The desert wind howled through the cracked ravines as the Dawnbreakers broke camp at first light. Aera stood ahead of the column, her coat whipping behind her, hair pulled into a tight braid. The datapad at her side blinked with the route Syrix had mapped out: the fastest path to the Lucent Alliance capital—cutting through dead zones, fractured terrain, and enemy-patrolled corridors.
They didn't have weeks.
They had days.
Varra slammed the hatch shut on the last vehicle. "Engines primed. We're rolling hot."
Elian climbed into the lead transport, adjusting his wrist display. "Syrix said there are Dezune recon units about three days ahead of us. If they see us moving, they'll report it."
"We go silent," Aera said. "No comms. No high-energy tech pings. We move like ghosts."
The squad was different now. Harder. Sharper. Forged in the Hollow and tempered by fire and fear.
But they were also determined.
They weren't just traveling anymore.
They were racing against a nightmare.
The sun climbed higher, painting the Salt Flats in a shimmering silver glow. Everything here looked surreal—like a mirage stretched too long. Jagged spires of crystallized salt rose like alien ruins. Old wrecks from battles long forgotten lay half-sunken in the dust, their metal bones gleaming.
Inside the transport, Elian leaned against the side, eyes scanning the tablet in his lap. Tactical projections, terrain overlays, and threat assessments. But then he glanced toward Aera in the front passenger seat.
She wasn't looking at maps.
She was staring ahead—eyes narrowed, expression unreadable.
He broke the silence. "You sure you're ready for this?"
"No," she admitted. "But I'm doing it anyway."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Good. That's how leaders are made."
They camped by a jagged cliff that night, well out of satellite range. Fires were low. Spirits lower. But Aera made her rounds—checking in with each squad member, sharing food, talking quietly.
She ended up sitting beside a young recruit, Dain, who had barely spoken since the Hollow.
He looked up, hesitating. "Do you really think we can stop what Syrix showed us?"
Aera met his gaze, steady. "I don't know if we can stop it. But I know what happens if we do nothing."
A beat of silence.
Then Dain nodded. "Then we better keep moving."
By the second day, they entered the Wyrmspine Gorge, a treacherous canyon of magnetic stone. Compass readings flickered. GPS died. They had to rely on Syrix's offline predictions and sheer instinct.
"We're not alone," Varra warned, pointing to distant dust clouds.
"Probably scavenger drones," Elian muttered. "If we're lucky."
They weren't lucky.
Halfway through the gorge, a cluster of rogue auto-turrets activated—remnants from an old Imperial siege line. They lit up the canyon in bursts of plasma, pinning them down.
Aera barked orders. "Split into two groups! Flank wide, disable the cores!"
They moved like a machine, no hesitation. In fifteen minutes, it was over. They kept moving before the smoke cleared.
On the third night, as they parked the vehicles beside a cracked riverbed, Syrix pinged Aera with a direct message.
"ANOMALY DETECTED — UNIDENTIFIED TRANSMISSION INTERCEPTED" "SOURCE: ENCRYPTED EMPIRE NODE" "LOCATION: ALDERMAW PASS — 2 DAYS AHEAD"
Aera stared at the message.
Whatever was waiting for them… it wasn't just resistance.
Something was watching.