After a frantic retreat from an uncharted cave in the outer reaches of Dome One, five figures established a temporary camp beneath the cover of night.
Among them was Kestin, a medium-sized, four-armed Vellon whose dense coat and expressive ears gave him an almost harmless appearance. The deception was ruined by the nervous intelligence in his eyes. All four of his ears twitched as he turned toward the group's human leader.
"Boss, c'mon," Kestin pleaded. "Let us see it again. Just one look."
Marek, the human in command, swung his mechanical hook arm over his shoulder in a sharp, threatening arc. He was not physically imposing, but he carried himself with the brittle hostility of someone who believed the world had insulted him by existing.
"NO, YOU IDIOTS!" he barked. "Do you have any idea what we just found?"
He paced around the camp, eyes wide with the feverish brightness of greed.
"This is my—" He stopped himself. "Our key to success in the big boss's batch. This isn't some shiny little trinket for you to drool over. Dezcrin himself needs to see this. Not you lazy vulks."
Kestin lowered his head with a shallow sigh, scratched one ear, and returned to packing the supplies.
Then there was Rist.
Rist was a Vyx: tall, narrow, and unsettlingly jointed, his body wrapped in woven plates of chitin and deep-red flesh. At the center of his half-plated skull, a lone hexagonal crystal eye glimmered blue as he leaned over the camp, still trying to glimpse the prize.
"But Boss…" Rist hissed, his voice carrying a faint internal echo. "Can't we have one tiny, miserable, harmless little look?"
Marek did not hesitate.
His hook snapped forward, caught a ridge of chitin near Rist's collar, and yanked the towering Vyx down until his single crystal eye hovered level with Marek's own.
"NO, YOU CANNON-FODDERING IDIOT!"
With a quick twist, Marek released him.
Rist staggered back, long limbs flailing before he recovered his balance and released an echoing huff. After that, even he went silent.
Marek ignored him. His attention shifted toward the final two members of the group.
His slaves.
A frail young man with dark skin and black hair stood beside a girl of similar build. Her skin was pale, her hair equally dark, and both of them possessed the same striking violet gaze, wide and frantic as Marek turned toward them.
They exchanged one brief glance before forcing their attention back to him.
Fear consumed whatever else might have passed between them.
"You two," Marek barked. "Find something to burn. Move quickly, or I'll feed you to whatever comes wandering through the brush."
The slaves scrambled toward the edge of the camp, searching through dirt and scrub for dry sticks and fallen branches.
Heavy iron chains dragged through the grit behind them. Shackles weighed down their thin ankles, and the links joined into a single long lead that stretched upward to a heavy metal ball suspended above their heads.
Rist held the chain ball in one hand with casual ease, his chitinous grip making the weight seem irrelevant.
"Hurry," he muttered, his lone crystal eye fixed on the horizon with bored indifference. "This metal ball is heavier than both of you useless things combined."
From behind a nearby bush, the boy's trembling voice drifted back.
"Ye—yes, sir."
Rist snorted, the sound wet and resonant against his internal plates.
"Weaklings."
He turned toward Marek, who was crouched over a pile of tinder, coaxing a stubborn spark into flame.
"Boss, why do we even keep them?"
Marek did not look up.
"In case the haul gets too heavy," he said lazily. "Or if we need bait. Same old reasons."
His mechanical arm whirred as he shrugged.
"Besides, Dezcrin wants his money's worth in goods. He'll demand more if we return with one of them missing."
Not far away, the boy gathered sticks with trembling hands. Bark scraped his fingers open, but the pain barely reached him.
Something had begun to fracture in the deepest recesses of his mind.
A cold, jagged resolve cut through the fear.
All of them need to die for what they did.
All of them.
Every. Single. One.
Evrin and his sister, Evris, finished gathering firewood for their masters.
They sat near the edge of camp and picked at the scraps they had been given. It was not enough. Their stomachs ached with hollow, gnawing hunger, and fear lingered over them with the patience of a shadow.
Evris looked emptied out, her strength fading with every breath.
Evrin felt something else taking root in his bones.
Hatred.
He had decided that they would die. Every last one of them. Then he and Evris would run somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. Perhaps one of the cities near the edge of Dome One.
Dome One was a territory of monstrous scale. Its inner reaches grew more dangerous the closer one traveled toward the Inner Domes, but even that uncertain danger seemed preferable to remaining here.
Evrin leaned closer to his sister and lowered his voice until it barely disturbed the air. They sat with their backs turned to the fire, trying to disappear into the gloom. The chain linking their shackles still stretched upward, ending in the iron ball Rist held a few feet away.
"We have to get out of here," Evrin whispered. "Before they kill us… or worse."
Evris chewed the last of her dry rations before answering. Her violet eyes were dull in the dim light.
"How?" she asked. "They're just smart enough to notice if we try anything. And that skull-shield freak still has the chain ball."
Evrin's brow tightened.
"We're still some distance from the batch's hideout," he said after a long silence. "I'll figure something out. For now, eat the rest of your food. We'll need whatever strength we can get."
A short while later, the fire had burned low, reduced to glowing embers and thin veins of smoke.
Kestin kept watch beside the dying light. His eyes pierced the gloom better than any human's, and after a long, uneasy silence, he saw something move.
A shadow within shadows.
All four ears shot upward, each turning toward a different angle of the dark.
"Boss…? Uh, Boss!"
Marek stirred. His eyes snapped open as he instinctively tightened his grip around the precious object in his arms.
"What is it, Kestin?"
"There's something out there," Kestin said. "Something big."
Marek frowned and wiped sleep from his eyes with one hand while the hook mechanism clicked at his side.
"Are you sure it's big and not just some vulks wandering too close?"
"No way," Kestin said quickly. "I know what I saw. It's big, and it's fast."
Beyond the circle of firelight, something moved silently through the darkness.
It had caught up to the thieves who had stolen its most cherished prize.
The beast circled the camp, a silent phantom in the brush. Watching. Waiting.
But when its gaze settled on Rist, it hesitated.
It had never fought this particular Vyx before, but it had fought others of his kind. Once. Perhaps twice.
Both encounters had nearly ended in the beast's death.
So the predator kept its distance, coiled in the dark, waiting for the moment the chitinous giant looked away.