Mazen didn't wait.
The second the masked man disappeared into the mist, he shoved himself away from the rock, forcing his legs to move.
The air felt heavier now. Like it was closing in.
Somewhere in the distance, a long, low horn blared — a sharp, ugly note that carried across the dead land.
Mazen froze.
Another call answered it, closer this time.
A hunting signal.
It didn't matter what it meant exactly. The tone was clear. It meant danger.
He glanced over his shoulder once — the corpse of the beast still lying in the dirt — then turned and ran.
The ache in his legs didn't matter. The dryness in his throat didn't matter.
He just ran.
Another horn. Closer.
And voices now.
Rough. Human.
Mazen dropped low, moving behind a jagged rise in the land, ducking behind broken stone formations. Every instinct screamed at him to stay in the open so he could spot them first — but Shadow's words stuck in his head.
Don't trust the light. Keep moving.
So he moved.
Not toward anything. Not toward shelter. Just away from the sound of horns and men.
And for now, that was enough.
Shina gasped awake, choking on dust and cold air.
Her palms scraped against rough stone as she scrambled upright, eyes darting to the alien sky above — red, bruised, unfamiliar.
She spun, heart pounding.
"Mazen!" she shouted, her voice raw, panic surging. "Mazen!"
Nothing answered.
The landscape around her was a stretch of cracked ground and twisted stone pillars. A foul-smelling mist clung to the ground, and in the distance, something howled.
She swallowed hard.
None of it made sense.
The last thing she remembered was his face, the wind tearing around them, and then—
Another horn call broke the silence.
Shina flinched. It was distant, but moving closer. She didn't know what it meant.
Didn't need to.
It meant people.
And right now, people might mean worse than monsters.
She clenched her fists, forced herself upright, and did the only thing she could.
She ran.
The war horn's call faded, and hoofbeats followed.
A column of riders in dark leather and bone-plated armor moved swiftly through the wasteland. Their leader, a thick-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his lip, raised a gloved hand.
"Fan out," Darian Vorak barked. "Anything human-shaped, you bring it in. If it resists, drop it."
The soldiers obeyed without a word, splitting into smaller patrols, crossbows and hooked blades ready.
A younger soldier to Vorak's left nudged his mount closer.
"Thought Rhys wanted them alive."
Vorak grunted. "Alive if it's easy. Dead if it's not. Just leave the faces intact. King wants proof."
The man grinned.
Another horn call in the distance.
Vorak smirked under his helm.
They won't get far.
Another horn sounded — much closer now.
Mazen dropped into a crouch behind a jagged rock outcrop. The ground shook faintly with the steady thrum of hooves approaching.
Voices drifted over the ridge. Harsh, barking orders in a language he didn't recognize.
He swallowed hard.
A patrol.
And judging by the clatter of metal and the stomp of horses, more than a few.
Mazen glanced around, eyes scanning for cover.
To his left — a narrow cut in the earth, a natural ravine, half-hidden by scraggly brush and jagged stone. It wasn't deep, but it was enough.
He bolted for it.
The rocks bit into his palms as he slid down, landing hard in loose gravel. He pressed himself against the stone, breath shallow.
A dozen mounted figures crested the rise above him.
He caught glimpses through the scrub — bone-plated armor, snarling animal helms, curved blades at their hips.
One rider paused, scanning the land below.
Mazen held his breath.
A long moment.
Then the soldier grunted and spurred his horse forward. The others followed.
Mazen didn't move until their hoofbeats faded into the distance.
Only then did he exhale, his pulse hammering in his throat.
Shadow's voice echoed in his head.
Don't trust the light. Keep moving.
He got up, wiped the dust from his hands, and kept moving.
Shina's lungs burned.
She ran blind, ducking between low, jagged rocks, every step a gamble in the uneven ground. The hunting horns sounded again — too close.
She didn't stop.
Not when she heard the hooves.
Not when a rough voice barked behind her.
"There!"
Two mounted soldiers charged over the rise, their blades flashing in the dying light.
Shina's stomach lurched. There was nowhere left to run.
One of them raised a crossbow.
This is it.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Thwip.
Thwip.
Both soldiers jerked in their saddles. Thin, black-tipped darts buried in their throats.
They collapsed without a sound.
Shina froze.
A figure stepped from the mist.
A woman — tall, lean, dark hair half-tied, gray cloak in tatters. Her amber eyes sharp as glass. A pair of slim, curved daggers hung at her sides.
"Get up," the woman said, voice cold and steady.
Shina hesitated.
"I said move, girl. More'll be here."
Not waiting for a response, the stranger grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into a narrow path between the rocks.
They moved fast, silent.
Only when the horns faded behind them did the woman let go.
"Name's Mirra," she muttered, checking the horizon. "If you want to see another sunrise, don't wander this land alone."
She didn't ask for Shina's name.
Didn't care.
"Stay quiet. Stay low. And whatever you do…" Mirra's gaze flicked to the strange, swirling sky.
"Don't trust anyone you meet out here. Not even me."
Then she disappeared into the haze.
Leaving Shina breathless, confused — and very much alive.