Illadon lets out a harsh breath. Rverre’s shoulders relax a fraction, tension easing like a knot that didn’t realize it was being pulled tight. The wind shifts again, not retreating, but less direct, more sideways, as if recalculating. And no matter how much don’t like it, my chest loosens too.
We resume moving.
The new route isn’t easy, but it’s manageable. The stone ribs give us something to brace against when the sand slips, something solid to press into when the gusts pick up. I stay close to Rverre without crowding her, matching her pace, watching for the signs that mean she’s listening too hard again.
Korr takes point, but he checks back often—not to command or correct, but to confirm. Each glance feels like an unspoken question. Still with me? I don’t answer it aloud. I don’t need to.
The desert doesn’t feel like it’s fighting us, but it doesn’t welcome us either. It simply allows.
After a while—long enough that the heat settles into my bones again and sweat dampens the back of my neck—Rverre is humming once more. Soft. Careful. The sound threads through our steps, smoothing the rough edges of the terrain like a hand passing over a wrinkle.
Illadon smiles at her, quick and proud, before schooling his expression back into seriousness. He’s growing too fast. I hate that the desert is the thing pushing him too, but this is Tajss. We can only protect the young for so long, survival demands it.
I glance at Korr and it’s clear that he’s listening—not just with his ears, but with his whole body. The tension in him seems to be easing by degrees as the hum steadies. When his gaze meets mine, there’s no challenge in it. No hint of an argument waiting to spark. I nod sharply, sharper than I mean to.
The wind fades to a low murmur at our backs.
We keep walking, not because the danger has passed, but because—for now—we’re moving in the same direction.
And the desert, fickle and watchful, seems willing to see where that takes us.
I don’t notice the silence at first.
The desert doesn’t go quiet all at once, it’s subtle. The hum of wind fades to a breath. The sand stops whispering underfoot. Even Rverre’s low song trails off, the last note dissolving like it was never meant to linger.
That’s when I feel it.
Not danger exactly, more like… absence. As if something that should be here isn’t.
I slow without meaning to. Korr feels it immediately. He lifts a fist, halting us with a sharp, economical motion that Illadon mirrors a heartbeat later. Rverre freezes between us, wings tucked tight, eyes narrowing as she tilts her head.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
Korr doesn’t answer right away. He crouches, presses his palm to the ground, then drags his fingers through the sand, studying the pattern they leave behind.
“This place is wrong,” he says at last.
That should scare me but I have to be brave for the kids so I dig deep and push down any hints of fear.
“How?” I ask.
“It’s too… clean.” He straightens slowly, scanning the basin ahead. “No tracks. No burrows. No signs of passing.”
Illadon frowns. “Maybe nothing comes here.”
Korr’s jaw tightens. “Everything comes somewhere.”
Rverre shifts, her tail flicking once before she stills it with visible effort.
“It’s holding its breath,” Rverre says.
I swallow.
“That’s not comforting,” I tell her gently.
She glances at me, eyes bright but not afraid. A ghost of a smile plays over her mouth as she shrugs.
“It’s not meant to be,” she says, stating the obvious.
