day four.
meera woke with body screaming. every muscle. every bone. everything hurt.
worth it.
she'd survived three wood runs. earned kael's grudging "not bad." spent evening watch without falling asleep. collapsed into bedroll without dreaming of kiran.
progress. small. but real.
outside, the marches stretched endless. one continent they called it—the Great Spine—running from frozen peaks in the north to scorched deserts in the south. somewhere beyond the horizon, legends spoke of islands. hidden places. but those were stories for children who'd never know hunger.
here was real. dust and thorn and survival.
cave already awake with morning sounds. renna at fire, stirring something that smelled like boiled bark and hope. zira sharpening bone-knife. kael at entrance doing his perpetual guard thing. sivan... watching her again. always watching.
"you look like death," sivan said mildly.
"feel worse."
"good. means you're adapting. bodies that don't hurt aren't working hard enough." they offered water skin. "drink. slowly."
meera drank. body grateful. throat less desert-like.
the air tasted like dust and coming heat. summer in the marches meant forty degrees by noon. meant shade or death. meant rationing water like gold.
morning water run almost killed her.
not metaphor.
meera had just filled the skin from spring—three hundred paces from cave, exposed ground, always dangerous—when the ground moved.
not earthquake. something beneath surface. rippling toward her.
"sun basilisk!" zira's shriek from above. "RUN!"
meera ran.
behind her, sand erupted. something massive lunging upward. she caught glimpse—six feet of armored scales, yellow as infected wound, jaws that could swallow her torso whole. heat shimmer rising from its body like living furnace.
sun basilisks hunted by warmth. human body temperature was beacon.
she zagged left. instinct. the thing's jaws snapped air where she'd been.
kael appeared from nowhere. launched himself at the creature's flank. claws raking scales. drawing attention.
the basilisk whipped around. kael dodged. barely.
"water!" sivan shouted. "it hates cold! throw the water!"
meera didn't think. upended entire skin—precious water, half day's supply—onto the basilisk's head.
it screamed. high-pitched. wrong. recoiled into sand. burrowing deep. fleeing the cold.
silence.
meera stood shaking. water dripping from hands. alive.
"that was close," kael said. casually. like it happened every day.
it probably did.
"I wasted the water."
"you lived." he shrugged. "water we can get again. you, we can't replace." pause. "yet."
almost a compliment. from kael, practically love confession.
back at cave, nobody mentioned how close she'd come to being eaten. just another morning in the marches.
outside, voices. new voices.
kael's entire posture changed. not threat exactly. but alert. ears forward. hand near knife.
"visitors," he said. flat tone. "three. stonebacks by the smell."
meera scrambled up despite protesting muscles. visitors meant potential allies. or enemies. or—
three figures appeared at cave mouth. massive. each nearly seven feet. skin like granite—actual granite, gray and veined with darker lines like old mountains. moving slow but purposeful like landslides given thought.
stonebacks.
meera had heard father speak of them. the pathaalkuti. the underground dwellers. builders who remembered when the Great Spine was young.
the lead one spoke. voice like rocks grinding in monsoon riverbed. "heard humans and outcasts making camp. thought we'd die laughing. but you're still here."
not friendly. not hostile either. just... assessing.
kael stepped forward. alpha stance. "we survive. what's it to you?"
the stoneback's eyes—gray as storm clouds over the araavalli—swept the cave. counted heads. lingered on meera.
"human leads?"
question not insult. just curiosity.
meera stepped into view. chin up. meeting that granite gaze. "human is. what of it."
silence. somewhere outside, a sand-lark called. three notes. warning song.
then the stoneback... smiled. or what passed for smile on face made of living rock.
"tor stoneback. master mason. wanderer." he gestured to his companions. "renna—" a stocky female who looked familiar, "—and grom."
wait.
meera looked at renna by the fire. then renna behind tor. different renna. gods this was confusing.
