Chapter 25 Korr
KORR
The temperature shifts as we step outside. I stand still, letting my eyes and instincts recalibrate.
The suns are still low, first light slanting across broken stone and metal.
There are remnants of an old street beneath the sand, compacted and uneven.
The wind behaves strangely here, funneling between structures and carrying sound farther than it should before swallowing it whole.
I mark that. Sound discipline will matter.
Behind me, Talia adjusts her stance carefully, favoring her damaged ankle, but she’s upright on her own. She doesn’t comment on the pain and I give her the respect of not asking. Illadon and Rverre flank her. We fan out just enough to see without breaking cohesion.
“It’s different than Draconov,” Illadon says.
“What is that word?” I ask.
Illadon gives me a look of confusion, but Talia intervenes.
“The last city here on Tajss we lived in,” she says. “Illadon and Rverre were born there, before we had to set off the bomb to repel the Invaders. Before the bunker. Before… we met your kind.”
I nod, unsure what to say. She has had much life before I met her.
Falling from the stars, crashing onto Tajss, and all that happened to her and her kind.
The humans have been a catalyst for change on the planet.
Without them, we Urr’ki would still be under the ground, under the thumb of the Shaman.
Our Queen would not be returned. Odds are great I would be dead by now.
“You’ve never seen a city?” Illadon asks.
“Not like this,” I say.
He nods thoughtfully.
“Draconov was my dad’s city. He owned it. Ruled it,” he stand straighter, shoulders squared, head tilted back with pride.
“He is a good warrior,” I agree, not willing to argue with a son who is proud of his father.
“The best,” Illadon says with a sharp nod.
I grunt, feeling no need for further response.
“This is a lot different,” Talia says quietly, scanning the skyline. “It’s spread out in what looks like districts.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Which means routes. And choke points.”
Illadon nods, eyes tracking upward. “And places to get trapped.”
“Or protected,” Talia counters.
Both are true. That’s the problem.
I move another few steps forward, stopping where a collapsed roadway slopes down into shadow. I don’t descend. I study the angles, the way debris has settled. Nothing fresh. No signs of recent disturbance. Time has done its work here slowly, not violently.
Rverre crouches, pressing her palm to exposed stone. She doesn’t hum. That absence tells me more than sound would.
“It remembers,” she says after a moment. “People. It’s calling.”
“Meaning?” Illadon asks.
Rverre doesn’t answer right away. That alone raises my alertness. I strain every sense out, trying to see everything at once, while also maintaining a calm exterior. I do not want to alarm them, no matter the way the back of my neck itches and it feels as if we’re being watched.
Rverre remains crouched, palm pressed flat to the exposed stone, eyes unfocused. Her wings twitch once, then still. Illadon watches her closely, posture coiled, ready.
“It remembers,” she says again, quieter. “People. Movement. Paths.”
“Paths?” Illadon asks.
She nods. “Used ones.”
I straighten slowly, scanning the buildings again.
The structures aren’t random. They rise in layers, density increasing the farther inward we look.
What appeared chaotic from a distance resolves into intent at closer range.
Streets curve where they should have gone straight.
Alleys narrow in ways that funnel rather than divide.
Sightlines break abruptly, forcing turns that feel… guided.
Someone planned this place. Or adapted it.
“We don’t go straight in,” I say. “Not yet.”
Talia nods immediately. Too quickly. She feels it too.
“Flank first,” she says. “Edge structures. Learn how it lays out before we step into its heart.”
Her instincts are good. Sharp. Dragoste swells from somewhere deep inside. Surging desire to claim, to protect, to pronounce. I take a deep breath, tightening my jaw to keep my tongue from betraying me.
She looks over for confirmation and our eyes lock. My lips part. My tongue rises. The words are there…
I look away and nod sharply. Her quick inhale fills me with regrets that I do not have time for. I avoid her eyes, motioning to move.
We angle east, moving parallel to what must have once been a primary route. I take point keeping the pace measured. This isn’t clearing ground. It’s listening with our feet.
The deeper we go, the stranger the acoustics become. Wind slips between buildings and vanishes. Sounds carry too far, then cut off sharply, swallowed by geometry instead of distance. Even our footsteps feel muted, as if the ground is deciding which ones deserve an echo.
Talia adjusts her stride to stay upright.
I don’t comment. The effort shows anyway.
Sweat beads at her temple despite the cooling air.
Her jaw stays tight. She’s pushing. I want to carry her again.
If nothing else to stop and let her rest but there are too many places for danger to hide and no place that looks safe.
Illadon drifts closer to Rverre without being told. Not protective panic—coordination. They move like they’ve practiced this in their heads. That bothers me more than it should. They have had to grow faster than a child should, but I should not be surprised.
We Urr’ki thought the Zmaj lives were easier. They had taken so much from us, driven us deeper and deeper underground until we had only one last refuge. Our children had no chance, but I thought the Zmaj would be different. Seeing it… stirs something.
This world must change. Our children must be given time to come of age.
Not forced by the demands of survival. Tajss is a harsh mistress, but she provides.
I cannot believe that this is her will. Maybe I’m a fool, but I want more for my children.
In my peripheral Talia forces her way on.
Strong in will, body, and mind. She will be a good mother.
A loud clink jerks my attention to the side as we pass a low structure with its roof partially intact. It’s an old sign that clings to the facade, swinging in the breeze. The letters are worn smooth by sand and time. I can’t read it, but the shapes suggest a place of trading.
“Someone stripped this place carefully,” Talia murmurs, peering through what was once a window, but is now an opening. “Not scavengers. Survivors.”
“Yes,” I agree, glancing inside and assessing. “Which means they planned to stay alive.”
That’s when I feel it. Not sound and not movement. Attention.
The sensation crawls up my spine, the unmistakable awareness of being measured. Tracked. As if we’ve crossed an invisible boundary and something is now counting our steps. I slow. The others match me instinctively.
“Do you feel that?” Illadon asks under his breath.
Rverre nods. “They’re quiet.”
“Who?” Talia asks.
Rverre doesn’t look at her. Her gaze stays fixed on the shadowed upper levels of the buildings.
“People who don’t want to be found,” she says.
My stomach clenches tight as I scan the world around us. I draw my blade, holding it low. I lead us ahead, then signal a halt near a cluster of half-collapsed storefronts. Enough cover to back into. Enough angles to make approach costly.
“Hold here,” I say.
No one argues. The city doesn’t change, which is worse.
There is no sudden noise. No visible threat.
Just the persistent sense that we’ve been slotted into a pattern that existed before we arrived.
Talia shifts her weight and hisses softly before she can stop herself. Her hand presses briefly to the wall.
“You’re hurting,” I say quietly.
“I’m functional,” she replies, just as quietly.
A lie we both recognize. Illadon’s gaze flicks between us, then outward again.
“We should pull back.”
“No,” Rverre says.
She straightens, wings flaring slightly before she reins them in.
“They’re deciding,” she adds. “Leaving now would… answer the wrong question.”
“What question?” Illadon asks.
Rverre swallows. “Whether we’re prey.”
The air shifts and I hear it then. The faintest scrape of stone against stone. Too deliberate to be collapse. Too controlled to be natural. I lift my hand slowly, signaling silence.
From the corners of my vision, shapes detach from shadow. High ground. Low ground. Behind broken facades. On elevated walkways I didn’t see until now.
They aren’t rushing. They’re closing. A ring tightening by degrees, careful not to announce itself too soon. Talia’s breath catches. Illadon’s grip tightens on his weapon. Rverre goes very still.
I step half a pace in front of them, widening my stance, counting exits even as they disappear. They aren’t attacking, yet, but we are no longer alone.