A sound rises from the darkness—long, low, and mournful. An animal call, but unlike anything I’ve heard before. My skin prickles, the hairs at the back of my neck lifting. Whatever made that sound feels bigger than anything I know.
We crashed and lived on the opposite side of these mountains for years, until the Invaders came and war began—a war we only won by retreating to an underground bunker and setting off a massive bomb.
Now we’ve moved on, come to the other side of the mountains, and the flora and fauna are different from what we learned to deal with. Everything on Tajss, from the most innocent-looking flower to every insect and on up the food chain, is dangerous. The Zmaj seem familiar with what lives and breathes here—mostly—but even they are acting cautious. I curl my hands into fists, nails biting my palms.
They keep dismissing me. I’m not a kid. Not anymore. I’ve grown up.
A faint scrape behind me. My heart jolts—I whirl, half expecting a predator, but it’s him.
The scarred Zmaj stands a little ways back, framed by firelight and shadow. He doesn’t speak or come closer. He watches, the blade of his lochaber glinting over his shoulder, expression unreadable. His presence rolls over me like heat from a forge—heavy, steady, impossible to ignore.
The wind shifts, carrying a strange metallic tang. I look out across the canyon one more time, toward the glowing plants and the cliffs beyond, and for a heartbeat, I think I see something glint—but it’s gone as fast as it came.
Tajss feels alive. Like it’s watching. Waiting.
And so am I. Waiting for what, I don’t know. A chance. An opportunity to prove myself. To proclaim myself. When I turn back, he’s gone—vanished like a shadow chased away by the light. Sighing, I return to my tent.
2
KARA
The canyon is colder in the morning than it should be. Tajss is hot—always hot—but in this canyon we’ve settled in, the cool of the nights is extreme. The suns haven’t climbed high enough to burn the chill from the air yet. The biting wind knifes down between the cliffs, carrying the sharp scent of stone and ash, making me shiver. Makeshift tents flap miserably, some collapsing where the knots slipped in the night. In the distance, a child coughs, and it seems no one has the strength to soothe him.
The fire outside my shared tent has burned low, leaving nothing but ash and a few stubborn embers. A couple of weak tendrils of smoke curl, gray and thin, refusing to rise. My stomach twists at the bitter smell of charred root—last night’s dinner, scraped thinhad to read it 2x to get what the image wasuntil the pot was empty.
I close my eyes, resigning myself to another day of hunger and work, when voices rise near the center of camp.
“They came back with nothing,” a woman hisses. “We can’t keep sending hunters out blind.”
“They were too loud,” another snaps. “Scared everything off before they could get close.”
“It wasn’t that. The land is dead.”
I drift closer, hugging my arms tight. The scouting party is limping into camp, shoulders slumped: two humans and a pair of Zmaj, one of them limping, blood caked on his shin. Their satchels hang nearly empty. One tips out a bundle of strange, waxy fruit. The skin oozes pale sap that smokes faintly in the firelight.
“Poison,” someone mutters, pulling back.
The air tightens. Hunger presses heavy on all of us, but no one dares touch the fruit lying there, steaming like an accusation. Amara pushes forward, braid swinging, eyes sharp as blades.
“Boil water. Bind that leg. Let’s get the rest of you sitting before you collapse.”
Her voice is iron—steady, holding the whole camp together by sheer will. But even she can’t hide the thinness of her lips, the shadows under her eyes.
Behind me, someone mutters, “We should’ve stayed below. At least there were walls.”
Walls. Damp, dark, air that tasted like mold. Like it was an option. Idiots. I bite down on the words before they escape. That insane Shaman awoke a monster that would have killed all of us, but hunger and desperation must make that threat seem less, because the argument spreads like firewildfire?.
People snap at each other, voices breaking with exhaustion. Someone kicks sand at the poisonous fruit. A Zmaj bares his teeth in warning, wings snapping open, and a human spits backthat the lizards will eat first while humans starve. I can’t stand it—the tension, the hopelessness crawling over my skin like ants.
“We need to try again,” I blurt, stepping into the open circle. My voice cracks, going higher than I want, but I force it steady. “There’s food out there—we just have to find it. Water too. We can’t sit here waiting to die.”
Dozens of eyes swing to me. Some flat. Some angry. Most dismissive. I raise my chin higher.
“Send me. I’ll go.”
“What, you think you’ll do better than men twice your size?”
A harsh laugh breaks out, bitter and tired. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I don’t flinch.
