The sand behind Levi heaved again—slow, deliberate, like something ancient waking from slumber.
He backed up, careful not to run. Not yet. Fast movement drew them faster. That was the rule. That was why one always listened while the other scouted. You didn't move until you had a path.
But he had no listener now.
The hyenas were already gone, scattered to the sides, yipping nervously as they darted into the wreckage. Their instincts were better than his. They didn't question the tremor. They obeyed it.
The third pulse came harder. Closer.
Levi dropped into a crouch and pressed his palm to the sand. It vibrated—just slightly, but enough. The worm hadn't fully surfaced yet. It was circling beneath the surface, searching, trying to lock in on the weight of his body and the echo of his steps.
He had seconds. Maybe less.
He mapped the terrain with his eyes. The broken ridge behind him wasn't an option. Too steep. The nearest ledge with real stone—stone too dense for worms to burrow through—was fifty paces east, beyond a jagged cluster of ruined pillars.
"Alright," he whispered, exhaling through his teeth.
Then he ran.
He didn't sprint. Not yet. He paced it. Quiet footfalls, smooth strides, keeping his weight light. His boots slid once in loose gravel and kicked a cascade of sand over the edge of a cracked column. He didn't stop to see if the worm noticed.
Another tremor shuddered through the ground.
Faster now.
Following.
A hiss split the air behind him—low, warbling, like steam bleeding from an open wound. The surface of the dune rippled, and Levi's gut turned.
He ran harder.
The pillars loomed ahead now, taller than he remembered. He vaulted over a broken beam, ducked under a jagged slab, and slid across a slope of packed clay until his boots struck stone.
Real stone.
He stopped, breath ragged.
Behind him, the sand exploded.
The worm burst up in a shower of grit and broken bone—wide as a water cart, its mouth a spiral of jagged teeth and grinding plates. It didn't fully breach, but it didn't have to. The noise alone—grinding, snapping, keening—was enough to make Levi's ears ring.
It thrashed once, blind and furious, then slipped back beneath the earth.
Gone.
For now.
Levi stood still for a full minute, his pulse crashing in his ears, the taste of grit thick in his mouth.
Then he moved—slowly, cautiously—back toward the safer ridge. Not the ruins. Not this place. He wouldn't come back here without Kaan again. He shouldn't have come alone at all.
By the time he reached the edge of camp, the light was dimming into dusk, and his clothes were soaked in sweat. A shallow cut bled down the side of his calf from where a sharp rock had snagged him during the run, but he barely noticed.
He was alive.
But only barely.
And next time?
Next time, if he went out alone again, he might not be.
The scent of the camp hit him before the tents came into view—dung smoke, charred rice, dry herbs steeped in boiled water. Familiar, grounding. But it didn't soothe the tightness that had settled into his spine.
His body ached—not from the run, but from what it had nearly cost him. He passed two Sandwalker boys trading tools near the perimeter post. One of them glanced his way, then quickly looked down again. Levi didn't blame him. He probably looked like a ghost crawling out of the dunes.
He made his way to the healer's tent without stopping at his own.
The flap was half-tied open, lantern light flickering faint behind the canvas. He ducked in, brushing aside the veil with stiff fingers.
Kaan was awake.
Barely sitting upright, blanket half-tangled around his legs, hair sticking in every direction. His skin was still pale, but the fever-glow was gone. There was some life in his eyes again.
"Knew you'd come back looking like hell," Kaan croaked.
Levi didn't smile.
He shut the flap behind him and sat down on the edge of the cot opposite, breathing heavy through his nose. "Edge Rock's worse than we thought."
Kaan squinted. "You went alone?"
"You were sick."
"That's not what I asked."
Levi didn't answer right away. He pulled his satchel around, unbuckled it with gritty fingers, and pulled out a wrapped cloth—fragments of shattered bone and sunburnt metal. Evidence.
He set it down between them.
"The worm was nesting closer than usual. A full breach, near the pillars."
Kaan was silent for a long beat. Then, "You should've waited."
"I didn't have time."
"There's always time," Kaan growled, trying to sit up straighter and immediately wincing. "The protocol—"
"Was for teams." Levi's voice cracked like a dry branch. "And you weren't there."
The words hung between them.
Kaan stared, jaw tight. Not with anger. With something worse.
Regret.
The healer stepped in from the back curtain, a kettle in hand and her usual disapproving glare locked directly on Levi. "You again," she muttered. "What did you break this time?"
