Chapter 5 Lia
LIA
The sand moves wrong.
That is the first thing my body tells me—before my brain catches up, before Rakkh growls low in his throat, before Travnyk dips his head in sharp, instinctive warning. The ground does not shift like wind-stirred sand.
It undulates.
A slow waving from beneath the dunes. My pulse stutters. Rakkh steps closer without looking at me, stance widening, claws digging into the slope.
“Back,” he murmurs.
I do not argue. I take one step—two—and then the sand erupts. Not a collapse. An explosion.
A geyser of grit sprays the sky, forcing Tomas to throw an arm over his face. Travnyk shields his eyes, hissing. The dune buckles with a deep, guttural sound—like stone groaning under pressure—then splits open.
And something rises.
Not a worm. Not a carok. Nothing I have ever seen.
It is enormous, thicker than an ancient ship’s column, covered in plate-like ridges that glisten under moonlight like wet bone. Its mouth opens vertically, a blossoming nightmare of dark flesh and rows of serrated teeth. No eyes. Just pits that glimmer faintly—sensing heat, vibration, movement.
A predator built for sand and dark. Some kind of sand burrower. My breath catches. I freeze.
Tomas screams something unintelligible. Travnyk drops into a wide stance, pulling his sword as he growls. Rakkh moves first. Two steps and he is between me and the beast, wings flaring wide in a shield of scale and muscle.
“Stay back,” he snarls.
The burrower lunges.
The sand surges beneath its weight, pushing toward us like a wave. Rakkh rushes forward, claws raking across its leading ridge. Sparks fly—its armor is too thick.
“Left!” I shout before I can think. “The sensory fold—left side! The membrane!”
I do not know how I know. I just see it. A tiny quiver in the thin membrane near its midsection. A thin sliver of soft tissue that is not armored. Rakkh does not question.
He pivots, tail whipping for balance, and drives his claws straight into that weak point. The burrower shrieks—if a horrible, grinding roar counts as a shriek—its body convulsing in a ripple that rocks the dune.
Tomas falls. Travnyk grabs his shoulder, yanking him upright.
The beast flails, sand spraying in sheets. Its mouth snaps open and closed, teeth slicing the air inches from Rakkh’s face. He ducks and shoves his claws deeper, twisting. Black ichor spills down his arm, hissing where it hits the sand.
“Move!” I scream as the burrower buckles sideways.
Rakkh surges backward as the creature slams into the dune. The impact shakes the whole slope. Ridges along its back flare, vibrating in dissonant pulses—and then it burrows under the sand with a roar that rattles my bones.
It is gone.
Silence hits like a slap to the face—shocking in its suddenness.
My knees nearly give out. My lungs struggle to remember how to work. Tomas wheezes, bent in half, hands on his thighs. Travnyk mutters something in Urr’ki. I do not speak the language, but it sounds like it might be a prayer. Rakkh turns toward me.
Ichor drips from his claws, streaking his forearm in black. Sand clings to his scales. His chest rises and falls hard, breaths sharp and ragged. But his eyes go straight to me. Not Tomas. Not Travnyk. Me.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice low and rough like scraped stone.
I shake my head. “No. You?”
“You told me where to strike,” he says softly. “I am alive because of that.”
Heat floods my face. I cannot look at him. Not when my whole body feels scorched from the inside out.
“You would have figured it out,” I mumble.
“No.” His voice does not rise, but something inside it does. Something fierce. “You saw what I did not. You saved us.”
Us.
It echoes in my head like it is bouncing off everything I have ever known.
“He is right. You saw the vulnerability,” Travnyk says, nodding solemnly, tusks gleaming.
Tomas lifts his head, pale and shaken.
“Yeah. I mean—yes. Lia… that was…”
I barely hear them over the sound of Rakkh’s hearts. Twin, steady, like pounding drums lying beneath the heat of battle. He looks at me as if something has changed. And I think… I think it has.
The burrower might have vanished, but the danger has not passed. Not the danger outside—nor the danger between us. Rakkh wipes the ichor from his claws, scans the dune crest, and says in a voice that leaves no room for argument:
“We keep moving. But from now on—” His gaze locks onto mine, molten in the moonlight. “—Lia does not leave my side.”
My pulse surges so hard I feel dizzy. Rakkh’s declaration vibrates, heavy as the double beat of his hearts. Tomas stares like someone just announced the moons are falling out of the sky. Travnyk only nods once, as if Rakkh’s command was expected. Normal.
It is not normal. Nothing about this feels normal.
I take a breath and hold it, trying to steady myself. Beyond us, the dunes are quiet. Too quiet. Rakkh stays angled toward me, his body a wall of muscle between me and the shifting sands.
