"YOU'RE SO FREAKING CUTE!"
Dahlia's voice echoed through the metallic halls as she grabbed Elendira, rubbing her cheek against hers with unwanted affection.
"Unhand me, you troglodyte!" Elendira snapped, slipping free and darting behind Sabrina, peeking out from the safety of her legs.
Sabrina sighed. "Still, I didn't expect you to bounce back so fast," she said, watching as Dahlia slowly straightened.
"I didn't." Dahlia glanced at her hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly. "And I probably never will. But that's fine—I just have to make sure it never happens again."
"Is that so?" Sabrina murmured, folding her arms. "Either way, I'm glad. Thought we'd never see your usual bubbly self again."
Dahlia smiled softly, crouching slightly as she met Elendira's wary gaze from behind Sabrina.
"Still, I wonder where Ansel is. He should be here by now—"
The sharp crash of a door cut through the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps clanking against the floor. Ansel walked right past them, only to slow, backpedal, and nearly flinch at the sight of Sabrina. He swallowed. "I'm sorry I'm late, there was... a thing at the market—"
"It's fine. We all just got here," Sabrina reassured him.
"Oh," Ansel muttered, his gaze shifting to Dahlia as she stepped toward him.
"Dahlia... are you okay?"
"Sabrina told me you guys fought a giant, fire-breathing sand spider!" Dahlia's voice filled the corridor as she stormed up to him. "Why didn't you call me?! How dare you not call me?!"
Ansel exhaled, his smile trembling slightly as he pulled her into a hug. Relief hit him harder than he expected—he had worried, more for her than for himself, that he'd never see her overconfident grin again. Never hear that infectious energy in her voice.
"I'll never do it again. I swear."
"Good." Dahlia grinned. "You better not."
Sabrina cleared her throat, reminding them she was still there. As they broke apart, both turned toward her, straightening slightly.
"I've already briefed you all on the mission, but let me go over the specifics," she said. "Your job is to escort the prisoner transport from Khankar to Hallian, a haven about ten miles out. Once he reaches the city, your job is done, and you're free to return."
She paused, glancing between them. "Any questions?"
Dahlia's eyes flicked toward Elendira. "Yeah. Why's the little girl coming with us?" She frowned. "Is she a recruit? I don't feel right bringing a kid into danger."
Sabrina sighed. "She'll be fine," she said simply. "And for the remainder of the mission, she'll act as your leader. Follow her instructions carefully."
Ansel and Dahlia exchanged a glance but said nothing. It was just an escort mission, after all.
Khankar Haven or Khankar, lay thirty miles east of New Haven, near what remained of the Atlantic. Despite its distance, it remained one of the most well-known havens, recognized for its exports and locally grown crops.
Yet, for all its economic influence, Khankar was small—at least, nowhere near the size of New Haven.
As they passed through the haven gates, Ansel glanced around, taking it all in. He had been here before, not too long ago, yet something about it felt different.
Dahlia's gaze flicked toward a row of buildings—structures that had been destroyed in their last battle with a myutant. They had already been rebuilt, sturdier than before.
"They sure work fast," Dahlia said, eyes shifting toward the road leading to the port. A line of canoes sat by the docks, being loaded with crates.
"Still can't contact anyone," Elendira said, walking ahead. "Let's see if we can find them ourselves."
She moved like, well... a child. The weapon strapped to her back bounced like a school backpack, and her messy, light-blue hair swayed with each step. It looked dyed, but something about the shade said otherwise.
As she led them through the streets, her eyes darted toward various stalls, pausing just a little too long on an ice cream shop. Then another ice cream shop. Then a candy stand.
Shereallyisjust a kid, huh?
They continued toward the port, nearing the loading docks. But before they could reach the boats, two men stepped up behind them.
Tall. Burly. Scarred.
Half-cut tops, baggy pants. One on each side.
"Welcome to our haven," one of the men said. His voice was light—much lighter than his build suggested. "My name is Pam, and this is my brother, Pan."
Pan, who was just as massive, spoke next—his voice just as ridiculously high-pitched. "I believe you are the exterminators sent by Sabrina. We apologize for not picking you up sooner, our relay tower is damaged and our leader stepped out for a moment."
"Oh," Dahlia said, glancing around. "Where's the cargo?"
"By the gates," Pam answered. "We will act as your guides while you serve as our escort to Hallian."
"I see," Dahlia replied.
"Now, let us move quickly. There's no time to waste," Pan said, already turning to leave. Pam followed without another word.
