She looks at me—her eyes wide, moonlit, too soft for a place as cruel as this.
“It’s calling to me,” she whispers.
My throat tightens. “Then we move before it calls death as well.”
I yank her back from the collapsing sand and guide her toward the opening. She follows, but each step nearer to the vessel drags at her like a tide pulling her inward. The ship wants her, but over my corpse will it have her.
The entrance is narrow, jagged from whatever impact buried it centuries ago. I slide in—claws braced, wings tight, senses open. The interior is a hollowed corridor, curved like the inside of a ribcage. Dust and sand coat the floor. Strange lights pulse weakly in the walls, like dying embers remembering how to glow.
“Clear,” I say.
Lia slips in behind me, body brushing my side, the slightest heat of her thigh grazing my scales. Her breath hitches at the sight of the interior.
“It’s… beautiful,” she whispers.
I do not call it beautiful. I call it dangerous. Unknown. Hungry. But she sees the world differently, even when it’s trying to swallow her whole.
Travnyk tests the wall with his blade. It hums softly—not metallic as Zmaj steel should sound. Something in between metal and living flesh.
“Organic alloy,” he mutters. “It flexes.”
Tomas stands in the center of the corridor, clutching his knife with shaking hands.
“Just… just tell me it’s stable. That we’re not going to get crushed if this thing rolls over.”
“It will not roll,” I say. “Not while I am here.”
But the ship does shift—just slightly. A long vibration moves through the structure, up my legs and spine. The hum thickens, pulses stronger, responds to Lia. Of course it responds to her.
She reaches out, brushing a faintly glowing groove with her fingertips. The groove lights beneath her touch—blue, sharp, bright. The ship is awake now. Travnyk stiffens.
“Rakkh… I feel no predator. It stopped moving.”
Tomas almost sobs with relief. “So… it left?”
“No,” Lia murmurs, turning toward the corridor entrance.
Her voice is quiet. Steady.
“It’s out there. Watching. Waiting for us to leave.”
A cold knot twists in my gut because I’m certain she is right.
Looking outside, I see the dune rippling, smooth and controlled, as if something massive circles the vessel, testing the edges. The beast from before was corrupted by this place, but this one… this one is smarter.
It will not attack the ship. It is waiting to attack us when we step outside. Lia trembles—not in fear, but realization.
“We can’t go back out,” she whispers. “Not yet.”
“No,” I agree. “We shelter here until the danger passes.”
“But the ship—” she protests. “There could be more dangers… inside.”
My voice drops low, fierce, certain.
“Then I kill whatever threatens you.”
She looks at me with a softness that nearly destroys my composure. Not admiration. Not gratitude. Trust. Pure. Unfiltered. And the most dangerous thing she could do to me. I step closer—too close—until the heat of her body brushes my chest again.
