Chapter 7 Lia
LIA
Sand hits my face like a thousand tiny knives.
I duck instinctively, arms up, blinking through the spray. The dune erupts, splitting open from within as something vast heaves its way out of the ground. A choked gasp tears from my chest as the whole world shakes.
Rakkh’s arm clamps around me before I can fall. Hard. Immovable. His body is between me and the rising monster without hesitation, wings flaring wide to shield me from the rain of sand.
“Do not run. Stay close,” he snarls, voice vibrating through his chest and into my bones.
As if I can do anything else. There is no part of me that is not anchored to him in this moment.
Travnyk’s tusks flash as he lunges sideways, blade drawn, stance low and ready. Tomas is not nearly as composed. He stumbles back, screaming, barely catching himself before he collapses completely.
And the thing—stars above. It rises from the sand like some ancient god climbing out of the underworld.
Not a burrower like the one before. This is bigger.
Broader. Its hide glistens with an oily shimmer in the moonlight, scales shifting like liquid metal.
A ridge of spines flares along its back, glowing faintly with that same violet light that pulsed beneath my fingers on the metal panel.
My breath catches. It matches. The glow. The color. This creature is tied to the metal. To the crash. To the poison.
Its bellow is a deep, resonant sound that vibrates the ground and rattles the back of my teeth. Rakkh snarls in answer, low and lethal, claws digging into the dune until the sand compresses like stone under his feet.
“It’s a guardian,” I whisper, the realization striking so suddenly it burns. “It wasn’t hunting us. It is defending the source.”
Rakkh half-turns his head, eyes bright and blazing. “Then we destroy it.”
“Rakkh—” My voice cracks. “Wait.”
Fear, adrenaline, the afterimage of that violet glow burns in my vision, but something else flickers beneath all that. Instinct. The kind Calista and Jolie taught me to trust, the same instinct that saved us with the last creature.
“Look,” I rasp, pointing toward its hide. “The burns. The same pattern as the plants. As the carok. It’s infected. It’s sick.”
Rakkh growls. “A sick creature can still kill.”
“But if it’s poisoned, then we can track—”
The creature lunges. Rakkh moves faster.
He slams into me, pushing me aside, using his body like a wall of muscle and scale as a massive limb tears through the air where my head was. The force of it sends wind whipping over us, flinging sand into our faces.
“Back!” Rakkh roars to Tomas and Travnyk.
I hear their scrambling footsteps. The monster’s shadow falls over us as its head lowers, spines crackling with dim violet light.
My pulse hammers in my throat. Rakkh shifts, positioning himself on one knee, shielding me with his entire body. I can feel the coolness of him, the tight coil of his muscles, the steady roll of his double heartbeat vibrating against my back.
“Lia,” he murmurs, so low only I can hear. “Focus.”
I blink through the sand and terror. “On what?”
“Where to strike,” he says. “You saw the weakness before I did. Do it again.”
He not only trusts me—he is asking. In the middle of this nightmare, he is looking at me like I am the only one who can do this.
My breath trembles and my hands shake, but I look.
At first there is nothing. The thing rears back, preparing to strike again.
My heart is hammering so hard I can barely breathe.
Some part of me knows I am about to die, but instead of fueling fear, a calmness settles.
Time slows down. I inhale long and slow, hold the breath, and look.
My eyes are drawn to its middle. The ribs. I spot a subtle glow. The infection is strongest there. And if I am right about how the infection works, the structure is weakest there.
“There,” I whisper urgently, grabbing his arm. “The ribs—left side. Below the second spine.”
Rakkh nods once. Sharp. Certain. Then he rises in a single fluid movement, pulling me with him before shoving me behind an outcropping of stone.
“Stay down,” he commands.
“I’m not—”
“Lia.” His voice softens, just for a second. “Stay alive.”
Then he is gone. Charging for the monster with a roar that shakes the night.
The guardian thing swings its massive head. Sand explodes where Rakkh stood a heartbeat ago. Travnyk darts wide, moonlight gleaming off his tusks, blade flashing toward the thing’s flank. Tomas tries to stay behind cover, pale and shaking but not running.
None of them move like Rakkh.
He moves like he was made for this, like the sand bends for him. He dodges the guardian’s spined tail, rolls beneath its belly, claws finding purchase in sickened, brittle scales. He climbs, using its body like a shifting cliff face, and for one suspended moment he is perched right where I pointed—
He pulls his arm back, cocking the blow, and the image burns into my mind. Him clinging to the creature, sand exploding, filling the air. His mouth open in a guttural roar. Travnyk with his sword over his head, swinging down.
Please work. Please work.
I pray—to who, or what, I do not know. Any gods listening. The Zmaj say the planet is sentient, at least a little. I like that idea. I cling to it. I exhale, and the frozen tableau resumes.
Rakkh strikes. The guardian screams—a horrible, warping sound that sends ripples through the sand. Violet-tinged blood bursts from the wound, spraying wildly before dissolving into darkness, but the monster does not fall.
It thrashes, enraged, tail whipping violently toward Rakkh. He leaps clear but not fast enough. A glancing blow slams into his shoulder and he flips in the air, landing hard and skidding across the dune.
“Rakkh!” The cry tears painfully from my throat.
