Maybe I was.
The flight blurred. Desert gave way to rougher terrain, rock formations that jutted from the ground like broken bones. The air changed and tasted different. Drier somehow, though I wouldn't have thought that possible. Less sulfur, more dust.
I should be paying attention. Taking in landmarks, memorizing the route, scanning for threats. Instead, I kept seeing that knife hilt hitting the wall. Kept feeling the wrongness of my empty belt, the absence of weight I'd carried for years.
Stupid. It was just a knife. Just a tool. I had other weapons, other ways to defend myself. Getting emotional over a piece of metal was ridiculous.
But it wasn't just metal. It was proof I'd survived. Evidence of who I'd been before the crash, before Scalvaris, before everything changed. One more connection to Earth, to the life I'd left behind.
One more thing this planet had taken from me.
Nyx's heartbeat thudded against my ear. The rhythm of it tried to soothe me, tried to pull me out of my spiral.
I didn't want to be soothed.
The landscape below shifted again. Narrow canyons cut through the rock, shadows pooling in the depths. Nyx banked toward one, descended in a controlled glide.
We landed in a small clearing between towering stone walls. The space was sheltered, hidden from aerial view, defensible. A good tactical choice.
I slid from his arms the moment my feet touched ground. I needed to put distance between us before his scent could wrap around me and make me forget why I was angry.
The canyon was too quiet. No wind, no distant screeches of predators, no sounds of life at all. Just stillness that pressed against my eardrums.
Wrong.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instincts honed by years of combat, ones that had kept me alive through situations where I should have died were screaming at me.
Something was watching us.
I scanned the canyon. Nothing. No movement, no shapes that didn't belong. Just rock and shadow and that oppressive silence.
My hand went to my belt and found empty space where my knife should be. The absence sent fresh anger surging through me.
I was about to ask Nyx if he felt it too, if his Drakarn senses picked up whatever was making my skin crawl.
He was crouched beside his pack, his back to me. His wings were folded tight, his tail coiled near his feet. He was digging through the contents with careful movements, searching for something.
The wrongness I'd felt intensified.
He found what he was looking for and stood slowly, turning to face me.
In his hands was a blade.
Not forged for a Drakarn hand. The proportions were wrong, the design too delicate. The grip was wrapped in dark leather, the pommel balanced and small in his palm.
Human-sized.
Nyx took three steps forward. Then he dropped to one knee.
The gesture was formal. Ritualistic. He bowed his head, held the blade across both palms, offered it up like a supplicant presenting tribute to a queen.
"For you,kyvara."
I stared at him. At the blade. At the careful way he held it.
"What is this?" My voice came out rough.
"A knife."
