We stop before anyone says the word.
It’s the way Korr slows, the way his attention shifts from the horizon to the ground beneath our feet, as if he’s listening for something the rest of us haven’t learned to hear yet. The suns sit high overhead, heat pressing down in a way that promises worse if we keep pushing.
“Here,” he says.
It isn’t a command. Just a decision that fits.
The ground slopes gently toward a low rise of broken stone, shallow enough to offer shade once the light shifts. Not shelter or real safety, but enough to let us breathe.
We drop our packs without ceremony.
Illadon moves first, checking the stone for loose fragments before Rverre settles. She sinks down gratefully, wings folding in with a sigh that sounds almost content. The hum returns—soft, steady—threading through the quiet like a pulse.
I take a long drink, careful not to overdo it. The water is warm, metallic, and precious. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and glance around, cataloging positions out of habit.
Korr has already moved.
He circles the perimeter in a loose arc, not patrolling so much as orienting himself. Every few steps, he pauses, scanning, listening, grounding himself against the stone when he stops. He looks more at ease now than he did in the canyon, like the open sky isn’t pressing quite so hard when he has something solid at his back.
I wonder when I started noticing that.
Rverre presses her palm flat against the rock again, eyes closed. After a moment, she opens them and looks straight at me.
“We’re closer,” she says.
My breath catches. “To the city?”
She nods. Illadon glances between us, then out toward the shimmering horizon. He doesn’t ask how she knows. He never does.
“How much closer?” I ask.
Rverre tilts her head, listening. “Not today. But… soon.”
That’s enough to settle something inside me and unsettle something else entirely.
Korr returns and crouches near the edge of our makeshift rest point, his presence a quiet anchor. He doesn’t comment on Rverre’s words, but I see the tension in his shoulders shift.
The desert stretches out around us, vast and indifferent, but the space between us feels… held.
I lean back against the stone, letting my eyes close for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Heat hums through my bones. Exhaustion whispers at the edges of my thoughts. This is what leaving feels like. Not fear and not regret. More commitment.
When I open my eyes again, the light has shifted just enough to paint the sand in deeper gold, shadows stretching longer across the ground. Korr is watching the horizon. Illadon is watching Rverre. Rverre is listening to something only she can hear.
And I’m watching all of them, realizing that whatever waits ahead isn’t just a place. It’s a change. We’ll move again soon, but for now, Tajss holds us in this quiet moment—long enough to breathe, long enough to understand that the desert has accepted us.
And I know this planet well enough to know that means it will expect something in return.
7
KORR
Iwake before the suns crest the horizon.
Micro-napping is a skill all Urr’ki learn. Often our patrols were long and far from home. Grabbing rest in quick spurts was the only way to stay sharp but the caverns below Tajss are not forgiving of those who are not alert.
The desert is quiet in the hour before light fully claims it. Quiet, expansive, too open. The muscles of my shoulders are as tight as the stone against which I’m leaning. I do not like this. At all. Danger is all around us. There is no predicting where it will strike.
I push that down, shoving it as deep as I can. I do not have time to dwell on fears that I cannot do anything about. The tunnels that I spent my life in are gone. The Shaman and the Paluga saw to that. This is my life now. The sooner I adjust the better.
