Chapter 6 Lia
LIA
The trail stretches ahead like a wound carved into the desert. The sand is too smooth. It looks deliberate, and it seems as if even the wind avoids it—like it is afraid to erase what happened here.
Stop. I am letting my imagination run wild.
I rein it in, quit anthropomorphizing sand and wind. My overreactive creative mind sometimes gets the best of me. Jolie enjoys it, but Calista does not—she is the more serious of the two.
Rakkh stays close enough that his shadow folds over mine, blocking the moons every few steps. I should find that irritating or distracting, but Gods help me, I do not.
The others follow in tight formation, Tomas muttering under his breath about how we should turn back, Travnyk silent as death. The wind rises—slow at first, then prickling sharp across my cheeks, carrying that metallic tang that teases my senses.
“We should be careful,” I say quietly. “This path… whatever made it… it is recent.”
“How recent?” Tomas asks, voice thin.
I crouch, brushing my fingers over the smooth channel. I am not a tracker, but I do know Tajss—how the ground flows, how the sand drifts, and how it shapes the ecosystem.
“Hours. Maybe less,” I say—educated, but still a guess.
Rakkh lowers beside me in one fluid motion, our knees almost touching. His presence is a furnace, radiating out in a steady wave.
“Something was dragged,” he murmurs. “Heavy. Burdened.”
“The sick carok,” I whisper. “The plants. If something crashed… and it is leaking… this might be the path toward the source of the contamination.”
Rakkh’s voice deepens. “Or something dragged a body.”
A chill spiders down my spine. Tomas swears softly. Travnyk exhales through his tusks, a low, raspy sound. I stand quickly, needing movement to break the moment. The air feels thick—too thick—like the night has gone still on purpose.
“We need to keep going,” I say. “Before the wind covers it.”
But the wind does not move at all. Rakkh’s wings twitch. His brow furrows.
“The dunes are too quiet,” he mutters.
“No insects. No wind. No small creatures,” Travnyk says, nodding.
“It is because of the poison.” I swallow. “It is killing more than we realize.”
“Or,” Tomas says, voice cracking, “because there is something big up ahead and everything else is hiding.”
“Fear without purpose weakens the group,” Rakkh says, shooting him a look sharp enough to cut him in half.
Tomas shuts up immediately. I walk ahead, following the trail deeper into the valley between two dunes. Rakkh falls into step with me—slightly ahead, slightly angled, always blocking the direction danger feels strongest.
“Do not hover,” I murmur, trying to pretend my heart is not beating too fast because of him.
He does not answer, but he sways his tail closer, deliberately brushing my boot. Heat flares under my skin. Did he just smile?
The trail widens. The sand shifts in strange patterns. Ahead, the moons catch something else—something stark against the sand. A patch of dead brush. Blackened. Desiccated. And beyond it—my breath stutters.
A skeletal creature sprawls, half-buried in the dunes. Larger than the carok. Much larger. Ribs like curved blades. Legs twisted. Hide rotted away, leaving streaks of soot-black flesh. Travnyk curses under his breath. Tomas stumbles backward. Rakkh walks straight toward it.
I follow, the sickly smell punching me in the gut. It is worse than the carok. Older, maybe, but just as wrong. I crouch, pushing back the sand around the creature’s side. The flesh underneath crumbles—peeling like charred skin.
“Same pattern,” I whisper. “Internal decay. Chemical poisoning. But this one is…”
Travnyk kneels on the other side. “Much larger.”
Rakkh stands over me, his shadow covering the entire carcass.
“Whatever poisoned this,” Rakkh murmurs, “it spreads quickly. Faster than the carok.”
I nod tightly. “And across species. That means—”
“Water,” Rakkh finishes. “It is moving through the water under the sand.”
A chill unlike any predator’s shadow runs through me. Yes. That is exactly what it means.
“We need to move,” I say. “This is getting worse the closer we get.”
“And the stalker follows,” Rakkh says, his gaze flicking to the dunes to our right.
I jerk my head to look in time to see the sands shift—the faintest ripple.
“I thought… I thought you stopped it!” Tomas yelps.
Rakkh gives him a look that is both incredulous and dismissive at the same time.
“It retreated. Besides, that was only one,” Rakkh growls. “No doubt there are more.”
“Of course there are,” I mutter, because the alternative is letting the panic choke me.
Rakkh tilts his head toward me, and something like amusement sparks there. Brief. Sharp. Gone too fast.
“Your humor is ill-timed,” he murmurs.
“It keeps me from screaming.”
“Then keep using it.”
The unexpected softness in his voice almost melts my knees.
Travnyk looks between us with a glint of amusement hidden behind tusks.
The wind picks up, shifts direction, and brings with it a new smell.
Sharp. Metallic. No rot this time. Rakkh inhales deeply, nostrils flaring.
Travnyk’s hand goes to the hilt of his blade.
“Something ahead,” he says. “Not creature. Not plant. Not natural.”
“My metal shard,” I whisper. “The alloy…”
Tomas swallows hard. “What alloy?”
I pull the shard from my pocket. Moonlight hits it and it gleams—smooth, curved, seamless.
“Not human,” I say. “Not Zmaj. Definitely not Urr’ki.”
Travnyk makes a low sound. “Ancient?”
“No,” I breathe. “Engineered.”
Rakkh’s gaze snaps to mine, pupils narrowing. Recognition. And fear. Real fear.
“Then we may be walking toward something older than your crash,” he murmurs. “Older than the Devastation.”
“And not from this world,” I add.
Tomas sinks to his knees.
“Oh gods,” he whispers. “We are not dealing with Tajss at all, are we?”
