They crossed another wind pass.The air screamed through the cracks, carrying dust like knives.Shadow could barely keep her eyes open.Alan turned once and saw her Fireseed glowing too bright—her heart unsteady again.
"Keep it calm," he said."I'm trying—"
Before she could finish, the wind twisted.A faint echo rolled across the stones—thin, hollow, like breath through bone.Alan said nothing. He only listened.
The fog shifted. He waited for the rhythm.
They walked on. The slope eased, the wind quieted. But Shadow's steps slowed with each breath.Her skin had turned pale, her lips bloodless.
He stopped, tore open her bandage, and looked once."The stitches split."
"It's fine," she gasped. "I can still move."
"If you can't, there's only one end. The fire won't save you.""I know."
He said no more.He poured salt onto the wound. Smoke rose where blood touched it.She trembled but held silent.He tied the cloth again, tighter this time, until the blood stopped.
A gust swept across the sand, leaving ripples like waves.Alan crouched and brushed the surface aside. Beneath it lay fragments of bone—thin and small, like fingers.Beside them were two carved letters: S.W.
He knew them.The mark of the Empire's Seventh Recon Squad.Once human. Now nothing.
"Your people?" Shadow asked."No," Alan said. "Dead."
"Their fire?""Taken."
His voice was like iron cooling in water.She said nothing else.
He buried the bones again, dusting his palms clean.The Fireseed in his chest pulsed once, uneasy. He pressed it flat, whispering nothing.
The light was fading fast. Ahead, the ground fell into a canyon—deep, narrow, and echoing.Alan knew the sound-trap there. Echo Beasts followed noise, not scent.But there was no other shelter before night.
They followed the edge until they found a half-collapsed cave. The entrance was small, barely wide enough for one person.Inside, soot clung to the walls—old fire marks.He studied the floor: no footprints, no salt lines. Safe enough.
Shadow collapsed as soon as she entered, sliding down the wall.Alan knelt, drew a ring of salt, sewed it into the dirt with his bone needle, and tested the wind.Only when his Fireseed steadied did he breathe again.
He looked at the faint red glow and whispered,"I owe you more than I should."
The flame flickered twice—its only answer.
Alan leaned against the wall, carved three lines into the stone with his knife:
One — Blood feeds fire.Two — Fire keeps debts.Three — The wind lies.
He paused, listening.Outside, the wind crawled low, scraping the sand like a living thing.Shadow's breath had steadied; she was asleep.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.The fire's warmth pressed against his ribs, steady, rhythmic.
He dreamed.The blue flame again.The same face—the same voice—Shadow's reflection in the light.This time, it did not speak.It only watched him, eyes burning bright.
The Fireseed pulsed once, answering it.Alan woke at once, his hand clutching his chest.
The heat was the same, but the light—brighter.He stayed awake.
The night was wrong.Too quiet.Silence that came not from wind, but from something hunting.
He whispered,"Act up again, and I'll smother you."
The fire obeyed.
Before dawn, faint footsteps echoed through the canyon—three steps, then a pause;two more, then stillness.
Someone was walking across the stones.
Alan held his breath, knife ready.The steps stopped near the cave. Even the wind froze.
He didn't move.His eyes stayed on the salt line at the door.
Pale gray light crept inside, painting his face in ash tones.
He knew before he saw.
Not a beast.A man.
And that man—was looking for him.