Levi didn't look at her. "Just a cut. I'm fine."
"Sure you are," she snapped, already setting down her kettle. "Get your boot off before you start dripping on my clean mat."
Kaan watched him quietly as Levi pulled the blood-crusted boot away and peeled the fabric back to reveal the torn calf. Not deep, but raw.
"Stupid," Kaan said under his breath.
"I know."
Levi leaned forward on his knees, eyes distant.
For a moment, the healer's gentle scolding and the warmth of the lantern were just sounds. Background noise. Levi's mind was still on the sand, on the worm, on the way the ground moved when no one was there to guide him.
"I'm not doing that again," he murmured finally.
Kaan's brow lifted.
Levi's voice was low, hoarse. "Not without you."
And that—that was the truest thing he'd said in weeks.
The healer muttered under her breath as she cleaned the shallow cut on Levi's calf. "You desert boys are worse than camels. Stubborn and half-mad when you're tired."
Levi didn't argue. He sat on the edge of the low cot beside Kaan's, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely tangled in the strap of his empty water flask. Dirt and sweat clung to his skin, and the inside of his mouth tasted like copper and dust.
Kaan watched him for a long moment from his cot, the lamplight casting shadows across the hollows of his face. He was pale but awake now, propped against a thin cushion, eyes sharper than they'd been in days.
"You're doing too much," Kaan said quietly.
Levi didn't look at him. He reached for the cup the healer had left and took a small sip, then another. The water was cool, but it didn't ease the burn in his throat the way he expected. His body had passed thirst hours ago—now it was just trying to keep up.
"I had to," he said finally. "While you were out, someone had to pick up the slack."
"You weren't supposed to kill yourself doing it," Kaan said, his voice rough with frustration—or maybe worry. "You look like hell."
Levi gave a small, tired breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite denial. He took another drink, slower this time, then let the cup rest in his lap.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though the lie had no weight left behind it. His shoulders sagged with the effort of staying upright. His boots were still caked in dune dust from Edge Rock, his shirt stained dark where sweat had dried and returned.
"You're not," Kaan said. "You're not sleeping. You're not eating."
Levi looked up then, not angry—just worn. His eyes were rimmed in red, and the silence around him felt like it had teeth.
"I didn't have time to stop."
"You should've made time."
"And left who to watch the dunes?" Levi snapped, voice low but sharp. "The kids? The tired old man at the north post? I couldn't."
Kaan didn't argue.
Because Levi was right.
But that didn't make it easier to see him like this—hollowed out, fraying at the edges, the way metal thins after too many battles.
The healer reappeared with a cloth and set it against Levi's neck. "At this rate," she muttered, "I'll be treating both of you again by week's end."
Levi didn't respond. He just tipped his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment under the cloth's cool press.
Kaan reached for the water pitcher and refilled the tin cup quietly, then set it beside Levi.
"Finish that," he said. "Then lie down."
Levi opened one eye. "I'm not—"
"You're not on patrol," Kaan interrupted. "You're here. Just for a little while. Rest."
Levi looked at him for a long moment, then nodded—barely—and lifted the cup again.
It was the smallest surrender.
But it was enough.
The healer had long since gone quiet, her tools packed away, the low lantern dimmed. Outside, the camp had settled—fires banked low, tents drawn shut, the quiet hush of desert wind brushing sand against canvas.
Inside, Levi had finally let his eyes close.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Just meant to sit beside Kaan for a little while. But the ache in his muscles, the water in his stomach, the faint coolness of the cloth still tucked under his collar—it lulled him. And Kaan, already drifting, hadn't said anything when Levi's weight slowly leaned closer.
They slept like that. Shoulders close. The sound of their breathing the only movement in the dark.
Until the scream broke the silence.
High.
The scream carved through the silence like a knife.
Levi's eyes snapped open.
For a split second, he didn't move—his body frozen between sleep and survival, breath caught in his throat. Then the crash came. The healer's kettle hit the floor with a metallic shriek, rolling, clattering. Canvas flaps shuddered against their ties as footsteps thundered past the tent.
Kaan stirred beside him, still tangled in his blanket. "What—?"
Another scream—closer now. This one deeper. Human—but not just fear. Pain.
Shouts erupted next—ragged, barking orders in a language Levi didn't recognize, but the violence in them needed no translation. The tent walls glowed orange, trembling with firelight that hadn't been there before.
