Jaxon's boots crunched against the alien gravel, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness around him. The air was thin, laced with minerals that left a metallic tang on his tongue. Twin moons cast eerie shadows, stretching and twisting across the jagged terrain. He didn't know how long he had been walking. Long enough for the cold to settle deep into his bones.
Long enough to admit—if only to himself—that he was lost.
But not alone.
A soft shift of movement. A breath, barely audible. Then, she emerged.
Lyra.
She moved like a shadow given form, her steps light, controlled. He masked his surprise, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. Not in threat—just in habit. Cold steel. Familiar weight. A grounding presence.
"Lyra." His voice was measured, revealing nothing.
Her gaze flicked to the Skybloom in her hand—rare, delicate, and completely out of place in this desolate landscape.
Jaxon studied her reaction, searching for cracks in her composure. The silence between them thickened, heavy with unsaid things.
"We should move." He broke the quiet, eyes scanning the darkness. The sound had been following him for too long. A steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump. Faint but persistent.
Lyra didn't move. Instead, she tilted her head. "And you know that because…?"
His jaw tightened. "Because something is tracking me."
Still, she didn't move. Instead, she studied him, weighing his words.
"Which way?" she finally asked.
"No map, no markers. Just instinct."
A single eyebrow arched. "Not much of a plan."
He shot her a glare. He didn't need her sarcasm. He needed to get out of here.
"Then make a better one," he challenged.
To his mild surprise, she smirked. Not fear—something closer to amusement. Or maybe resilience.
"Fine," she said, tucking the Skybloom away. "But if we die, I'm blaming you."
"Noted."
They moved swiftly, side by side. Lyra's qi-sensing abilities worked beyond his understanding, but he trusted her instincts. He focused on what he knew—tracks, disturbances in the terrain, the subtlest changes in the air.
The thump-thump-thump grew louder. More defined. A pulse beneath their feet.
Then—click.
A sharp, precise sound. Too close. Too deliberate.
Jaxon's grip tightened around his sword. Ornate, polished—designed to distract. Let them look at the glint of steel. Let them underestimate where the real danger lay.
Lyra's shoulders stiffened. She clenched her pouch with white-knuckled fingers, her breath steady but just a little too controlled. She was good at hiding her fear. But he saw it.
"It's getting closer," he murmured.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Then so should we."
The click came again. Close enough to send a shiver through the air.
He met Lyra's gaze. No words needed.
They ran.
Because in the dark, something was waiting.
And it wasn't patient.
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