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.
8
RAKKH
Lia’s scent fills my nose.
Her warmth lingers against my chest even as I force myself to let her go. My arms feel wrong without her in them. Empty and cold. I hate the sensation, yet I hunger for it. They are opposites, but both are true, and it leaves me unsteady.
She steps back, and I allow her to because, if I do not, I will not stop holding her. And right now there is too much danger and too much attention on us.
The creature’s corpse twitches as its bioluminescence dies. Violet fades to dull gray, and the dunes swallow the last of it. The silence that settles is thick and watchful. The kind that hides more predators underneath.
Lia wipes sand from her cheek. Her hand trembles, but her courage does not. She is so small beside the fallen beast. So devastatingly bright. I drag my eyes away before I forget why we came.
“We move,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “There may be more.”
Tomas lets out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. He wipes sweat from his face, looking around the desert.
“More? More of… that? I can barely breathe after that one—Rakkh, we can’t just keep walking toward—toward?—”
“Toward the source,” Travnyk finishes quietly, tusks lifting in emphasis. “If we retreat now, we allow the sickness to come back to our own people.”
Tomas flinches as if struck.
Lia watches them, but her gaze keeps drifting to me and away—once, twice—as if checking whether I agree, whether she still has my support. The truth is… she has more than that, and I do not know how to feel about it.