"two rennas?" she asked.
tor rumbled—might've been laugh. "common name. means endurance in old tongue. stonebacks value endurance. name children for what we hope they become."
made sense. her own name meant boundary. limitless sea. father had named her for the ocean he'd never seen.
"what brings master mason to outcast cave?" kael's voice had edge. territorial.
tor's expression went carefully neutral. "seeking work. stone. purpose." he looked directly at meera. "heard human builds. not destroys. wanted to see for myself."
"and?"
"you're alive. that's something." tor moved into cave. slow. deliberate. examining walls like reading sacred text. "this cave's good bones. natural ventilation. thermal mass keeps cool in summer, warm in winter. but unstable." he touched wall. fingers tracing cracks invisible to meera's eyes. "northeast corner will collapse within month. maybe less."
kael tensed. "you threatening us?"
"stating fact." tor turned. patient as mountain. "stone doesn't lie. that wall is dying. you can evacuate when it falls. or I can shore it up. your choice."
meera's mind raced. structural failure meant death. injury. loss of shelter. everything rebuilt from nothing.
"what's your price?" she asked.
"same as you charge everyone else." tor gestured around cave. "place to sleep. food to eat. work to do. not charity. trade."
something in meera's chest loosened. this she understood. fair exchange. jugaad economics. give what you have, take what you need.
"kael?"
alpha looked like he'd bitten raw neem leaf. "we don't need—"
"we do." meera's voice firm. not challenging. just honest. "we're barely surviving. we need expertise. you said yourself—I pull my weight or leave. same rule applies to everyone."
standoff. amber eyes versus dark brown. wolf-blood versus human stubbornness.
kael looked away first. "one week trial. same as you got."
tor nodded. solemn. "fair."
"your companions?"
"renna stays if I stay. grom..." tor glanced at third stoneback. younger. scarred across chest like something had tried to split him open. "grom seeks bloodforge clan. passing through."
grom spoke for first time. voice rough as broken granite. "heard humans hate our kind. called us beast-filth. junglee. animals. you prove different, maybe I spread word."
weight in those words. reputation. potential allies. future.
"we don't use that language here," meera said. flat. absolute. "anyone who does leaves. human or beastman. we're outcasts or we're family. choose."
grom studied her. something flickering behind stone eyes. then gave short nod. respect maybe.
tor unpacked tools. actual tools. chisels with bone handles. hammers of worked metal—rare, precious. measuring cords braided from plant fiber. wealth in craft and knowledge.
"where do you want me?"
turned out watching stoneback work was meditation.
tor moved with infinite patience. each strike precise. each measurement double-checked. he spoke to stone. literally.
"she's old," he murmured, hand flat against cave wall. "remembers earthquakes. monsoon floods. the Year of Ash when the sky burned red for three moons. she's tired."
"talking to rocks now?" zira perched nearby. feathers ruffled with curiosity.
"stone has memory. rings like trees. vibrations like heartbeats. stress fractures like old wounds." tor traced invisible lines. "this wall weathered floods thousand years ago. survived. but northeast corner..." he shook head. "recent damage. probably last winter's freeze-thaw. water expanding in cracks. patient destruction."
meera watched. fascinated. this was world-building. understanding bones of land. making it work with you not against.
father had called it the desi way. not forcing nature. persuading it.
"can we salvage it?"
"with bracing. yes." tor looked at her. gray eyes serious. "but not permanent fix. you want permanence? we build new."
"new what?"
"stone structure. proper one. not cave. not tent. building." the word carried weight. reverence. "takes time. resources. cooperation."
something sparked in meera's chest. not hope. too fragile for that. but... possibility.
"how long?"
"depends. labor. materials. knowledge." tor pulled out chunk of charcoal. started sketching on flat rock. "three months minimum. six realistic. year if monsoon fights us."
meera watched lines appear. walls. roof. drainage. storage. actual architecture.
"you've done this before."
