While he checks our path ahead, I break off three crystal clusters using fabric to protect my hands. They're lighter than expected, brittle. Easy to crush into powder. I wrap them carefully, separately, and tuck them deep in my pack where they won't break accidentally.
The volcanic rock gets worse as we climb. Not a mountain, more like waves of frozen lava creating ridges and valleys. Some places the rock is smooth as mirrors. Others are nothing but razored edges. My feet are definitely bleeding now. I can feel the wetness in what's left of my boots.
“Here.” Khor stops at a particular formation. The rock here is different. Pure black, almost purple in direct light. “Obsidian. Sharper than your Earth steel. Sharper than anything except molecular edges.”
He demonstrates, using a piece to slice through leather like it's air. The edge is so fine I can't actually see it, just the line where light bends wrong.
“Warriors used to make weapons from this. Before metal working. Before civilization.” He hands me a piece, carefully.“Can cut through scale. Through bone. Through almost anything if applied correctly.”
The obsidian feels wrong in my hand. Too light for its size. Too sharp for safety. I wrap several pieces in layers of torn fabric, then leather over that. If they cut through the wrapping, they'll cut through me.
“Your feet are leaving blood trails.”
“I noticed.”
“Vek will notice too. Blood scent carries far here.” He looks back at our followers, still maintaining their careful distance. “Need to tend them.”
Khor makes me sit, removes what's left of my boots. The damage is worse than I thought. Multiple deep cuts, some to bone. The blood is steady, not pumping, but enough to leave clear trails.
He works without gentleness, cleaning wounds with something that burns worse than the cuts themselves. Then a paste that smells like the sulfur crystals but darker. The bleeding stops immediately. The pain doesn't.
“Will scar.”
“Everything scars here.”
“Yes. But these will be your first true Pyraxian scars. Marks that say you survived the volcanic fields.” His thumb traces one particularly deep cut. “Valuable.”
A sound from above makes us both freeze. Not our followers. Something else. A chittering like insects but wronger. Wet somehow.
“Down. Silent. Now.”
I press myself into the rocks as something passes overhead. The shadow it casts is wrong. Too many limbs. Moving in ways that hurt to track. The chittering gets louder, then fades as it moves toward the crater.
“Sketh-kar. Heading home after hunting.” Khor stays still for another full minute before moving. “Means we're close. Also means they're active. Not good.”
“I thought they stayed near the crater.”
“Usually. But mating season makes them range farther. Hunger drives them out.” He helps me stand, tests my weight on the damaged feet. “Can you walk?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always have choices. Could carry you.”
“And give Vek the perfect opportunity? No.”
We continue, slower now with my damaged feet. The obsidian fields give way to something worse. The ground here is covered in what looks like glass spheres, each one the size of my fist. They crunch under our weight, releasing puffs of metallic-smelling gas.
“Volcanic pearls. Step carefully. The gas is...”
A scream cuts him off. Behind us, one of Vek's companions has stepped wrong. The yellow-scaled male is on his knees, clawing at his throat. The gas from multiple broken spheres surrounds him in a cloud that glitters in the light.
“Stupid youth.” Khor watches without sympathy. “Gas causes throat to close. Not fatal if calm. Very fatal if panicked.”
The yellow male is definitely panicked. His companions try to help, but that just breaks more spheres. Soon all three are coughing, stumbling back the way they came.
“Will they die?”
“No. But they'll be careful now. Maybe.” We keep moving. “Or maybe they'll do something stupider. Young hunters usually choose stupider.”