The dune behind us shifts slow and deliberate. Rakkh steps in front of me instantly, tail coiling forward.
“No,” he says, voice a razor’s edge.
“Could it be… Invaders?” Tomas asks, his voice quavering.
The dune shifts again—slow, steady, and deliberate. Rakkh’s tail sweeps in front of me, a living barrier, claws flexing into the sand. Travnyk stiffens beside Tomas, tusks gleaming, nostrils flaring. The air is tight, like the desert is holding its breath.
“It might well be Invaders,” Rakkh says.
Tomas goes pale. “Then we turn back. Now. Right now.”
His voice cracks, high and terrified. I do not blame him. My heartbeat thrashes so hard it hurts, but turning back is not an option. The poison is spreading. The plants and animals are dying, and our people are next. We need food. We need the ecosystem, rough as it is, or we will not last.
“No,” I breathe. “We cannot.”
Tomas swings toward me, eyes wide and frantic.
“Are you insane? Lia—if this is Perixian tech—”
“We do not know that yet,” I counter.
“Who else could it be?” Tomas snaps. “It is not us. It is not Zmaj. It is not Urr’ki. That leaves—”
“Enough,” Rakkh cuts in, voice sharp as flint.
Tomas clamps his mouth shut but continues trembling, hands fisted at his sides. Travnyk exhales slowly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“If we turn back now, the sickness spreads unchecked. We lose everything,” Travnyk says.
“Or,” Tomas says, “we die before we can warn anyone.”
I want to say he is wrong. I want to promise we are safe. But the truth is neither of us knows. My fingers tighten around the metal shard in my pocket. Smooth. Cold. Wrong.
“We keep going,” I say.
Silence slams over the group. Travnyk studies me. Tomas looks betrayed. And Rakkh… Rakkh steps closer. His shadow swallows mine whole.
“She is right,” he says, voice rough and final.
Tomas stumbles backward like he has been struck.
“You are agreeing with her? Why? Why are we even listening to her? She is not a warrior—she is not—”
“Choose your next words carefully,” Rakkh growls, cutting him off, a low warning that vibrates through the sand.
Tomas clamps his mouth shut so hard his teeth clack together. He blinks back tears. Travnyk raises one hand in a gesture of calm.
“Let us speak of truth. The girl follows the plants. The sickness follows the roots. The beasts follow the sickness,” Travnyk says. He touches the dead creature behind us with his toe. “If we do not find the source, all of us, all three races die.”
“But if something is out here—if something dangerous is waiting—” Tomas says, shaking his head.
“It already is,” I whisper, staring at the shifting dune behind us.
The sand trembles softly. Patient, watching, waiting. Tomas swallows hard.
“You can stay behind,” I say. “Or you can go back. No shame in it.”
He trembles. Looks at the dune. At me. At Rakkh. Then—
“No.” His voice shakes. “I’m scared as hell, but I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
Despite everything, warmth flickers in my chest. Rakkh steps closer until he is shoulder to shoulder with me.
“We move forward,” Rakkh says, looking at Tomas. “All of us.”
He waits until Tomas nods. Travnyk touches the hilt of his curved blade. When he nods, the decision solidifies. We continue.
The drag-trail winds deeper between the dunes. Chemical rot thickens in the air, sharper, more acidic, like scorched minerals mixed with something bitter. Every breath stings the back of my throat. Rakkh walks so close our shoulders almost brush.
“Stay near,” he murmurs.
“You keep saying that. Am I doing anything else?” I whisper back.
He smiles, shaking his head, but does not respond. His double heartbeat thrums steady and protective. Loud enough that I feel it more than hear it. I should not like the sound as much as I do. Ahead, the moonlight catches on another shape half-buried beneath drifting sand.
“Oh,” I whisper, stopping.
Rakkh crouches in an instant, wings spreading slightly to block the wind. Tomas curses softly. Travnyk kneels beside us, frowning. I brush the sand aside.
A panel of metal gleams up at me—larger than the shard I pocketed. Curved. Seamless. Etched with grooves that pulse with a dim sheen. I run my finger over it.
“Oh stars,” I breathe. “This isn’t human. This isn’t anything I’ve ever seen.”
Rakkh’s claws dig into the sand beside my hand. His voice comes low, dangerous.
“Do not touch it.”
“I already—” I swallow hard. “I already did.”
He inhales sharply. His hand closes around my wrist—gentle for him, but firm enough that I feel the tremble beneath his scales.
“You should not have.”
“I had to,” I whisper. “Have to know…”
His pupils narrow. His breathing hitches.
“It reacts to you,” he says softly. “Look.”
A faint violet glow blooms where my fingers brushed the surface. My stomach flips.
“It is… reading me?” I whisper.
“Or recognizing,” Travnyk murmurs. “Stories tell of old tech that sometimes carries memory.”
“Whose memory?” Tomas chokes out.
The dunes around us go silent again. The wind dies. The world holds its breath. Rakkh leans closer, voice barely audible.
“Not yours,” he says. “Not mine. Not any species we know.”
A chill sweeps through me.
“We have to find the crash,” I breathe. “Before it gets worse.”
Rakkh looks up at the horizon—the endless dark dunes, the jagged rocks like broken teeth—and sets his jaw.
“We will.”
The violet glow fades into the metal again, dying completely. And as it does, the dune behind us shifts. Not quietly or slowly. Something enormous rises beneath the sand. Travnyk hisses. Tomas screams. Rakkh throws an arm across me and snarls—
“Move!”
The dune explodes upward. Sand rains down. A shadow unfolds like a living nightmare.
I know this was not waiting for us. It was guarding something.