The runaways' stronghold groaned beneath the weight of the desert winds, howling through cracks in the rusted metal structures and carrying scorching sand that scraped against every living thing.
Torn banners of sweat-soaked, dust-stained cloth whipped violently, like guilty ghosts trying to escape this desolate place.
In the heart of this natural chaos, moving through the narrow, twisting passages between shacks of corroded metal, two figures stalked quietly — like predators slipping through the shadows, avoiding prying eyes.
They were Zion and Carter, advancing with steady, measured steps toward the main barracks of the runaways. Carter glanced at his companion, his voice low to be heard over the wailing wind.
"So… what do we do now?"
Zion didn't turn his head, his lone eye scanning the horizon with lethal focus.
"First we confirm whether the boy's information is true. If we run to Vulcan with a lie, or rush into panic on a false alarm, we'll look like fools. And a fool doesn't live long in this place."
Carter nodded, though worry still lingered on his face.
"And how exactly do you plan to confirm it? We can't just walk up and ask Vulcan."
Zion gave a short, muffled laugh at his friend's sarcasm.
"It's simpler than that. All we need to do is ask the scouts if they've seen any strangers approaching."
As they spoke, they arrived at the barracks where the runaway fighters slept. A shack of rusted metal patched with stretched fabric, barely fit for habitation.
Inside lay rows of makeshift beds of hide and tattered rags, scattered in utter disorder.
In the corners, groups of hardened runaways gathered — faces carved by harsh trials, bodies telling stories of countless battles. Their gazes were savage, void of hope, filled only with the instinct to survive.
When Zion and Carter entered, they wasted no time with pleasantries. Zion's voice cut straight through the noise.
"Who's in charge of today's patrol?"
No one took offense at his bluntness; everyone here knew social niceties had died long ago. A massive, muscular man, busy playing cards with a group, answered.
"That'd be Lai. Why do you ask?"
Zion didn't explain, only pressed on.
"And where is Lai now?"
The man shrugged, not looking up from his hand.
"Don't know. Maybe he hasn't returned from patrol yet, or maybe he went to report to the commander."
At this, a dangerous glint flashed in Zion's single eye. He gave Carter a small nod, and the two left quickly for their next destination.
The stables. A low building, thick with the pungent mix of giant reptile musk, sand, and sweat.
Here, enormous lizards — the size of horses — were bred and kept, used by the runaways for travel and patrols.
The place was empty except for the beasts resting in their pens, and a lone guard slouched against a cage, his face veiled, dozing.
But he snapped awake the moment he sensed their approach, as if he had some inner radar for danger. He looked at them with lazy mockery.
"Oh, the one-eyed and the eyebrowless! What brings you here?"
Neither took offense. Zion asked coolly:
"We're looking for Lai. Have you seen him?"
"Oh, you mean the stinking little runt? No. He left on patrol and hasn't come back yet."
The two exchanged a quick, worried glance. Then, as if reaching the same decision, they sat down beside the guard. Carter pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, speaking in a playful tone.
"Well, while we wait for Lai, fancy a little game?"
The guard's face lit up at the sight of the cards.
"Hell yes! I was dying of boredom anyway."
But their wait dragged on. Hours passed. Darkness fell. They lit a dim lantern, the wavering glow casting warped shadows across their faces as they continued their game.
At last, deep into the night, the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps reached their ears, mixed with ragged breathing. The three rose eagerly to meet Lai, who appeared riding one of the massive lizards, rushing toward the stable.
He leapt from its back in haste, ignoring them, striding toward Vulcan's tent with urgent steps.
But Zion and Carter intercepted him, their alarm clear.
"Lai! What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
Being stopped only agitated him more. His voice came in broken gasps as he tried to catch his breath.
"Out of my way! I've got something urgent to tell the commander!"
Those words confirmed Zion's worst suspicion. He seized Lai's arm, trying to steady him.
"What kind of news? Are we under attack?"
Stress clouded Lai's mind, and he blurted out quickly.
"Yes! Something like that! I saw a group carrying black banners heading straight for the stronghold! Now let me go!"
But before he could finish, Zion's blade was already out, flashing like lightning.
Not toward Lai — but toward the stable guard, who was busy leading the lizard back into its pen.
With one swift, merciless strike, the sword sliced through the guard's neck. No scream, only the chilling sound of steel cutting flesh, then silence.
The body collapsed, the head rolling away, eyes still frozen in eternal surprise.
At the same moment, Carter pressed his dagger to Lai's throat, whispering in his ear with quiet menace.
"Not a single word… unless you want to join your friend."
Lai could only nod weakly, his eyes fixed first on the headless corpse, then on Zion standing firm, his blood-stained blade gleaming in the lantern's faint yellow glow — pulsing with a sinister light, as though alive with malice.