didn’t come this far to turn around.”
I nod once. “Fair warning, then.”
She arches an eyebrow. “That sounded ominous.”
“Zhankar doesn’t care about intent,” I say. “Only endurance.”
We move until the sun drops low enough to take the edge off the heat, light turning coppery and sharp.
I call for camp when I see the ground dip just enough to offer cover.
The crawler rolls into position automatically, nose angled toward the prevailing wind, bulk shielding us from open sightlines.
Sophie doesn’t argue this time. That worries me more than if she had.
I set us up quickly, movements efficient, practiced.
The crawler becomes the spine of the camp: gear stowed against its flank, shade rigged from its frame, heat-baffled fire dug low beneath its lee.
Water gets rationed carefully. The desert hums around us, alive in ways off-worlders never expect.
The air smells mineral-heavy, dust and dry stone layered with something faintly metallic that never quite goes away.
Sophie sits with her back against the crawler’s armored side, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them.
“You always this quiet?” she asks after a while.
“Usually quieter.”
She snorts. “Figures.”
I toss her a ration pack from the crawler’s storage rack. “Eat.”
She grimaces at it. “If I die from this instead of the planet, I’m haunting you.”
“You’ll be too dehydrated to haunt anyone.”
She eats anyway.
Night settles fast, the temperature dropping just enough to make the heat feel like a memory instead of a threat. Stars spill across the sky, brutal and endless. The crawler’s metal ticks softly as it cools, a steady, familiar sound. Sophie stares up at the stars longer than necessary.
“They look different,” she says.
“They’re not filtered,” I reply. “No orbital junk. No satellites.”
She swallows. “Feels…exposed.”
“That’s because you are.”
She laughs quietly, though there’s no humor in it. “You’re not great at reassurance.”
“Not my job.”
She studies me for a moment. “So what is your job, really?”
I keep my eyes on the perimeter, hand resting on the crawler’s frame like it’s a living thing. “I told you.”
“Guardian,” she says. “That’s vague.”
“It’s meant to be.”
She shifts closer to the fire, lowering her voice. “Who did you guard before this place?”
The question slides under my defenses because it isn’t prying, not exactly. It’s curious. Human.
“I grew up here,” I say after a beat. “Zhankar raised me. Temple took me in when I survived long enough to be useful.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Temple?”
“Old order. Trains fighters. Medics. Scouts. People who keep settlements breathing.”
“And you just…wander?”
“I go where I’m needed.”
“That sounds lonely.”
I shrug. “Lonely keeps you focused.”
She watches me like she wants to argue, then thinks better of it. “You ever want more?”
The fire pops softly.
“Wanting more gets people killed,” I say.
She looks away, lips pressed thin.
We settle into uneasy quiet. I stay half-alert, senses stretched wide, body attuned to the land. The crawler looms at my back, mass and metal and memory, part shelter and part warning. Zhankar rarely gives you a peaceful night without charging interest.
The first sign is sound.
Not loud. Not obvious. Wrong.
I feel it more than hear it, a subtle disruption in the rhythm of the desert. My muscles tense instantly.
“Sophie,” I whisper.
She’s already moving, eyes on me, fear sharp and contained. “What is it.”
“Raiders.”
Her breath catches. “Makra?”
“Likely.”
“How many.”
“Enough.”
The perimeter trap snaps quietly, severed rather than triggered. Clever. My jaw tightens.
“Get low,” I murmur. “Stay close to the crawler.”
Figures peel out of the dark like they were grown there, moving with practiced coordination. Shapes armored in scavenged plating, faces hidden, weapons crude but effective.
I step forward, putting myself between them and the crawler, and Sophie beyond it.
“Leave,” I call out. “Not worth the blood.”
Laughter answers me, ugly and eager.
One charges.
I meet him head-on.
My body moves before thought catches up. I pivot inside his reach, drive my palm into his throat, feel cartilage collapse under controlled force. He drops, choking, eyes wide with surprise.
Another comes from the side. I duck, sweep his legs, follow him down, knee driving into his chest until breath explodes out of him in a wet gasp. Bone cracks under my elbow as I finish it.
A third rushes Sophie, trying to circle around the crawler.
“No,” I growl.
I cross the distance in a burst, slamming into him shoulder-first, momentum taking us both into the dirt beside the crawler’s wheel. His head snaps back when my fist connects. He doesn’t get back up.
Shouts ring out. Movement everywhere now.
A blow glances off my ribs. Pain blooms, sharp and hot. I grab the wrist, twist, dislocate it cleanly. The scream cuts off abruptly when my knee meets his face.
“Sophie!” I shout without looking.
“I’m here!” she yells back.
I pivot just in time to see another raider raising a weapon.
Light detonates.
The flare streaks upward, screaming, bathing the camp in harsh red-white brilliance. Shadows scatter. Raiders curse, stumble, shields raised too late.
Sophie stands braced against the crawler, arm shaking, flare gun smoking.
“Back off!” she screams.
The distraction is everything.
I move fast, brutal, efficient. Elbow to throat. Heel to knee. Fingers driving into pressure points the Temple drilled into me until they became instinct. Bodies fall. Breath leaves lungs and doesn’t return.
One breaks and runs.
I let him.
Silence slams back down hard enough to ring.
I turn to Sophie immediately, scanning her head to toe. “You hurt?”
She shakes her head, eyes glassy, adrenaline still flooding her system. “No. I think—no.”
“You did good,” I say, and mean it.
She swallows. “I didn’t freeze.”
“No,” I agree. “You didn’t.”
The flare gutters out, leaving smoke and the smell of burned propellant hanging in the air. The crawler’s bulk looms steady and unmoved, scarred but standing. My hands shake now that it’s over. I force them still.
Zhankar tried to take her tonight.
She fought back.
Respect settles in my chest, heavy and undeniable.
She meets my gaze, something new there. Not fear. Not bravado.
Understanding.
“This planet would’ve killed me already,” she says quietly, “if not for you.”
I exhale slowly. “It still might.”
She nods. “Then I’ll keep learning how not to let it.”
Against my better judgment, I believe her.