The metal spine of the Exile's Market faded into the grey mist behind them, but the roar of Kaelen's engines still vibrated in the ground—a low, mechanical tremor that traveled through the soles of their boots.
Ciro didn't stop. He couldn't.
They had descended from the machine's skeleton an hour ago, trading the rusted iron walkways for the unforgiving terrain of the Wastes. The transition was jarring. The noise of the market was gone, replaced by a silence so profound it felt heavy, pressing against their eardrums.
"We need to reach the tree line before sunrise," Ciro rasped. He checked the horizon. A faint, bruised purple line was appearing in the East. "Once the sun hits the glass... we cook."
Elara limped beside him. She had wrapped the hem of her tunic around her sprained ankle, tying it tight to act as a brace. She wasn't complaining. She wasn't asking for a break. She was marching with a grim determination that made Ciro's chest ache with a mixture of pride and guilt.
"Is that it?" Elara whispered, pointing ahead.
Ciro looked.
Rising from the grey dunes wasn't a forest of wood and leaf. It was a nightmare of geology.
The Glass Forest.
It was a sprawling expanse of jagged, vertical pillars. Some were thin as needles, others thick as castle towers. They weren't trees; they were fulgurites—massive tubes of sand fused instantly into glass by centuries of magical lightning storms.
They twisted toward the sky in unnatural, spiraling shapes. Some were clear as crystal, others black as obsidian, jagged edges catching the faint pre-dawn light like millions of waiting knives.
"Stay on the rock paths," Ciro warned, drawing his sword not for enemies, but to clear the way. "Do not touch the trees. The edges are sharper than a razor. One slip, and you slice an artery."
They entered the forest.
The sound of their footsteps changed. It was no longer the soft thud of ash, but a sickening crunch—like walking on broken bones. The ground was littered with shards of shattered glass that had fallen from the "branches" above.
"Why are we going through here?" Elara asked, her voice hushed. The acoustics of the forest were strange; her whisper echoed, bouncing off the glass surfaces.
"Look at the ground," Ciro pointed. "Do you see tracks?"
Elara looked. The ground was a mess of sharp debris.
"No."
"Exactly," Ciro said. "Kaelen's armored crawlers have rubber tires. If they try to drive through here, the glass will shred them in minutes. This forest is a tank trap. They will have to go around, or dismount and follow on foot. We buy time."
It was a brilliant tactical move, but the cost was high.
As they moved deeper, the sun began to breach the horizon.
And the forest woke up.
The first ray of sunlight hit a tall spire of clear glass. It didn't just illuminate it; it ignited it. The light refracted through the pillar, splitting into a blinding prism. Then it hit another pillar. And another.
Within minutes, the gloomy forest transformed into a blinding kaleidoscope of light.
"Eyes down!" Ciro commanded, shielding his face.
The heat came next. It wasn't the humid heat of the jungle; it was the dry, searing heat of an oven. The glass amplified the sun, reflecting the thermal energy back and forth until the air shimmered.
Elara gasped, pulling her face covering tighter. The sweat on her skin evaporated instantly.
"It's like walking inside a mirror," she wheezed.
"Keep moving," Ciro urged, though he was stumbling too. The fever had left him weak, and the heat was sapping his remaining strength. "There is a cave system three miles in. We just have to—"
Crunch.
Ciro stopped.
The sound hadn't come from their boots.
It came from above.
Ciro froze, his hand snapping up to signal Elara to stop. They stood perfectly still amidst the shimmering pillars.
Skitter. Skitter. Click.
The sound was rhythmic. Like knitting needles tapping on a windowpane.
"Ciro?" Elara whispered, her eyes darting around the dazzling reflections. "What is that?"
"I told you," Ciro said, his voice dropping to a vibration. "Lightning strikes the sand. But sometimes... it strikes something living."
He slowly rotated, scanning the canopy of jagged glass branches.
At first, Elara saw nothing. Just light, glass, and shadow.
Then, one of the shadows moved.
Perched on a massive, obsidian archway ten feet above them, something was watching.
It was translucent, almost invisible against the glass background. Its body was armored in crystalline plates that shifted color to match the environment. It had eight segmented legs that ended in sharp points, gripping the smooth glass with ease.
And a tail. A long, segmented tail ending in a bulbous stinger that glowed with a faint, crackling blue energy.
A Crystal Scorpion.
It was the size of a wolf.
"Don't move," Ciro whispered. "They hunt by vibration. They sense movement."
Elara held her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Could the monster hear her heart?
The scorpion tilted its triangular head. Its multi-faceted eyes glittered. It let out a low, chittering hiss.
Click-click-click.
From the left, another sound answered.
Then from the right.
Elara's blood ran cold. It wasn't one.
Three more scorpions materialized from the glare, detaching themselves from the crystal trunks. They were surrounded.
"They're herding us," Ciro realized. "They aren't hunting. They are securing the perimeter."
"For what?"
As if to answer, the ground beneath them trembled.
Not a mechanical tremor from Kaelen's tanks. This was organic.
The pile of shattered glass in the center of the clearing began to shift. It rose, cascading down like a glittering waterfall, revealing a massive, armored carapace beneath.
A Queen.
She was massive—easily the size of a carriage. Her armor wasn't clear; it was a deep, impenetrable purple. Her pincers were large enough to snap a man in half.
She dragged herself out of the burrow, chittering loudly. The smaller males scuttled back, giving her space.
Ciro tightened his grip on his sword. It looked like a toothpick against the Queen.
"Elara," Ciro said, his voice calm with the acceptance of death. "Do you still have the crossbow?"
"Yes," she squeaked.
"Do you have the explosive bolts Grom kept in the safe box?"
Elara fumbled in her pouch. "Two. Only two."
"Good," Ciro said. "The Queen's armor is too thick for steel. But her eyes... her eyes are glass."
The Queen screeched—a sound like metal tearing—and lunged.
"Run!" Ciro shoved Elara toward a narrow gap between two fulgurites. "Aim for the eyes! I'll draw her fire!"
Ciro didn't run away. He ran toward the monster.
He scooped up a handful of glass shards from the ground and threw them at the Queen's face, screaming a war cry to draw her attention.
"Over here, you ugly chandelier!"
The Queen snapped her massive pincers, crushing the air where Ciro had been a second ago. He slid underneath her strike, the glass slicing his tunic, blood blooming on his arm.
"Elara! Now!"
Elara raised the heavy crossbow. The heat haze made the target swim. The Queen was thrashing, Ciro was dodging death by inches.
I am not a rabbit, she repeated the mantra. I am the hunter.
She took a breath, holding the poisonous air in her lungs.
She aimed.
She squeezed the trigger.