Before I speak, the pulse comes again—stronger. The floor shifts, a subtle tilt downward toward the corridor. Drawing us inward.
“Don’t move,” Rakkh commands, tail snapping once in warning.
I freeze.
The metal veins flare with soft violet light—the same shade that flickered on the creature’s scales. The same shade that burned beneath the dunes. My breath quickens.
“Rakkh…” My voice cracks. “This is the same energy as the guardian.”
“Yes,” he says. “And the guardian is not the last.”
My chest tightens. “You mean the thing that is still out there.”
“Something linked to this.” His gaze slides to me, sharp, intense. “It woke because you touched the surface. The beasts stir because this stirs.”
The accusation isn’t cruel or blaming—it’s something else entirely. Fear, but not fear for himself or fear of what is coming. He fears for me.
“I didn’t mean—” I start.
“I am not angry at you,” he says, cutting me off with a low sound—a protective rumble.
Heat climbs my neck and cheeks. “Then what?—?”
“I am angry at the thing that answers you.”
The words steal my breath. A faint scraping echoes from the tunnel. Something brushing metal. Soft. Curious. Close.
Rakkh’s claws extend with a whispering scrape. He steps in front of me, unfurling his wings and blocking my view.
“Behind me,” he murmurs.
I press close to him, heart hammering. I don’t care how it looks. This ship feels like it’s waiting for me—wanting me—and I have no idea why. Travnyk raises his blade. Tomas whimpers again.
Another scrape. Then a faint chittering sound. Not creature. Not machine. Something between.
Rakkh’s tail curls around my ankle—not tightly, just enough to anchor me. The gesture sends a tremor through my entire body.
“Stay,” he rasps.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
The corridor light pulses—once, twice, faster. And then—something moves inside the passage.
A shadow glides against the wall. Long. Thin. Multi-jointed. Not the guardian. Not a burrower. Something smaller, but I can’t imagine it’s harmless. My heartbeat thunders.
The air grows warmer. The scent sharpens—a metallic tang that burns the back of my throat. Rakkh shifts lower, claws ready, all muscle and focus.
“This is no natural creature. It is made of the same material as the ship,” Travnyk says, inhaling slowly.
“Oh stars,” I whisper.
Rakkh’s voice drops to a lethal growl. “Then it dies here.”
The shadow pauses, listening to me. My pulse stutters painfully.
“It’s tracking sound,” I say.
“Then do not speak,” Rakkh murmurs.
