The brown male leaves first, apparently deciding I'm not worth the risk. The yellow one follows soon after. But Vek stays, still blocking the path with his body language if not his actual position.
“This is not finished.”
“No,” Khor agrees. “But it is delayed. Move.”
Vek moves. Barely. We have to pass close enough that I smell his citrus-and-ozone scent, feel the heat radiating off his scales. His eyes track me the entire time, and there's something in them that makes my stomach twist. Not just want. Planning.
Once we're past, Khor sets a harder pace. The sun starts its rise, painting everything in shades of orange and red. The beauty would be breathtaking if I wasn't focused on not tripping over rocks that all look the same in this light.
“Here.” He stops at an outcrop of what looks like ordinary stone. But when he breaks a piece off, it reveals crystalline structures inside. “Pyraxian salt. Necessary for what comes next.”
“What comes next?”
“Education.” He points to a cluster of plants ahead. Low to the ground, almost like cacti but wrong somehow. The spines are too regular, too long. “Paralytic cactus. Touch one spine, lose feeling in that limb for hours. Touch three, stop breathing.”
“Cheerful.”
“Useful. If prepared correctly.” He pulls out cloth, wraps his hands carefully, then breaks off several spines with precise movements. “Mix with water, becomes paste. Diluted enough, numbs pain. Concentrated, kills. The difference is knowledge.”
While he works, I pretend to watch. But really I'm collecting my own spines, using torn fabric from my ruined suit to wrap them. They're light, almost weightless. Easy to hide.
“You are not subtle.”
I freeze.
“But you are thinking. Good. Stupid prey is boring prey.” He finishes with the spines, packs them carefully. “Take what you want. But remember, everything here has cost. The cactus will know you stole from it. The desert remembers all debts.”
We continue walking as the heat builds. The landscape changes from rocky to sandy, then to something between. The ground here glitters oddly, almost like glass particles mixed with regular sand.
“Blood sand,” Khor says before I ask. “Reacts to iron in blood. Creates heat, then fire. Step carefully.”
“How does sand burn?”
“Chemistry you would not understand. Result you would. Watch.” He pulls out the dried meat, cuts his thumb slightly, lets a drop of blood fall on the sand. Where it hits, the ground hisses and sparks, a tiny flame that burns bright blue before dying.
“One drop does that?”
“One drop starts it. More blood, bigger fire. Entire battles have been decided by blood sand. Winners burn with their enemies.”
I kneel carefully, scoop some of the sand into an empty water pouch. Khor watches but doesn't comment. He's letting me arm myself. Why?
The answer comes three hours later when we stop at what should be an oasis. The metallic plants are there, but the water is gone. Just a depression in the ground with mineral residue showing where life used to gather.
“Seventh dry source since yesterday.” His voice is flat, controlled. “Pattern suggests systematic failure.”
“Systematic how?”
“Not natural. Something is draining them. Or someone.” He scans the horizon, those alien eyes seeing things mine can't. “We make camp here anyway. Need rest before crater approach.”
Camp is generous. It's a depression in the rocks that provides minimal shade. But Khor works efficiently, setting up barriers, checking sight lines. Military precision from someone who's never been military. Just survivor.
“Eat.” He hands me the awful dried meat and a water pouch. “Need strength for tonight.”
“Tonight's the harvest?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight is preparation. And breeding.” Always breeding. Even here, surrounded by danger and dying water sources, his focus never shifts. “Your body needs reinforcement. More of my seed before we face the creatures.”
“Everything is about breeding with you.”
