The sun was merciless.
Three weeks had passed since the day I came here. Three weeks since I had decided, for a time, to call this place home.
The desert had a way of bleeding the days together. And though I still felt the weight of a forgotten past,I found myself among the living again.
Now I stood on a ridge of sand with my spear in hand, sweat sliding down my back like molten glass.
"Tracks lead west!" someone shouted.
The hunters fanned out, their silhouettes long and sharp in the rising light. We were six in total. Myyself and four villagers armed with spears, hooks, and sand-colored cloaks that fluttered in the wind.
Adam was also there,mostly to watch me though.
Beneath our boots, the dunes shifted like restless waves. The air shimmered with heat, every breath tasting of iron and grit.
A hunter crouched beside a set of deep claw marks half-buried by drifting sand.
"The beast passed through here," he said, pointing. "Wolf Armadillo. Two days old, maybe less."
"Two days?" I muttered. "You're certain?"
He nodded. "They move in a wide circle when hungry. It's close."
I watched the horizon.
A ripple of sand moved where it shouldn't have. Subtle, but enough.
"There," I said.
The others followed my gaze. Silence. The only sound was the wind until the ground beneath us shuddered.
"Brace!" I barked.
The dune ahead erupted.
A roar tore through the morning, deep and guttural. The sound was half beast, half grinding metal. Sand exploded upward as the creature emerged: a massive, scaled thing with a wolf's head and the spiked shell of an armadillo running down its spine. Its claws were like curved knives, and its snout dripped foam and blood.
The hunters spread out, yelling, forming a loose circle.
Adam readied his spear. His hands were steady this time.
The beast charged.
Its bulk slammed through the sand like a rolling boulder. One of the hunters jabbed forward. The spear glanced off the armored plates. The beast twisted, its tail whipping around like a scythe, sending the man sprawling.
I moved.
Lightning cracked beneath my feet as I leapt forward, the air snapping in blue arcs. The spear hummed in my grip — old instinct waking like a blade drawn from memory.
The beast turned on me. Its eyes gleamed like molten gold. It lunged, claws slashing.
I spun the spear once, twice, the shaft singing as it caught the light.
When its jaws opened, I drove the point upward.
CRACK.
The lightning surged through the spearhead and into the creature's mouth. The smell of burning flesh hit the air instantly. The beast convulsed, its body glowing from within, blue light bleeding through the cracks in its shell.
Silence echoed.
The Wolf Armadillo collapsed in a smoking heap, its armor still humming faintly with residual energy.
When the sand settled, the hunters stared.
One of the hunter's mouth was slightly open. "You… you killed it in one strike."
I pulled the spear free, the last sparks of lightning fading into nothing. "It was already tired. You softened it up."
He gave a small laugh, half awe, half disbelief. "That's not how I remember it."
One of the older hunters clapped me on the shoulder. "By Ormazir's eyes… I've hunted these devils twenty years. Never seen one drop like that."
Unlike most of the hunter's expressions,Adam seemed to be somewhat proud.
They began to work by stripping hide and plating, collecting meat, cutting through the thick armor with practiced precision. Adam joined in. I helped haul what remained onto sleds pulled by dunelopes.
As the sun began to fall behind the dunes, the caravan rolled back toward the village. Laughter and chatter carried by the wind.
For once, it felt like peace.
The village greeted us with cheers. Children ran ahead, shouting about the kill. Women came out with baskets and bowls, ready to prepare the feast. The air was filled with the smell of spice and blood and hot metal.
The Elder was waiting by the well, leaning heavily on their staff.
"Well, well," they rasped. "The desert hasn't eaten you yet."
"Not for lack of trying," I said.
They squinted at the cart. "Wolf Armadillo. Big one too. You'll feed the whole village for a week."
"Two, if you ration it," Adam said.
They snorted. "Ha! We don't ration celebration."
The villagers began to skin and roast parts of the creature near the fires. Children brought out drums. Adam was already being dragged into a circle by the younger hunters.
The Elder beckoned me closer.
"You've settled into this place quicker than most," they said.
I shrugged. "You give me food and work. I'd call that a fair trade."
They chuckled. "Fair enough. But don't get too comfortable."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
Their smile faded. "The Drogan Knights were supposed to arrive today."
I frowned. "For tax collecting?"
They nodded. "They're never late."
"That sounds like good news," I said. "Fewer men demanding gold means fewer people dead."
The Elder shook their head slowly. "No. When knights don't come, it's because something stopped them. And the Drogans are not easily stopped."
I looked toward the horizon. There was a faint line of heat shimmered where the dunes met the sky. "Could be a storm," I offered.
"Maybe," they said. "But I've lived through enough storms to know their taste. This feels different."
They didn't elaborate further.
Their eyes drifted toward the canyon again, that same wary look they'd worn before. I didn't press.
The day waned into evening.
By nightfall, the village was alive again. Torches burned in tall iron stands. The smell of roasting meat rolled through the air, rich and heavy. Someone had carved the creature's shell into plates; others beat the thinner pieces into drums.
A hunter found me sitting near the fire.
"Eat," he said, handing me a piece of charred meat wrapped in flatbread. "You helped kill it, you should enjoy it."
I took a bite. It was greasy, smoky, and good. Around us, people were dancing in a wild, stomping rhythm, older than any language. The night echoed with song and laughter. Someone handed me a clay cup; I drank, and it burned pleasantly down my throat.
"Sir Alaric!" Adam shouted. "Dance!"
I shook my head, smiling. "Not today."
Adam laughed. "You'd probably knock someone unconscious anyway."
The Elder joined the circle later than usual, sitting by the fire with a bowl in hand, muttering to themselves between bites. Their guards hovered nearby, trying and failing to enjoy the festivities.
For a time, everything was perfect. The air shimmered with life. The stars above burned like silver eyes.
And then, without warning The Elder's bowl slipped from their hands.
They swayed once, twice before collapsing forward, their staff clattering against the ground.
The music faltered.
Someone screamed.
Adam dropped his cup and ran. I was already moving.
"Elder!" he shouted, kneeling beside them.
I checked their pulse. It was a faint, trembling. Sweat beaded their wrinkled skin. Their breath came in shallow gasps, eyes half-open, unfocused.
"Get water!" I ordered.
The crowd scattered. The fire crackled, throwing wild light across the sand.
The Elder's hand twitched, grasping at my sleeve.
Their voice came out broken, almost a whisper. "A curse...a curse is coming…"
Then their eyes rolled back.
And the night. That joyous, golden night fell silent.