"twenty years. built holdings in the north. bridges across the Kopal ravines. temples to ancestors nobody remembers." his hand paused. something passing through expression. grief wearing stone smooth. "built life with mate. ten years of stone and sweat." voice went quiet. "avalanche took her. couldn't save her. strength meant nothing against mountain's anger."
the cave went still.
meera knew that flavor of grief. the kind that never quite healed. only scabbed over.
"I'm sorry."
tor nodded. returned to sketch. "stone remembers even after builders die. legacy in layers. isla lives in every wall I raise. every arch that doesn't fall."
they sat in silence. not uncomfortable. shared understanding across species, across loss.
"you're good at this," meera said. hadn't meant to say it aloud.
"at building?"
"at... being present. patient. most people fill silence with noise."
tor's stone lips curved. almost smile. "you just called me 'not most people.' is that compliment?"
"shut up." but meera was smiling too.
"that's definitely compliment. I'm keeping it."
"you can't keep a—"
"already kept. stored in stone memory. 'meera thinks I'm not most people.' permanent record."
she laughed. actual laugh. first in days.
across the cave, kael turned at the sound. expression flickering—surprise, something softer, then deliberately closed off when he saw who she was laughing with.
meera caught the look. guilt flickered. then irritation. she wasn't doing anything wrong.
was she?
kael appeared at entrance. "scouts spotted dust devil. three hours out. maybe less. we need to seal cave mouth."
everyone moved. practiced now. five days of near-disasters taught efficiency.
tor stood. "you have tarps? leather? canvas?"
"some," kael said shortly. not looking at meera.
great. now he was being weird.
"not enough. you need wind break. thermal seal." tor started issuing instructions. calm. competent. "stack deadwood here. angle like this. weave thorns between—kikar thorns best, curved to catch fabric. renna—your renna—" he gestured at stoneback female, "—help me wedge support stones."
kael bristled. "I lead here."
"and I build here." tor met his eyes. patient. "unless you know better way to weatherproof cave entrance in under three hours?"
meera watched the standoff. two males. both posturing. both... what? competing?
over what?
over who, her brain supplied unhelpfully.
"kael secures perimeter. tor handles structural. I coordinate. everyone moves. now."
both males looked at her. kael's expression was complicated—respect fighting with something else. something almost wounded.
then kael nodded. sharp. turned away. started snapping orders.
tor's mouth curved. "good instincts."
"survival instincts," meera corrected.
"same thing."
but kael's back was rigid. angry maybe. or hurt.
she'd have to talk to him later. figure out what was happening. figure out why her chest tightened when he looked at her like that.
not now. storm first. feelings later.
story of her life.
dust devil hit like breathing hell.
sky turned copper. sun disappeared into brown swirling chaos. wind shrieked through stones like banshee mourning. the temperature dropped twenty degrees in minutes—desert cold, sudden and cruel.
everyone huddled inside. tor's wind-break held. barely. sand hissed against barriers but didn't breakthrough.
meera counted heads. nine plus three. twelve souls packed in cave half this size comfortable.
body heat helped with sudden cold. enforced closeness... complicated.
she ended up wedged between sivan and tor. cold-blooded serpent on one side. stone-warm builder on other. contrasts made flesh.
sivan's scales shifted. catching dim light like scattered emeralds. "storm will last hours. maybe till dawn. we should rest."
"can't," meera said. "someone needs to watch wind-break."
"I'll watch." tor's voice rumble near her ear. "stone senses don't need light. I'll feel vibrations if structure fails."
"you just got here. you don't have to—"
"I choose to." simple. absolute. "my skills. my responsibility."
gods but that was attractive. competence always was.
meera's brain caught up to that thought. froze.
attractive? I'm finding another beastman attractive? what's wrong with me?
sivan's forked tongue flicked out. tasting air. their pupils dilated.
"you smell... conflicted. curiously so."