He catches himself, claws raking deep furrows in the sand, and in an instant he is climbing back to his feet. Leaning over, rushing ahead, moving toward me, toward us, toward the fight—
Then I smell it. Burned metal. Hot ozone. The same scent from the panel. From the poison.
The creature roars and then I notice its spines. They flare with a ripple of bioluminescence that travels along its back. A defensive stress response, like deep-sea fish back on Earth. The violet sheen spreads beneath its scales as its muscles coil, tendons tightening with predatory intent.
Travnyk hisses. Tomas swears. My stomach drops.
“Rakkh…” I whisper. “It’s escalating.”
The creature lowers its head—slow and deliberate. A predator preparing for a killing lunge. The bioluminescence brightens along its throat where the skin is thinnest, pulsing erratically.
This thing is failing from the poison, and a cornered predator is the most dangerous kind. Rakkh looks over his shoulder at me and I see something in his eyes I have never seen in anyone before, not like this. Not fear or hesitation. A decision.
“No,” he says. “I protect you.”
The guardian lunges.
It does not roar like before. This time it screams. A guttural, vibrating rasp that shakes the sands. Its claws gouge furrows in the dune as it charges downhill, half-sliding, half-running, momentum building fast.
“Move!” Rakkh snaps.
I dive to the side. Tomas stumbles the opposite way. Travnyk ducks low and rolls, blade flashing. Rakkh does not move.
He meets it.
The impact is a thunderclap. Sand erupts as Rakkh flaps his wings, straining to hold his position.
He has grabbed the monster by its shoulders, sliding back as he absorbs the brunt of the collision.
He grunts—a low, guttural sound—but the collision stalls them.
He twists, claws ripping across the guardian’s shoulder.
Thick, violet-tinged ichor splatters the sand.
The creature shrieks and thrashes, hind legs churning. It snaps blindly, jaws clacking hard enough to crack stone. Rakkh ducks beneath a swipe, driving his elbow into the soft joint beneath its forelimb.
Travnyk darts in from the side, blade slicing across the creature’s inner joint. The guardian recoils, slamming him backward with a sweep of its head. He rolls, lands on his feet, growling and baring his teeth.
“Lia! Watch yourself!” Tomas screams from somewhere behind me.
I am already moving—sliding down the dune, sand filling my boots. My gaze locks onto the creature’s hide, searching for patterns.
The bioluminescence is not random.
It concentrates where the tissue is weakest. Along fissures beneath the scales where chemical burns branch outward like black lightning. The same pattern I saw on the plants. On the carok. And… there. On the far side of the throat. A swollen, translucent patch where the infection thins the skin.
“Rakkh!” I shout. “Left side—under the jaw! It’s compromised!”
He pivots instantly, claws digging in for traction. The guardian snaps at him, jaw clicking shut an inch from his arm. Its movements are faster, jerky with pain, desperate. This is not power. This is adrenaline mixed with agony.
The contamination is killing it from the inside out. Which means its body is unstable. Its reactions unpredictable.
“Travnyk—circle right! Tomas, get low!” I shout.
Tomas dives behind a rock. Travnyk moves like flowing stone, staying just outside the creature’s reach. Rakkh lunges for the throat, but the guardian rears back, tail lashing hard across the sand.
“Rakkh!” I scream.
He twists as the tail smashes into him and slides several feet back, but he stays standing. His claws leave deep gouges as he regains balance.
The guardian slams forward again. It is not thinking. Just attacking. Overheated. Overstimulated. Poisoned.
Rakkh ducks beneath its jaw this time, his claws driving upward toward the weakened patch of tissue. The guardian thrashes, forelimbs digging trenches. Travnyk distracts it with a strike to the lower leg.
“Now!” I shout.
Rakkh drives his claws into the fissure.
The guardian convulses. The bioluminescent glow flares wildly as overtaxed systems fail. Muscle spasms ripple along its spine. Its limbs buckle. Its skull slams into the sand with a sickening crack. The glow pulses once—twice—and fades.
The creature releases a long, rattling breath, then drops to the sand, going still. No dramatics. No spectacle—just biology reaching its limit. Sand settles slowly around us. Travnyk lowers his blade. Tomas sobs once, breathless with relief. And Rakkh…
Rakkh stands over the fallen guardian, chest heaving, ichor dripping from his claws. His wings tremble faintly behind him. His eyes go straight to me.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice rough, raw.
I shake my head, breath hitching. “No. You?”
“No,” he says.
A fire burns in his eyes—raw and intent—that I do not think has anything to do with the adrenaline of the fight. Heat rushes up my throat. I cannot hold his gaze when everything inside me is shaking.
He moves toward me—slow at first, then faster, as if something inside him gives way. He pulls me against him, wrapping his massive arms around me and holding me.
Not tight, or crushing, just… certain. His hearts hammer against my cheek, the twin rhythms fierce and alive.
“You led me true,” he says, voice low in my hair. “Again.”
I swallow past the thickness in my throat. My hands curl against his chest of their own accord.
“We’re not done,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “There are probably more creatures.”
He nods once, jaw tight.
“Then we keep moving.”
The dying guardian’s scales flicker weakly behind him. The last remnants of bioluminescence fading into darkness. Whatever poisoned it is still out here. Whatever crashed into Tajss—whatever metal waits buried beneath the dunes—is not done.
And we are not finished.