The desert stretched endlessly before us, cracked earth glowing faintly beneath the last streaks of dusk. Heat still bled upward from the sand, carrying the bitter tang of ash from the village we had left behind. It clung to our clothes, our skin, our lungs—the kind of ghost you couldn't wash away.
I walked at the front, scarf torn and fluttering in the wind, leading us into an emptiness that felt heavier with every step. We had survived the fire. Older me remembers. But the fire wasn't the end. The whispers of fear followed, thin and sharp, curling like smoke through every step. And closer with each one, the Path pressed in.
Nysera prowled slightly ahead, arms crossed over her chest. Her golden eyes flickered faintly, catching the last light of dusk. Even when still, her body hummed with tension, like a bowstring stretched too far. I could almost hear her thoughts: They walk like prey. No pack rhythm. Every step she took was measured, shoulders low, muscles ready to spring.
Behind her, Liora bent low, steadying the limping child we had taken from the ruins. Golden light seeped softly from her hands, wrapping the boy's twisted ankle, dulling the pain just enough for him to keep moving. "Just a little further," she whispered, her voice warm despite the exhaustion dragging her shoulders down. "You'll be safe." Even her conviction was a kind of light, though I saw the truth in her eyes—the doubt that shadowed every healer's promise.
At the rear, Zero walked apart. Blades sheathed but never still, his fingers tapped along the hilts as though they itched for violence. The pale silver in his eyes flickered, cold and calculating, scanning the desert like a hunter studying weak prey. Shadows licked faintly at the edges of his gaze. Too loud. Too exposed, his eyes seemed to say. If I were hunting us…
I looked back at him. "You keep glaring like we're enemies." The words came sharper than I meant.
He didn't flinch. "Not enemies." His voice was flat, thin as the desert wind. "Liabilities."
Heat rose in me, hotter than the sun's dying light. "Say that again—"
"Enough." Liora's voice cut through, firm and steady. She lifted her shield just enough to separate us, her glow casting long shadows across the sand. "If the villagers hear this, they'll think we're worse than husks."
I bit back the retort. She was right. But Zero's words lingered, sharp as a knife against the ribs.
At the center, Laura walked quietly, the smallest of us yet the most unshaken. Dust coated her face, but her eyes shone—rings of blue light turning slowly like the hands of a clock. Her pendant glimmered faintly, the hourglass at its center leaking a shimmer of blue-gold threads that pulsed in time with her steps. The sand at her feet shifted oddly, grains hanging in the air before falling back into place. She didn't seem to notice. But I did. The Path moved her—and through her, all of us—whether we willed it or not.
Night crept fast, painting the horizon in steel and indigo. When we reached the jagged remains of a ruin half-buried in sand, the child lifted a trembling hand. His voice cracked. "That… that's where others hid…"
We slowed. The air felt wrong. Then the shadows moved.
The sand split. Hands clawed upward. Husks.
Bodies jerking like broken puppets. Eyes silvered and hollow, reflecting starlight in fractured shards.
Nysera didn't wait. She roared forward, claws tearing open the first husk in a burst of black ichor that hissed where it touched the sand.
I split. The world shivered. Echoes peeled away, three of me charging as one, blades flashing. Steel carved mirrored arcs, severing arms that writhed even after they fell.
Liora braced behind, shield planted. Golden threads flared from her hands, weaving into a radiant wall. The husks slammed against it, bursting into sparks of light and ichor. Her aura hummed steady, anchoring us.
Zero was a ghost. One flick of his knife—a husk folded in on itself, gone before it hit the sand. Another came; his blade sliced clean, the head falling before the body realized it was dead.
Then the ruins groaned. Stone split. A slab tore free overhead, falling like judgment. Villagers screamed.
Laura's pendant blazed. The air thickened. Time bent. Dust froze midair as the stone slowed, grinding against unseen resistance. Heartbeats stretched long enough for the villagers to stagger free. Then the block smashed into the earth, the impact cracking the ground beneath us.
I staggered—claws slashed past my throat. Nysera.
"Stay out of my way!" Her eyes burned molten gold.
"You jumped into mine!" My echoes flickered, unstable under the strain.
A husk lunged from the side. Zero cut it down in a single precise strike. His voice flat: "Argue later."
"Protect the survivors first!" Liora's command cracked like thunder, her shield blazing as she forced the swarm back.
Laura's voice tore through the chaos. "Left! Now!"
We dove. A wave of husks slammed into the gap we'd left, mirror-eyes searching, jerking. Nysera ripped their flank open, ichor spraying hot across her claws.
Together—unrefined, raw, but burning—we struck back. My echoes slashed. Nysera tore. Zero killed clean. Liora's light burned holes through the swarm. Laura's trembling cries warned and guided.
One by one, the husks fell. The last shriek echoed across the night before silence collapsed heavy as stone.
The ruins stank of ichor. Our breaths rasped hard, ragged. Survivors whispered thanks, heads bowed, their awe sharpened by fear.
Laura knelt, trembling, glow fading from her pendant. I reached down, pulled her back to her feet. Her hand was ice-cold.
Nysera wiped black blood from her claws, scowling. "She's not pack leader."
Zero sheathed his blades with a final, sharp click. "Doesn't matter. We followed. We lived."
Moonlight spilled across the ruins, painting us silver and pale gold. In the broken stone, faint flickers lingered—shadows shaped like us but twisted, darker, watching in silence. Reflections of what we might become.
I touched the edge of my scarf, worn soft with ash and travel. Hidden beneath, Eldric's book pressed against my chest. The leather cover hummed faintly, whispering with maps and half-finished notes, with paths and trials unchosen. And warnings—of Hunters already searching.
Older me remembers: for the first time, we moved as one. Not friends. Not yet allies. But bound. The Path had begun its weaving. And the road ahead would demand everything.
But as the moon climbed higher, I felt the wind shift—and knew something else was already hunting us in the dark.