Chapter 9 Lia
LIA
The first thing I feel is warmth.
Not the harsh, smothering heat of the suns, but something low and steady, radiating along the backs of my legs.
The second thing I feel is breath—slow, controlled—the kind a warrior makes when he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
I open my eyes a crack.
Rakkh sits at the cave entrance exactly where he vowed he would stay. His broad shoulders block the morning wind, wings tucked tight, muscles coiled and ready. Sand dusts his scales like powdered stars scattered across them. He looks as though he has not moved all night.
What catches my breath is what lies over my legs.
His tail—loosely curled around my ankles like an unconscious boundary. A shield drawn in the sand, marking where danger cannot cross.
Heat rushes up my neck. I reach down and touch the smooth underside of it with one fingertip.
It twitches, and Rakkh’s head snaps toward me—eyes sharp, pupils narrowing, like I’ve startled something instinctive and ancient inside him.
“Lia,” he says, voice low and rough with unslept hours. “Does it bother you?”
Bother me?
It should. Everything about last night should terrify me. The guardian, the possibility of more creatures, the violet glow in the sand. Yet what lingers in my chest is how he kept me warm. Kept me safe. How he protected the cave with his body like nothing else mattered. I swallow.
“No. I… didn’t even notice until I woke up.”
His gaze drops to where my hand rests on his tail. His breath hitches—barely, but I hear it. Feel it. The bond flickers like a spark jumping between us—something we keep pretending not to see.
Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his tail from around me. He does it gently, as if afraid the movement itself might hurt me. The tip drags lightly across my ankle, and my pulse stutters.
“You should not be cold,” he murmurs. “Humans lose heat too quickly.”
“I wasn’t cold,” I say, hesitating. “I… slept well.”
Something changes in his eyes—softer, warmer, and yet more lethal than any guardian.
“I am glad,” he says quietly.
Tomas groans loudly, stretching as he wakes. Travnyk mutters something in Urr’ki that sounds like a prayer—or maybe a complaint. The morning wind whistles across the rocks. But Rakkh doesn’t look away from me until I break the moment, pushing upright and brushing sand off my arms.
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask.
“No.”
“You can’t do that forever.”
“I can,” he says simply.
I cock my head and raise an eyebrow at him.
He shrugs. “While you are in danger, I can.”
My breath catches. He says it flatly. Without question or reservation. A promise, like an inevitability. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them.
“You don’t have to protect me every second.”
“Yes,” he says softly. “I do.”
The words land in my chest like a stone dropped into water—heavy, rippling, unstoppable. And the most terrifying part? A piece of me wants him to always be there. Before I can respond, Travnyk steps into view, tusks catching the early light.
“The suns rise fast. We should move, now.”
Rakkh stands in one fluid motion, wings brushing the inside of the cavern roof.
He offers me his hand. It’s clearly an offer too, not a command and definitely not an assumption.
An invitation that I take, even as I question the swelling sense of rightness and joy it causes.
His claws curl around my fingers, steady and certain, and for a second the world shrinks to just that point of contact.
“We continue where the trail leads,” he rumbles.
“And if more guardians find us?” Tomas croaks behind him.
Rakkh’s tail flicks—sharp, confident.
“Then we kill them.” His eyes slide to me, and my heart trips. “And we do not let her fall.”
Heat flares under my skin—fear mixing with desire and something dangerously close to something more. The way he says it… it isn’t just about survival. It’s about me. Us.
The suns rise fast. Blazing red discs climbing over the dunes. Heat rolls down the sand in shimmering sheets, though the night chill still clings to the shadows at our feet. We resume the journey, walking quietly at first, chewing on pieces of dried meat to break our fast.
Tomas hunches his shoulders like he can hide inside them. Travnyk moves with the slow, deliberate grace of someone listening to the ground as much as the air. And Rakkh… Rakkh walks beside me. Not ahead or behind. At my side.
Close enough that the soft brush of his arm against mine sends heat coiling low in my stomach. I try not to think about it. Or last night. The way his tail wrapped around my ankles like a promise I’m pretending not to feel.
We crest another dune, and more dying plants appear. An entire patch of hardy desert vines, each one streaked black, rotting from the inside. My breath catches.
“Stars,” I whisper. “It’s spreading even faster.”
Travnyk crouches, tusks gleaming as he examines a shriveled fruit.
“This rot is new. Fresh. It did not look like this last night.”
