I steady my grip, forcing my breathing into something controlled as exhaustion settles heavier into my limbs, my vision dimming at the edges again while the heat presses harder from every direction.
“You’re not done,” I whisper, tightening my hold on the weapon as I brace myself.
Even as my body starts to slow. Even as the desert tries to take its share.
CHAPTER 24
HRASK
The trail only exists because I refuse to let the desert take it, and even that feels temporary as wind drags thin sheets of sand across the ground in slow, relentless passes that smooth edges and swallow anything shallow. Heat rises off the surface in visible distortion, bending distance and warping shapes until the horizon feels unreliable, but I keep my focus low, locked onto the ground where the truth still lingers in broken patterns and disrupted texture.
A scuff cuts across the natural flow of the sand at an angle that doesn’t belong, its line uneven but deliberate enough to catch my attention, and I crouch slightly as I reach it, dragging my fingers across the surface. The grains feel warmer where they’ve been disturbed recently, the heat not yet fully redistributed, and the subtle difference in density confirms weight passed through here not long ago.
“Yeah,” I mutter, rising slowly as I follow the direction of the mark with my eyes. “You came through here, and you didn’t have the luxury of hiding it, which means you were already hurting.”
I adjust my stride and move forward, placing each step with care so I don’t erase what little remains of the trail. The groundshifts constantly beneath me, loose sand giving way to firmer patches before slipping again, and the effort compounds with every step as heat presses harder against my skin and the dry air drags through my lungs like something abrasive.
“You’re moving,” I murmur, scanning ahead as I track the line of disturbances. “Not clean and not steady, but you’re still pushing, and that’s exactly what I’d expect from you.”
The wind shifts and drives a hotter gust across my face, carrying fine grit that stings against my skin and settles into the seams of my uniform. Through the shimmer of heat, something darker breaks the uniform tone of the terrain, and I angle toward it immediately, lowering into a crouch as I reach it.
My hand hovers for a second before I touch it, and the texture tells me everything I need before I even register the color.
“Blood,” I say quietly, pressing my fingers lightly against the drying edge.
It hasn’t fully set, still tacky beneath the top layer, and I track the direction it spreads, following the uneven pattern outward where it breaks into smaller traces that lead forward. I rise again, scanning ahead where the trail sharpens slightly, more frequent, more chaotic.
“You’re hurt,” I murmur, stepping forward with more urgency now. “Bad enough to leave this much behind, but not enough to drop, because you don’t know how to stop even when you should.”
The terrain begins to shift as I move deeper, the sand thinning in places to expose jagged rock that forces my steps into more deliberate placement. The ground angles upward into broken ridges that fracture the horizon, and the wind loses its smooth flow, catching and redirecting in sharp bursts that make the environment feel more unstable.
“You either chose elevation or got forced into it,” I mutter, adjusting my path along the rising ground. “Either way, you’retrying to limit angles, which means something was already on you.”
The sound comes in low through the wind, subtle but wrong enough that it cuts through everything else, and I slow without stopping, my hand dropping to my weapon as my gaze sweeps the terrain ahead. Movement flickers along the edge of a rock formation, bodies blending into the environment until they shift just enough to reveal themselves.
“There you are,” I murmur, tracking their spacing as they circle outward in controlled arcs.
The creatures move low and deliberate, tightening their pattern as they test distance, and I shift my stance slightly, keeping the rock to one side to reduce the directions they can come from. My weight settles evenly, my breathing slows, and I let the heat and discomfort fade to the background as I focus entirely on movement.
“Let’s not pretend this goes easy,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders once as I align my stance.
One breaks off from the group and circles wider before angling inward, its movement careful and probing as it tests range. I track it without rushing, letting it commit instead of forcing the encounter, my grip steady despite the sweat gathering along my palms.
“You thinking about it?” I say under my breath. “Then go ahead and commit, because I’m not chasing you.”
It lunges fast and low, and I fire in the same instant, the shot cracking through the air as the creature drops mid-motion and skids forward across the sand. The others scatter briefly, but only long enough to reposition before tightening their formation again, their movements sharper and more aggressive now that they understand what they’re dealing with.
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my stance as they spread. “That’s more like it, so let’s see how you handle losing a few more.”
Two peel off to the left, one stays forward, and another slips behind the rock, breaking line of sight in a move that forces me to adjust my angle. I pivot slightly, keeping all visible movement within my field while anticipating the one I can’t see.
“Trying to flank me isn’t new,” I mutter, stepping back just enough to maintain space. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
The one to my right commits first, surging forward in a tight arc, and I pivot into it, firing again as it closes the distance. The shot lands clean, dropping it instantly, but the one behind the rock uses the distraction to push forward faster than the others.
I adjust, but the timing tightens more than I want, forcing me to fire at closer range as it charges. The shot hits, but the momentum carries it forward, its body slamming into the sand just short of me in a spray of grit.
“Too close,” I hiss, stepping back again and resetting my stance.