“Stay behind me,” he says, voice still raw from the fight. “If it returns, I want you where I can reach you.”
“I can fight,” I whisper, but even I hear the tremor in my voice, and there is no doubt he hears it too. His gaze softens, barely.
“I know,” he murmurs. “That is why you stay close.”
Heat spikes low in my belly. Dangerous. Unhelpful. I look toward the ridge to break the moment before I melt into the sand.
“We should move,” Travnyk says, tusks catching the moonlight. “Creatures like that rarely hunt alone.”
A cold chill crawls across the back of my neck.
Rakkh’s tail snaps once behind him—sharp as punctuation—and he motions us forward.
We walk. Not far, but enough that my legs stop shaking and my breath stops catching.
The silence hangs thick, stretched between us like a rope pulled tight at both ends.
Tomas clears his throat. The sound is too loud, too human, and very nervous.
“So, uh… what now?” he asks. “Because I would like to vote we turn back. Maybe warn the others. Maybe… uh… live to see tomorrow?”
Rakkh turns so sharply Tomas stumbles backward, raising his hands in front of himself.
“We do not retreat,” Rakkh says, his voice a rumble.
Tomas opens his mouth, but Travnyk speaks first.
“He is correct,” the Urr’ki murmurs. “This poison spreads fast. Every hour matters.”
“But that thing could still be out there!” Tomas snaps. “And we do not even know what we are walking toward.”
“I do,” I say before I lose my nerve.
Three heads swing toward me. I take a breath, tasting the metal tang still clinging to the wind.
“We are walking toward the source. Toward where the contamination started.”
Rakkh’s body shifts closer to me—slightly, instinctively, like gravity realigning itself.
“You know something more?” he asks quietly.
“The plants are not just dying. They are reacting to something synthetic. Something they are absorbing. The carok was absorbing it too and dying from the inside out.”
Tomas blinks. “But… that does not make sense. Nothing on Tajss is synthetic.”
“Exactly,” I say.
Understanding dawns on Travnyk’s face first. His shoulders tighten. He frowns so deep his tusks tilt in to touch the sides of his broad nose.
“If it is something artificial… it must be buried to corrupt the land like this,” Travnyk says. “Partially, at least.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “And if we are already seeing this much damage… whatever is leaking must be huge.”
“We go forward,” Rakkh says, stepping even closer. His voice drops to a low, rumbling warning.
“Why? Why forward? Why not get help? Why not—” Tomas asks, throwing his hands up.
“Because she already carries the scent of the trail,” Rakkh growls. “If we delay, we lose it. And Tajss loses more.”
His words silence Tomas. Silence me. Because they are not just tactical. They are personal.
“And because the stalker still hunts,” Travnyk adds, tilting his head thoughtfully.
Yes. I feel it. In the sand. In the air, watching and waiting.
The four of us move. Rakkh does not take his eyes off the dunes. Not once. His wings twitch with every ripple of sand. He always stays within easy reach, ready. I should not like that this much. But I do. Gods help me, I do.
“Lia.” Rakkh’s voice is low, just for me. “Tell me what you smell.”
“What I—? Rakkh, I am not a Zmaj.”
“No,” he agrees. “You are something different. Your way of sensing the land is not ours. It is… sharp. Different.” His eyes flash, molten. “Show me where to tread.”
My throat tightens. Calista would faint if she heard a warrior say that. Jolie would laugh herself breathless.
“I am still learning,” I murmur.
“So am I,” he says.
Those three words… I feel in my chest.
We crest another dune, and the wind dies—cut clean. Ahead, the sand lies oddly smooth, as though something recently dragged itself through, and the breeze has not dared disturb it yet. Rakkh stops dead.
“What is that?” Tomas whispers.
“A trail,” I say, crouching. “But not an animal’s.”
Rakkh kneels beside me. His thigh brushes my shoulder and I nearly lose the ability to breathe. He touches the drag-mark lightly.
“Metal,” he says. “Something heavy. Pulled through the sand.”
“Exactly. This is not erosion. Something was dragged… or something crawled… or something crashed.”
Tomas makes a sound like he might vomit. Travnyk says nothing as he lowers his head, thoughtful. Rakkh speaks last, voice molten and quiet.
“We follow.”
I swallow, hard, because I have a good idea what lies down this trail. Not exactly. But enough to understand that whatever is ahead is not natural. Not Tajss. Not meant to be here.
The metal piece in my pocket feels heavier, as if it is gaining weight with every step.
We take a step forward. Then another. And the dunes ahead tremble—subtle, faint, like something deep under the sand is turning in its sleep.
Rakkh’s arm brushes mine. His voice dips low.
“Stay very close, Lia.”
I do. Gods help me, I do.