“It’s getting worse?” Tomas asks, his voice going tight.
“Yes,” Travnyk answers simply.
Tomas lets out a helpless groan and kicks at the sand.
“We should go back. Tell the Council. Bring warriors. Bring—bring something!”
His insistence makes my chest tighten. The rot is spreading too fast. I know we’re getting closer to the source, but even so, it shouldn’t be this far progressed.
“Tomas, by the time we go back and return, everything here will be dead.”
“Better dead plants than dead people!” he snaps.
My stomach sinks, collapsing into a ball of frustration and anger.
“You think I want to risk anyone? I’m trying to stop a disaster before it reaches the settlement—”
“Or we could be the disaster,” he fires back. “What if whatever crashed here is dangerous? What if it’s waking things bigger than that guardian was?”
He has a point. A terrifying one. But if we turn back now—if we delay—the sickness will continue to spread. At best, it will infect every possible food source, leaving us to starve to death.
Travnyk rises, dusting off his palms.
“This has been settled. Stop whining. Lia is right. What spreads here will not stop because we wish it so. Turning back only buys time for death to reach us unprepared.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re Urr’ki. You’re—trained for this,” Tomas swears under his breath.
“And you are not?” Travnyk asks, tilting his head. “You chose to come.”
“I came to help Lia, not die next to her!”
The words strike hard. Rakkh stops walking. Every aspect of him goes still. When he speaks, his voice is deep and low.
“Say that again,” he murmurs.
Tomas pales. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“You think walking beside her is dying,” Rakkh says, stepping closer. “You think she brings danger.”
“No—Rakkh, he didn’t—” I start, but he lifts one clawed hand, gently stopping me.
His gaze locks on Tomas. Burning, molten, and held together by a single thread of control.
“She is the only one among us who can read this trail,” Rakkh says. “The only one who sees what we cannot. You owe your life to her twice already.”
Tomas swallows hard. “I know. I just—Rakkh… I’m scared.”
Rakkh’s jaw flexes, but he’s not angry. This is something else entirely, and it makes my heart pull tight in my chest.
“Fear is not weakness,” he says quietly. “But turning your fear against her is.”
Tomas’ lips tremble. His throat works.
“I… I’m sorry.”
I didn’t expect those words. Tomas doesn’t look at me; he looks at the sand, ashamed. But it’s something.
Rakkh turns to me, and the heat in his eyes softens, shifting like a heated blade dipped into warm water.
“We follow her lead,” he says. “I stand with her. We move forward.”
He’s not just supporting my decision; he’s claiming it as his. The lump that forms in my throat threatens to choke off all air.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to stop the crack in my voice.
His eyes flicker downward—toward my mouth—before he looks away sharply. Travnyk steps between us with a grunt.
“Then we follow the plants.”
We resume moving, but everything feels different.
Tomas stays behind Travnyk, quiet and focused for once. The dunes around us shimmer with rising heat. The air tastes sharper, like chemicals and scorched metal. Each dying plant creates a trail that winds like a scar through the desert.
Rakkh stands closer than before. Every time the sand trembles underfoot—even the slightest shift—his attention snaps to it and his fists rise. Instinctive. Protective. Of me. A part of me thrills at that. Another part fears what it might mean for both of us.
We crest a new ridge and the view opens wide. Miles of dunes, jagged rock formations jutting up like broken teeth. At first glance, nothing stands out—until my breath catches.
Half-buried at the base of a dune, something gleams.
This isn’t jagged crash debris or something small like before. This is massive. Curved. Seamless. And carried along on the wind is a faint hum.
“Oh stars,” I whisper. “I think that’s it.”
Rakkh exhales slowly, the sound low and dangerous.
“Stay behind me,” he murmurs.
But for the first time today, at least… I step ahead of him.
Because I have to.
Because whatever waits under that sand—whatever crashed into our world—I feel it calling me. A strange pulling sensation low in my gut that I don’t understand, but I know I have to get closer.
I rush down the slope.
As I approach, sand cascades from the vibration of my boots, streaming off the object in thin rivers and revealing more of its curved surface. The metal panel is even larger than I realized. I pause, staring at the portion I can see. Up close, the surface is dull and pitted, textured by time.
I’ve seen this before. The exterior panels of the generation ship we humans rode through space before crashing onto Tajss were like this. Space is anything but empty. Micrometeoroids leave countless tiny scars, and any spacefaring vessel must be built to withstand them.