He chews on that in silence. Then: “Something’s weird about this place. Doesn’t feel dead. Doesn’t feel alive either. Like it’s… listening.”
I nod. “I feel it too.”
It’s not malevolent. Not yet. But it’s watching. Not like a predator. More like a sentinel. Waiting to see what we do next.
There’s a weight in the air—not pressure exactly, but density. Like standing at the top of a cliff and knowing the wind could shift any second. Every hair on my arms stands up.
“Come on,” I say eventually. “You’ll freeze your ass off out here.”
He follows, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder like something’s going to crawl out of the dark and whisper its name. I don’t blame him.
As I duck back into my bunk, I glance once more toward the horizon.
Whatever’s out there—it saw me tonight.
And I saw it back.
CHAPTER 2
MAUG
The rock beneath my claws holds the sun’s last breath—hot and pulsing like a dying ember. I crouch in the shadows above the human encampment, still as death, my weight sunk deep into the jagged ledge. Wind howls through the canyons below, carving the land inch by inch. I let it rake over me. Let it remind me of who I am.
A mistake. A butcher. A coward hiding in exile.
Purgonis doesn't forget. Neither do I.
Down below, the humans stumble across the obsidian plain, setting up their little boxes of metal and plastic. Like they can tame this place with scaffolds and algorithms. I watch them with narrowed eyes—bright things, soft-skinned and delicate as moths. Their voices rise faintly on the wind, sharp and jangling, language buzzing like insects. I don’t need to understand the words. Their bodies speak loud enough.
Fear.
They mask it under their chatter. I know the smell. Sweat-slick. Acid-tinged. Aged meat left too long in sun. They brought soldiers this time—good. Maybe it means they remember what happened. Maybe they’ve learned.
But judging by the way the guards slouch at their posts and scan the terrain like they expect boredom, not battle… they haven’t.
Fools.
I shift slightly, just enough to ease the pressure in my hips. I’ve been squatting on this ledge since their ship punched through the atmosphere. The vessel was loud, ugly, trailing fire like an omen. I nearly turned away then—nearly retreated into the caves where the light can’t follow. Let them die again, I thought. Let Purgonis chew them to bone and ash. I owe them nothing.
But I stayed.
And I watch.
They scatter like ants, busying themselves with crates and wires and nonsense. Their scent spreads with the wind. Plastic and ozone. Synth-sugar rations. Steel and polymer boots. But under all of it—fear. Except for one.
She’s small. Slighter than the others. Red-haired. Skin like late-moon milk, freckled and flushed from the heat. She walks like she owns the ground under her feet, even though it shifts with every step. No weapons, no armor. Just a pack and too-wide eyes that drink in the horizon like it’s a map to some promised land.
I don’t know why I keep watching her.
The others, I understand. Their movements match their purpose—guard, carry, obey. Hers don’t. She lingers, examining rocks. Tilts her head at the way the wind carves the ridge. Pauses before stepping onto unstable ground, not from fear, but calculation. She watches this world the way I do.
But she doesn’t belong to it.
None of them do.
A younger Odex might’ve crushed the ridge beneath his weight by now, leapt down and ripped through the camp likea sandstorm. I could do it. Even now. My blood is thick with strength, my limbs bred for war. They wouldn’t see me coming—not until I broke the first body.
But I stay in the shadows.