"shut up," meera muttered.
"and a little attracted. interesting."
"I said shut up."
that earned quiet laugh. "can't smell-lie to serpent's kin. your body tells truths your mouth won't."
tor shifted. fractional movement. but suddenly more of his warmth against her side. she didn't pull away.
should've. didn't.
across cave, kael watched. amber eyes glowing in darkness like twin coals. expression unreadable.
sivan's voice dropped to whisper. "he's jealous."
"he's not—we're not—there's nothing to be—"
"his scent says otherwise. pine smoke and possessive fury." sivan sounded amused. "you're making pack politics very interesting, human."
"I'm not making anything. I'm surviving."
"you're collecting potential mates like rare herbs. same difference."
meera wanted to argue. couldn't find words.
across the cave, kael deliberately moved closer to renna. the shadowpaw renna. young. pretty by beastman standards. said something that made her laugh.
something hot sparked in meera's chest.
that's not jealousy. I don't get jealous. I have no right to—
sivan's hiss was almost a giggle. "oh this is going to be delightful to watch."
"I hate you."
"you really don't."
storm howled outside. inside, twelve outcasts breathed. waited. survived.
meera's body cataloged sensations without permission. sivan's cool smoothness—scales like living jewelry. tor's solid warmth—stone that radiated safety. kael's distant heat drawing her attention like magnetic north.
what's happening to me?
sivan's voice. barely whisper. meant only for her. "bodies know. before minds admit. before hearts accept. you're bonding."
"I'm surviving."
"can't it be both?"
meera didn't answer. but she didn't pull away either.
somewhere outside, lightning cracked. wrong lightning—horizontal, green-tinged, lasting too long.
meera blinked. "did anyone else see—"
tor went rigid. stone-still in a way that wasn't natural.
"tor?"
silence. then, voice like grinding boulders: "don't look again."
"what? why—"
"DON'T." his hand found her shoulder. grip too tight. trembling. "don't look. don't speak of it. don't—" he stopped. breathing harsh.
the lightning flashed again. for half a heartbeat, meera saw it clearly—shape in the clouds. vast. humanoid. head turning toward her.
toward her specifically.
she couldn't look away. couldn't blink. couldn't—
tor's massive body blocked her view. deliberately. protectively.
"what was that?" she whispered.
"we call it the shepherd."
"shepherd of what?"
silence. long. terrifying.
"the last time it appeared..." tor's voice dropped to gravel whisper. "three clans vanished. seven hundred souls. one night. not killed. not scattered. gone. left meals on tables. children in cribs. fires still burning."
meera's blood went ice.
"what took them?"
"we don't know." tor finally looked at her. and in his ancient stoneback eyes, she saw something she'd never expected.
fear.
"but we know one thing. every time it appears... something changes. someone is chosen." his grip on her shoulder tightened. "and now it looked at you."
"chosen for what?"
"ask me again after you've survived a year." his voice was final. closed. "if you're still alive, I'll tell you what I know. but not before."
"that's—"
"non-negotiable." tor released her. turned away. "some knowledge kills. I won't be responsible for that. not again."
not again?
"tor. what happened to you? what aren't you telling—"
"sleep." his back was wall. impenetrable. "we rebuild tomorrow. whatever that thing wants from you... it can wait."
but meera didn't sleep. not easily.
the lightning had stopped. the storm continued. but somewhere behind the clouds, something was watching.
something that had noticed her specifically.
and tor knew what it meant.
and tor wouldn't tell.
what does it want?
what happens to the chosen?
why me?
questions without answers.
first mystery of the marches.
and meera had a terrible feeling it wouldn't be the last.
dawn came slow. reluctant. sky bleeding from copper to amber to exhausted blue.
meera woke to warmth. bodies everywhere. pack-sleeping without conscious choice.
tor's arm somehow across her waist. heavy. protective. he was still asleep.
kael at entrance. back rigid. definitely awake. definitely noticed.
meera's heart did something complicated.
she extracted herself carefully. tor murmured something in stoneback tongue—sounded like blessing. didn't wake.
walked to entrance. stood beside kael. sunrise painting marches red-gold. land looking almost beautiful when it wasn't trying to kill them.
