“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.
