Casia recalled the source of the round, broken piece of glass—it came from the masks everyone had at the old station. The glass embedded in the masks matched this fragment, though the one in the shadow of the plant had lost half its edge.
"Old Don, are you the only one at this station?" Kara asked, finishing her third cup of grape juice rapidly. She hadn't interrupted for a fourth cup, instead chatting with the old man.
"Ha! Of course, there are others. Otherwise, in such a desolate desert, besides the mechanical sounds, you wouldn't even hear a single insect. That would be unbearably lonely," Old Don replied, topping off a glass of white wine. "There's also a hunting team from the Empire, dozens of people. We share this tiny supply station, which at least brings a bit of life here."
"A hunting team? Do they hunt desert animals deep in the sands?" Casia asked, interest piqued. Their urgency to leave had lessened.
"Yes. The desert's ecosystem differs from regions with four seasons. Here, summer dominates; the only changes are in temperature. This creates a unique environment. Animals here have natural insulating fur—snakes, lizards, and the sand wolves all have valuable pelts, fetching high prices in parts of the Empire."
"Being old and managing the station, I don't join them at night when the best hunting occurs," Old Don said. "You two, brave travelers, are you here to hunt or just explore the desert? If hunting, you could rest here for a day, then go with the team—they're very experienced. If exploring, this station can serve as a base, or even as an endpoint; no other functioning stations remain ahead. The hunting team will return in about three days—you could ride along with them for a lift."
Casia nodded. "That's our plan too. We've been hiking for days; our bodies are exhausted. Ahead, it'll likely just be more sand. If possible, we'd like to go with the hunters tomorrow night to observe the sand wolves—and maybe learn to take down a few ourselves."
His tone carried genuine excitement and joy. Old Don seemed amused by their enthusiasm, chatting with them a while longer.
Eventually, Kara requested two rooms for the night, paying four thousand Saint Coins for the high rent. The rooms were in the basement, adjacent to storage chambers exuding a faint chill. The basement lay beneath the five buildings, partly used for storage, the remainder for lodging.
The rooms had metal doors scratched from frequent use. As Old Don led them, Casia quietly counted the rooms. Kara's was in the middle, Casia's at the far end.
"Young man, rest well. Following the hunting team tomorrow night will require strength," Old Don said, handing Casia the key. If needed, they could access surface rooms; he would remain on duty.
Casia thanked him with a smile. As the metal door shut, he muttered the number thirty-seven—an estimate of the hunting team's size.
"First, we rest," Casia said, smiling. His room was modest—half again as spacious as his military dormitory. A small bed, chair, and long cabinet held a kettle, glasses, canned food, and a bottle of "complimentary cheap white wine" as Old Don described. He opened a can of oily pickled fish and poured a full glass of wine. The aroma filled the room.
By 12:30 a.m., after settling in, Casia lay on the bed, clothes on, light still on, eyes closed. The temperature was perfect for restful sleep.
Around 2:10 a.m., a thin blanket covered him, his pale face slightly flushed from rest.
A metallic "click" echoed—the door unlocking. Calm air was disturbed as a lean man swaggered in, boots clapping against the floor. Casia, however, didn't react.
"See? I said increasing the dosage would knock them out like pigs—but they didn't believe me!" the lean man muttered, holding a rope, heading straight to Casia. Skilled, he tied a noose, a helper in the hunting team.
As he bent to loop the rope around Casia's neck, a hand clamped down with the strength of steel. Struggling was futile; his throat compressed, soundless. He watched the "dead" Casia open his eyes, rise, and lift him off the ground. Another hand sliced down in a motion like a knife—he blacked out instantly.
Casia placed the unconscious man on the bed, tied him with his own rope, and covered him with the blanket. Silently, he moved toward the door.
"Good, the corridor's clear," he murmured, checking with a wine-filled glass as a mirror. Only pale lights illuminated the empty hallway.
School-issued boots muffled his steps; Kara's room was half-open, darkness inside. The smell of blood mingled with wine drifted out.
"No way!" Casia tensed. As he stepped inside, a presence pressed against his head.
"It's me." Turning on the light, he saw Kara's silhouette—her rifle no longer pressed on his head, cross-shaped pupils back to normal. She landed silently from the corner.
"Careless, and you'll pay," she warned, mimicking the sound of a rifle shot.
Casia shrugged, saying nothing.
"You handled that side," Kara said, closing the door and ejecting the rifle magazine. "So this station really has a problem. How did you know—just from those unwatered shrubs?"
"Impossible," Casia shook his head. "I smelled blood when placing my pack, saw the glass fragment from the mask… at first, just suspicion."
"Then luck made it real," Kara laughed. "When you mentioned 'Gulika,' I pondered every word. And besides, haven't you hunted enough animals these days?"
In her eyes, the value of these humans equaled that of prey.
Casia said nothing. They inspected every room, wary of other survivors. His own room contained another person to interrogate. It was now nearly 2:30 a.m.; the hunting team, as Old Don said, would return at dawn.
"Agreed," Kara replied, holding a silver-gray handgun this time, explaining to Casia, "Old Don's gear is well-maintained."
Outside, only one room's light remained. Returning to the basement, they opened the storage room: iron boxes, wooden racks, canned food, alcohol, dried animal pelts—mostly sand wolves. Several boxes held brand-new weapons with wrapped ammunition.
"Wow, leftover Empire military supplies," Kara marveled.
A large cold storage contained skinned, fresh carcasses and frozen vegetables. In a corner, covered with thick white cloths, were objects whose outlines gave Casia an uneasy feeling.