"storm's passed," he said. flat.
"yes."
"tor's useful."
"yes."
"you're adding everyone who wanders by now?"
edge in that question. jealousy maybe. or fear. or both.
meera looked at him. really looked. saw exhaustion. saw three years of leading alone. saw pride wrapped around wounded heart.
"I'm building something," she said quietly. "same as you tried three years ago. might fail same way. but I'm trying. and that means accepting help. from anyone willing to give it."
kael's jaw worked. "I—" he stopped. started again. "my pack fell apart because I was too rigid. too proud. couldn't adapt." amber eyes found hers. "watching you do what I failed at. it's—"
"hard," meera finished.
"yes."
"good. means you're learning. growing. changing." she bumped his shoulder. gentle. "maybe that's why we're both still breathing. second chances. paap dhulne ka mauka."
he laughed. short. bitter. but real. "philosophical before chai. sivan's rubbing off on you."
"worse things could happen."
they stood watching sun climb. silence comfortable now.
behind them, camp stirred. tor directing renna and grom to assess damage. sivan checking for injuries with careful scaled hands. zira already planning scouting route.
twelve souls.
twelve broken pieces.
twelve chances to build something new.
meera's week trial had four days left.
tor's had seven.
but numbers didn't matter much anymore.
what mattered was sunrise. shared warmth. work ahead.
small things.
enough things.
kael spoke again. softer. "meera."
"yes?"
"you smell different today. more... settled. like stone and earth." he sounded confused. almost afraid. "I don't understand it."
she didn't either. but sivan's words echoed. bodies know before minds admit.
"maybe we don't have to understand," she said. "maybe we just have to not die."
"low bar."
"best kind."
tor called from cave. "human! need your eyes. come tell me if this crack looks worse."
meera turned. "coming!"
kael caught her wrist. gentle. claws retracted. "be careful. stonebacks are... they bond deep. permanent. if he's—"
"I know." she squeezed his wrist back. felt corded muscle. warm fur. racing pulse beneath. "I'm being careful with everyone. including you."
she left him at entrance and walked toward tor's patient voice.
behind her, kael stood silhouetted against rising sun. watching her move toward another male. expression complicated beyond words.
but he didn't stop her.
progress.
small.
enough.
grom left that afternoon. heading west toward bloodforge territory. he clasped meera's forearm—stoneback greeting, equal to equal.
"you're real," he said. "tell your children. stonebacks will remember."
then he walked into the marches. slow. steady.
meera watched him disappear into heat shimmer.
kael appeared beside her. expression troubled.
"what?" she asked.
"grom. he's been asking questions."
"questions are normal."
"not like these." kael's voice dropped. "specific questions. about you. your father's settlement. your history. the exact route you took fleeing varak. things he had no reason to ask."
cold crept up meera's spine.
"what did you tell him?"
"nothing. but others might have." kael turned to face her fully. "stonebacks have perfect memory. everything he learned, he's carrying west. toward bloodforge territory."
"you think he's—"
"I don't know what he is." kael's jaw tightened. "ally? spy? something else? but I know this: he gathered very specific information about you specifically. not the settlement. not our defenses. you."
the question hung in air.
why?
for who?
inside the cave, tor called for help with structural assessment.
above, clouds still churned from last night's storm. somewhere behind them, the Shepherd waited.
and now grom walked west with meera's secrets.
she had enemies she knew about.
but maybe she had enemies she didn't know about too.
maybe she'd just let one of them walk away.
what else am I missing?
who else is watching?
and why does everyone seem to want ME specifically?
no answers.
just questions.
growing.
To be continued...