Dahlia watched them go, then muttered, "That was weird."
Ansel nodded in agreement. "But to be fair, I did fight a fire-breathing spider with an exterminator who only fought to a specific rhythm or something—so maybe this isn't that weird."
He glanced at Dahlia, only to find her staring daggers at him, her eyes greened with envy.
"Oh. My bad," he said.
"Let's go." Elendira said, already moving.
A carriage came into view—a cloaked box drawn by two horses. A man sat at the front, reins in hand, his head shifting behind the carriage as he spotted Pan and Pam.
Elendira's gaze flicked toward the carriage. A small slit in the curtains revealed a man sitting inside, arms tucked beneath his legs. Chained, most likely.
The Jackal was infamous—not just for the killings. Plenty of people had done that. It was how he did it. He enjoyed it. Laughed as his victims bled out. If there was ever a bastard who deserved capital punishment, it was him.
"Let's move," Pan said. "While the sun still shines."
And so they did, boots crunching against the shifting sand.
The sun bore down on them, its glare relentless. The heat baked the desert floor, grains of sand slipping into the sides of their boots.
But they barely felt it. Their overcoats, heavy yet deceptively light, were made from reinforced carbon-kevlar—a special material designed to withstand extreme pressure and equally extreme temperatures. The sun's heat barely touched them.
Still, sweat trickled down their faces where the coats couldn't protect.
An hour passed as they trudged through the depths. Sand stretched endlessly before them, but off to the side, a small building clung to the dunes, barely holding on.
Ansel wiped the sweat from his eyes, glancing at the crumbling building in the distance. It reminded him of the haven they had camped in the other night—only worse. The roof was already caving in on itself.
Dahlia's gaze shifted toward the carriage, eyes slipping through the narrow slit, catching a glimpse of the man inside. They had heard the full story from Sabrina. And the parts she hadn't told them? They already knew.
The Jackal was infamous, after all.
"You ever wonder why they call him that?" Dahlia asked, turning to Ansel.
"The Jackal?" He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Never really gave it much thought."
"It's supposedly a translation mistake," she said. Pam, walking ahead, turned slightly at her words.
"He was never meant to be called the Jackal," Dahlia continued. "He was called a hyena."
"That's right," Pam muttered. "When news of his actions spread beyond our haven, things got twisted. One thing led to another, and the name changed." He turned toward the carriage and spat. "I had a jackal once. A small mutt that sang like there was no tomorrow. It's disgusting to think this scum is compared to such a beautiful animal."
"So why was he called a hyena?" Ansel asked. "Just because he laughed while he murdered?"
"No," Elendira said, her foot scuffing against the ground.
Ansel frowned. "Then what did it mean?"
Elendira's gaze remained fixed on the carriage. "His laughter wasn't just laughter," she murmured. "It was a signal."
"A signal?"
"A warning," she corrected. "The same way the toll of a bell marks the start of morning."
She finally turned to look at him, her expression blank.
"When he laughed," she said, "it meant death was coming."
As the words left Elendira's mouth, the carriage rolled forward, wheels cutting through the sand.
And then—everything seemed to pause.
The birds overhead, mid-flight, hung motionless in the sky. Vultures perched on boulders, beaks buried in rotting flesh, stood frozen. Even the shifting dunes seemed to still.
And then.
A laugh.
Rough. Grainy. Broken by sharp, wheezing coughs—but relentless. It rolled through the open desert, low at first, then rising. The carriage came to a stop.
Pan stormed toward the box, climbing inside, his hand swinging through the air—crack. A punch. Then another. And another.
But the laughter didn't stop.
If anything, it grew. Louder. Louder. Until it was the only sound gracing the wasteland.
Dahlia turned, scanning the dunes. Nothing. He had to be trying to shake them. Messing with their heads. That had to be it.
But then she saw Elendira.
The girl wasn't looking at the carriage. She wasn't watching the prisoner.
She was staring straight ahead.
Dahlia followed her gaze, eyes narrowing at the dunes. Elendira seemed different now—more focused, more intense—but no matter how hard she looked, Dahlia saw nothing.
Just endless sand.
But Elendira kept looking, her gaze fixed beyond the horizon, beyond the crumbling structure they'd passed. Her eyes traced the sand, scanning every ripple, every inch, every shadow.
Nothing seemed unusual.
Not in the slightest.
And yet, the laughter still didn't stop.
But the punching did.
The repeated sounds of fist meeting flesh suddenly ceased.
