The desert stretches endlessly before us, a sea of golden dunes that shift and ripple in the wind like living things. The heat is oppressive even as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, the air shimmering with waves of distortion that make the landscape seem unreal.
We've been walking for hours.
Kael and his companions lead the way, their movements efficient and practiced. They know this terrain, know its dangers, and they navigate it with the kind of confidence that comes from years of experience.
Behind me, Ghatak walks in silence, his presence a steady anchor. I can feel his awareness through our bond—the way he scans the horizon, the way he tracks every shift in the wind, every change in the landscape.
He's on edge.
So am I.
The eastern desert is not like the wastelands we crossed on Draconis. There, the land was dead—lifeless and still, a monument to genocide and destruction. Here, the desert is alive. Hostile. Unforgiving.
Sparse vegetation clings to life in the shadows of rock formations—twisted, thorny plants with waxy leaves that hoard every drop of moisture. Insects buzz in the air, their wings catching the light, and somewhere in the distance I hear the cry of a bird of prey.
Life exists here. But it's hard-won. Brutal.
The kind of life that survives by being meaner, tougher, and more ruthless than everything else.
I can respect that.
"How much farther?" I ask, my voice cutting through the silence.
Kael glances back at me, his scarred face unreadable. "Another day, maybe two. Depends on the weather."
"The weather?"
"Sandstorms," one of his companions says—a wiry woman with sun-darkened skin and sharp eyes. "They come up fast out here. If we get caught in one, we'll have to shelter until it passes."
"And if we don't find shelter?"
She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to.
I nod, filing the information away. Noted. Sandstorms are dangerous.
We continue walking, the dunes rising and falling around us like waves frozen in time. The sand shifts beneath my boots with every step, making the going slow and exhausting. Even with my enhanced stamina, I can feel the strain in my legs, the burn in my lungs from breathing the dry, scorching air.
Ghatak moves beside me, his stride steady and unhurried. He's not struggling the way I am—his void dragon physiology makes him more resilient to environmental extremes—but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes never stop moving.
He's waiting for something to go wrong.
Smart.
The sky begins to change as the sun sinks lower.
At first, it's subtle—a darkening along the horizon, a shift in the quality of the light. But then the wind picks up, gusting hard enough to sting my face with sand, and I see Kael's expression tighten.
"Storm," he says, his voice clipped. "We need to find shelter. Now."
His companions don't argue. They break into a run, scanning the landscape for anything that might offer protection, and Ghatak and I follow.
The wind grows stronger with every passing second, howling across the dunes and whipping sand into the air. Visibility drops rapidly, the world around us dissolving into a haze of gold and brown.
"There!" the wiry woman shouts, pointing toward a cluster of rock formations jutting up from the sand like broken teeth.
We sprint toward them, the wind tearing at our clothes, the sand stinging every exposed inch of skin. By the time we reach the rocks, the storm is a roaring wall of fury, and I can barely see more than a few feet in front of me.
Kael leads us into a narrow crevice between two massive boulders, and we press ourselves against the stone as the storm rages outside.
The noise is deafening. The wind screams like a living thing, and the sand batters the rocks with a sound like hail. I can feel the raw power of it—the sheer, indifferent violence of nature unleashed.
And for the first time since I woke from my coma, I feel small.
Not powerless. I could stop this storm if I wanted to—could reach out with my chaos magic and tear it apart, reshape the wind, calm the fury.
But it would cost me. And more than that, it would be pointless.
This storm doesn't care who I am. Doesn't care that I'm a dragon, a princess, a being capable of unmaking reality itself.
It just is.
And there's something humbling about that.
Ghatak's hand finds mine in the darkness, his fingers lacing through mine, and I squeeze back. We don't speak—there's no point, the storm would swallow our words—but the contact is enough.
We're in this together.
The storm rages for what feels like hours. Sand piles up at the entrance to our shelter, and the air grows thick and stifling. But eventually, slowly, the wind begins to die down.
The howling fades to a whisper. The battering sand becomes a gentle patter. And then, finally, silence.
Kael is the first to move, pushing himself to his feet and peering out into the desert. "It's over," he says, his voice hoarse.
We emerge from the crevice into a transformed landscape.