Outside, the world had ruptured.
Levi didn't hesitate.
He rolled off the mat in a single motion and yanked the flap open.
The night had turned to flame.
Tents collapsed under sheets of fire. Smoke poured like waves between rows of canvas. Raiders swarmed in from the north side—men in jagged leather and scrap armor, their faces wrapped in cloth, their eyes glowing with cruel purpose. Behind them came the mercenaries—easier to spot by their black-striped sleeves and the brutal efficiency in their movements. These weren't desperate bandits. This was a calculated strike.
And it was already working.
"Get up," Levi barked over his shoulder. "Kaan, now. Gear up."
Kaan groaned but rolled to his side, the sweat still clinging to him from the fever he'd only just broken. "What's—?"
"Raid." Levi's voice was hard, focused. "Now."
He was already grabbing their packs, their blades. Tossed Kaan's to the cot.
Kaan didn't argue. His hands shook, but he swung his legs down and gritted through the pain as he fastened the belt Levi had left within reach.
Another scream tore through the camp—this time a child's. Levi didn't wait. He slipped out into the dark.
What he saw nearly made him stop.
The Sandwalker camp—his home for the last seven years—was collapsing. Women were being pulled from tents, children dragged by the arms toward the center. The elderly—those too slow to flee or fight—were cut down without pause. There were no warnings. No chances. Just blades, blood, and flame.
One of the raiders lunged for a crying girl near the herb garden.
Levi was faster.
He struck from the side, blade low and clean, the way Kaan taught him. The man collapsed with a grunt, and Levi shoved the girl toward the nearest alley between tents.
"Run!" he snapped. "Don't stop. Go to the ridge."
Kaan was behind him a second later, blade in hand, limping but focused.
"Stay to my left," Levi ordered. "We sweep. Quick. No hero moves."
"Too late," Kaan rasped, forcing a weak grin as they advanced into the fire.
The two of them moved like shadows—cutting where they had to, dragging people to safety when they could. But they were outnumbered. Overwhelmed. And every cry they didn't reach in time carved deeper into Levi's ribs.
Then—
He saw her.
At the center of the camp, near the largest fire ring where the children used to gather, a group of captives knelt in the sand—hands bound, faces smeared with ash and blood.
And among them—
Mother….
Levi stopped dead.
She was on her knees, wrists tied, blood streaking her temple. Her breath came fast and shallow, chest heaving. Her eyes were wide—scanning the burning camp, searching for someone.
For him.
Beside her, the silver-haired healer who raised Kaan knelt defiantly, her spine bent but unbroken, jaw set with the fury of someone who'd survived far worse and refused to bow now.
Levi felt his throat tighten.
A man emerged from the ranks of the mercenaries—taller than the rest, lean, dressed in worn black leathers with fine gloves and a curved sword gleaming at his hip. The way the others stepped aside told Levi everything he needed to know.
Their captain.
He didn't bark orders. He didn't need to.
He moved like someone who'd already won.
Then another prisoner was dragged forward—barely able to stand.
Rafiq.
His face was bloodied. One eye swollen shut. But his mouth still curled with defiance.
Saina broke at the sight of him. "No!" she screamed. "Don't—please—don't—!"
A mercenary seized her by the hair and wrenched her down again.
Levi's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade.
The captain approached Rafiq with a casual cruelty. "You were the one giving orders at the lookout post, weren't you?"
Rafiq didn't flinch. "We had children here."
"And now we have product," the captain said mildly. "Which makes you a waste."
He raised the sword.
Saina screamed.
And Levi broke.
"Mother—!"
The word tore from his throat—raw, desperate, louder than he meant.
It echoed like a curse across the sand.
Saina's head snapped toward him. Her eyes locked on his—and shattered.
"Levi—no!"
Then—without hesitation—he drove the blade through Rafiq's chest.
It was slow.
Deliberate.
Saina shrieked.
Rafiq collapsed into the sand, blood spreading like ink through the dust.
Levi didn't remember moving.
One moment he was watching.
The next, he was tearing through the chaos—blade raised, throat raw from screaming.
And Kaan?
Kaan didn't hesitate.
He sprinted after him, ribs burning with every breath, face pale and drawn but eyes locked on Levi.
"Get to her!" he shouted.
Levi's dagger cut a path.
He didn't think. Didn't feel.
He was fire.
And nothing would stop him.