Cian woke to the smell of dry dust. The marsh mist had vanished overnight, replaced by a clear, cold dawn. He could see for miles – sand, rock, and the occasional twisted tree.
Voss stood at the edge of the camp, scanning the horizon. "The desert is open. No cover. We walk in single file, stay close."
Cinder groaned, pulling his boots on. "At least it's not wet."
They ate cold rations, drank the last of their water from the marsh, and refilled from the skins. Echo studied her map. "There's a nomad well half a day south. We can replenish there."
They moved out.
The heat was oppressive. Cian's coat was too warm, but he did not remove it – the sun would burn his skin. He walked in silence, watching the ground for tracks, the horizon for movement.
Wraith raised her hand. The squad froze.
She pointed. Ahead, the sand seemed to shift – a ripple, then nothing. Cian squinted. He saw nothing.
Then he saw it: a distortion, like heat haze, but localized. Moving toward them.
"Something's there," he whispered.
The creature struck from the side. It materialized out of empty air – a panther-like beast, six feet at the shoulder, with pitch-black fur that seemed to drink light. Its eyes were voids, its claws left gouges in the rock. It lunged at Echo.
Voss intercepted, his longsword slashing across its flank. The creature shrieked – a sound like grinding stone – and flickered, becoming semi-transparent.
"Sand Stalker," Echo said, rolling to her feet. "Void-attribute. It phases when it's about to strike. Watch for the flicker."
Cian watched. The creature circled, its form wavering. He saw the pattern: a ripple in the air, then a solid shape, then a lunge.
"There," he said, pointing. "It's solid now – for three heartbeats."
Cinder charged, his greatsword sweeping low. The creature leaped over it, but Wraith was already there, her daggers sinking into its flank. It shrieked again, flickered, vanished.
"Where—" Cinder started.
"Behind Voss," Cian said.
The creature materialized behind Voss, jaws open. Voss spun, his sword coming up, but the creature was faster. It would have taken his arm if Echo hadn't kicked it in the snout – a precise, brutal strike that knocked its head aside.
The creature staggered, and Cinder brought his greatsword down on its spine. It collapsed, twitched, and went still.
Silence. Then Cinder exhaled. "Good call, kid."
Cian's heart was pounding. He had not moved – only watched. But he had seen the pattern.
Wraith scouted ahead and found a shallow cave in the rock face, partially hidden by a dune. Bones, scraps of cloth, and a small wooden chest bound with iron straps.
Echo examined it. "This didn't come from a merchant caravan. Look at the straps – military-grade iron."
Cinder tried to break the lock with his knife. It didn't budge.
"We take it," Voss said. "Open it later."
Cian hefted the chest. It was heavy – not with gold, but with paper. Documents.
They strapped it to Cinder's pack and continued south.
They found the nomads at a shallow well, drawing water. An old woman with sun-scarred skin watched them approach. Her people reached for weapons, but she raised a hand.
"Traders?" she asked.
"Travelers," Voss said. "We need water and information."
They traded silver for water skins and dried meat. Echo asked about the armed men moving south. The nomads exchanged glances.
The old woman spoke, her voice low and rough. "The governor in Urple knows. He does nothing. His guards are the ones who take people." She looked at each of them. "You are not from here. You are soldiers, yes? Tell someone who will listen."
Voss nodded. "We will."
They paid for the water and left.
They found a rocky outcrop as the sun set, sheltered from the wind. No fire. Cold rations. The chest sat between them, unopened.
Cian told the squad what the old woman had said. The governor. His guards. The disappearances.
Echo's face was grim. "We were going to report to him. Now I'm not sure."
"We go," Voss said. "But we watch. We verify. And we keep the chest hidden."
Cinder nodded. "And if he's dirty?"
"Then we adapt."
Wraith said nothing. Her hood was up, her face hidden. But Cian saw her hands tighten on her daggers.
Voss assigned watches. Cian took the first, sitting at the edge of the outcrop, the stars above, the desert dark around him.
He thought about the creature – the way it flickered before striking. The pattern he had seen. The old woman's warning. The chest full of documents.
They were close to something. He could feel it.
Echo relieved him. He lay down on the sand, closed his eyes, and slept.