The dunes have shifted, their shapes altered by the storm's fury. The sky is clear again, the sun hanging low and red on the horizon, and the air is eerily still.
Too still.
"Something's wrong," Ghatak murmurs, his eyes narrowing.
I feel it too. A tension in the air, a sense of wrongness that makes my skin prickle.
And then the sand beneath our feet begins to tremble.
"Move!" Kael shouts, but it's too late.
The dune to our left explodes upward in a spray of sand and stone, and something massive erupts from beneath the surface.
It's a worm.
But not like any worm I've ever seen.
It's enormous—easily fifty feet long and as thick around as a tree trunk. Its body is segmented, covered in chitinous plates that gleam like polished bronze in the fading light. Its mouth is a circular maw lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and it screams—a high-pitched, keening sound that makes my ears ring.
"Sandworm!" the wiry woman yells, drawing her weapon.
A second worm bursts from the sand to our right. Then a third. A fourth.
Four of them.
They circle us, their massive bodies undulating through the sand like serpents through water, and I realize with cold clarity that we're surrounded.
"Defensive formation!" Kael barks, and his companions move instantly, forming a tight circle with their backs to each other.
Ghatak and I do the same, our bodies pressed together, our eyes tracking the worms as they circle closer.
"They're attracted to vibrations," Kael says, his voice tight. "The storm must have woken them."
"How do we kill them?" I ask.
"You don't. You survive them."
Not good enough.
The first worm lunges.
It moves with terrifying speed, its maw gaping wide, and I throw myself to the side as it crashes into the space where I was standing. Sand sprays everywhere, and I roll to my feet, my hand already reaching for my magic.
Chaos energy floods through me, wild and electric, and I shape it into a blade—a construct of pure power that shimmers in the air like heat haze.
The worm turns toward me, its eyeless head tracking my movement, and I strike.
The blade cuts deep, slicing through chitin and flesh, and the worm shrieks. Black ichor sprays from the wound, hissing where it hits the sand, and the creature thrashes in agony.
But it doesn't die.
It lunges again, faster this time, and I barely manage to dodge. Its body slams into the ground where I was standing, and the impact sends a shockwave through the sand that nearly knocks me off my feet.
Beside me, Ghatak is fighting his own battle.
He's shifted partially into his dragon form—his hands elongated into claws, his eyes glowing with void energy—and he's tearing into one of the worms with brutal efficiency. Void magic crackles around him, dark and hungry, and where it touches the worm's flesh, the creature simply ceases to exist.
Chunks of its body vanish into nothingness, erased from reality, and the worm writhes in silent agony.
Kael and his companions are holding their own, but barely. They're skilled fighters, but they're human. Mortal. And these creatures are ancient, primal things that have survived in this desert for millennia.
One of the worms lunges at the wiry woman, and she screams as its teeth close around her leg. Blood sprays, and she goes down hard.
No.
I reach out with my chaos magic, wrapping it around the worm's body, and squeeze.
Reality bends. The worm's body compresses, its chitin cracking under the pressure, and it releases the woman with a shriek. I don't let up—I keep squeezing, keep crushing, until the creature's body collapses in on itself and goes still.
One down.
Three to go.
Ghatak finishes his worm a moment later, the last of its body dissolving into void, and he turns to help me with the remaining two.
We move in tandem, our magic intertwining—chaos and void, creation and destruction, working together to unmake these ancient predators.
It's brutal. Visceral. The kind of fight that leaves you covered in ichor and sand and breathing hard from exertion.
But we're winning.
And then, just as I'm about to deliver the killing blow to the third worm, I feel it.
A presence.
Powerful. Ancient. Dragon.
I spin around, my magic flaring defensively, and see them.
A figure stands atop a nearby dune, silhouetted against the setting sun. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an aura of power that makes the air around them shimmer.
And beside them, ten smaller figures. Children.
No. Not children.
Dragon children.
The figure raises a hand, and golden light erupts from their palm—bright and searing, like liquid sunlight. It slams into the third worm, and the creature screams as its body is consumed by the light.
Within seconds, there's nothing left but ash.
The fourth worm tries to flee, burrowing back into the sand, but one of the children—a boy who can't be more than ten years old—raises his hand and sends a bolt of crackling energy into the sand. The worm convulses and goes still.