The desert did not attack.
And somehow, that was worse.
Cassian stood still for several seconds longer than necessary, his eyes fixed on the shifting horizon ahead while a quiet, unfamiliar unease settled into his chest. He had walked through war-torn cities, crossed fields where the dead outnumbered the living, and faced things that should never have existed and yet, none of those moments had felt like this.
This silence was not empty.
It was deliberate.
Measured.
Watching.
The wind moved faintly, dragging thin lines across the sand, but even that seemed restrained as if something vast and unseen had pressed a hand over the desert itself, forcing it into stillness.
The usual restless whisper of grains shifting endlessly across the dunes had dulled into something quieter, something that lingered just at the edge of hearing.
Listening.
Cassian exhaled slowly, steadying himself as his gaze lowered slightly, taking in the figures that surrounded them.