Everyone turned toward the carriage just as Pam reached for the curtain. He pulled it back and instantly collapsed.
Blood sprayed onto the sand.
Elendira was already at the carriage, blade at her back, fingers curling around the hilt.
A man stood at the carriage's edge, a bloodied piece of steel twirling between his fingers. At his feet lay a severed length of chain, its metallic end gleaming in the sun—ripped straight from its anchor.
"Stay back."
Elendira's voice was sharp, steady. Her gaze locked onto the Jackal, who met it with a mere sigh, his bare foot poised on the edge of the carriage.
"I was locked in a cell for three years." His voice was hoarse, rasping from disuse. "Can't a man stretch his legs? Feel the sun again?"
"You shouldn't be able to see anything ever again." Elendira's blade inched upward, its blood-red sheen catching the light. "Step back inside."
The Jackal tilted his head, smiling. "Or what?"
Dahlia stole a glance at Elendira. Killing him here would be a disaster. Not just a failed job, but the kind of political nightmare that could send entire havens into conflict. They needed him alive.
"Let's subdue him," Dahlia said, loosening her hammer from its strap.
"Don't get close to him." Elendira warned. "You'll die."
The Jackal chuckled.
"Your friend is smart," he mused, his gaze sliding toward Dahlia. "You should listen to her."
Elendira struck. A flick of the wrist—her blade's tip grazed his throat, drawing the first drop of blood.
"Get back in the carriage. I won't ask again."
The Jackal didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled.
"Do you know a woman named Miriam Dehlani?" His gaze locked onto hers. "Miriam was the wife of a wealthy haven leader—in Khankar, of course. She had heard of my killings. Everyone had. But still, she left her house, sneaking through the night to meet her lover—"
Elendira didn't respond. Instead her grip tightened on her weapon. Something was off and the feeling crawled under her skin, but she couldn't place it.
"I killed Miriam that night," the Jackal continued, exhaling as if reliving a fond memory. "Her blood was warm. It soothed my cold skin. It soothed my freezing heart." His head tilted slightly, lips curling. "Is yours just as warm, I wonder?"
A flicker of movement—just behind him.
The driver shifted, his head turning just enough for the light to catch on the dark object in his hand. Metal gleamed in the sun.
A gun.
Elendira moved. Her blade surged forward, slicing into the Jackal's neck—
Gunfire.
A shot split the air.
Vultures scattered, flapping wildly into the sky as the echo tore through the depths.
Elendira hit the sand, her body crumpling. Blood pooled beneath her, seeping into the grains.
"You bastard!" Dahlia spun, reaching for her hammer—but the driver was already moving, gun in hand, its barrel steady.
"Good work, Mr. Dehlani."
The Jackal stepped down from the carriage, his long, silvered hair catching the wind.
"You don't have to blow my cover," Haj Dehlani muttered, removing his hat. His gaze settled on them. "But then again, they aren't going to live past here anyway."
Ansel's fingers flicked toward his earpiece. No signal. They were too deep in the depths and the relay tower in Khankar had already been down.
"Exactly," the Jackal said, stretching with a satisfied sigh. "Still, I knew you were the right person for this job."
"As long as you pay me what I'm owed and shut up." Haj muttered.
"You will be compensated heavily, Mr. Dehlani. Once I reach my people, I'll tell them all about your... contributions," the Jackal said, "And your willingness to co-operate of course."
"I damaged the relay towers to prove that to you—I can do anything you need."
"And proven yourself you have," The Jackal's gaze flicked back to Ansel and Dahlia, slightly confused. "Why did you hire exterminators again?"
"So I wouldn't look suspicious," Haj admitted. "If all necessary precautions were taken, and you still got away... well, I couldn't possibly be blamed."
"I see." The Jackal strolled forward, steps light, deliberate. "Just innocent bystanders, suffering under the chains of fate."
Dahlia's teeth clenched. Her hammer swung up, aimed at the Jackal's smug face—
But he was already moving.
A flicker. A blur of motion.
Her hammer missed.
He hadn't dodged—he had disappeared.
"Where—?!"
Before the thought could finish, something tightened around her throat.
An arm—coiled like a steel cable, dragging her backward.
Ansel was next.
He had barely turned when another force snatched him from behind, yanking him sideways. His balance broke, boots skidding through the sand.
"It's not your fault," the Jackal whispered, his breath warm against their ears, his arms resting against their shoulders. "You were simply in the wrong place... "
"...at an equally horrible time."
The world tilted.
And followed closely by it, was the taste of iron, as the world faded to black.