An inky breeze carrying the chill of early autumn rolled over jagged, bluish-black rocks and swept through knee-high dead grass, making a soft, rustling sound. Alex adjusted the strap of the canvas pack on her shoulder and took a deep breath of air tinged with dust and parched grass. Before her stretched the long spine of the Dragonbone Range; the ridgeline looked as if carved by axe and chisel, and a grayish-yellow cloudbank hung low at mid-slope, giving the place a desolate air. Today the survey team was moving into the mountains, their target the range's main peak—Shardblade Peak—famous for its mineral deposits and complex terrain.
"Alex! Keep up! Maintain spacing!" came Max's hoarse shout from ahead. He was waving a faded little red flag on a slope some tens of meters away; his figure looked particularly small against the open scree.
"Got it!" Alex answered and quickened her step. She wasn't a professional surveyor, but she'd spent years collecting plant specimens outdoors and was steady on her feet. Still, the trail grew wilder the farther they went. The so-called "road" was no more than faint ruts left by geological survey vehicles, mixed with weathered scree and thorny brambles. Weak sunlight filtered through the murky clouds and fell feebly on the cracked earth.
The team numbered about ten and was led by Hank, an old guide who knew the terrain. At first they stayed in formation, logging data and checking maps. But as they moved deeper into the interior the ground grew rougher, silence replaced conversation, and the group broke into scattered pieces. Alex walked near the rear, flanked by a few other exhausted team members.
"Ugh…Shardblade's name really fits—this place is brutal," a teammate with cracked glasses stopped to gulp from his water bottle, water running down his chin mingled with sweat and dust.
Alex wiped the salt from her eyes with her sleeve and looked up at the sheer cliff faces that split the sky like cleaved stone. Wind scraped across her face, carrying coarse sand. "Hang in there. I heard the bedrock up top's worth studying," she said, half to the others and half to herself. Her pack held water, compressed rations, sample bags, and simple tools—each item another weight on her shoulders.
By noon the sky should've been at its brightest, but Dragonbone's weather was notoriously capricious. A patch of dust-tinted clouds laden with sand surged over the saddle with no warning, quickly swallowing the already dim sky. The light plunged; the air grew heavy and stifling, and a sharp tang of rust filled it.
"This is bad! Sandstorm!" Hank's face changed. He looked up at the sky and spoke urgently. "Move! Push forward! There's an abandoned mine ahead we can shelter in—hurry!"
No sooner had he spoken than a wall of yellowish wind closed in. Gale-force gusts wrapped sand and stones into a keening roar. The wind nearly lifted people off their feet; grit stung their faces like needles.
"Watch out!" Several shouts went up. Some crouched instinctively and covered their heads and faces with their hands.
At the same time, pea-sized pellets of muddy rain began to pelt down—cold and heavy—turning the ground to instant slurry. Sight blurred into a monochrome haze of yellow; the terrain became indistinct. The sand-and-rain soaked the scree and made it treacherously slick.
"Keep moving! Mind your footing! Follow the red flags!" Hank's voice was choked by the storm.
Chaos ensued. People slipped in the mud and scattered tools; some tried to push forward against the wind and collided with each other; others were frozen, blinded by sand. Cold mud soaked Alex's jacket and chilled her to the bone. She squinted against the spray, trying to spot the little red flag ahead, but the sand and rain blurred everything—the splash of red had already vanished.
"Max! Hank!" Alex shouted, but the wind shredded her words. She wiped mud and water from her face and tried to reorient herself, but all around were only the storm's howl, muffled cries, and footfalls—no clear direction.
"Left! Stay by the rock face! Find the mine!" Hank's voice seemed to come from the left front.
Alex gritted her teeth and sidled left toward that voice. Mud made each step a struggle; her boots sucked at the ground. Gravel and broken wires caught at her feet. She kept her head down and avoided sharp rocks. In the confusion she realized she'd drifted off the vehicle ruts and onto steeper ground, where the marks of past excavation and abandonment were more obvious.
When she finally braced herself behind a weathered boulder and forced herself to look up, her heart sank.
Where had the team gone? Around her was only an endless curtain of yellow sand, shrouding the desolate, unfamiliar minefield. Abandoned mine frames creaked in the wind like the bones of dying beasts. The slope beneath her was slick and steep; behind her yawned a collapsed pit. Cold muddy water ran down the back of her neck, and she found herself trembling.
"Hank! Max! Anyone hear me?" Alex called with everything she had. Fear sharpened her voice.
Only the storm answered—its roar swallowing her cries—along with distant, indistinct echoes that might've been human voices or could've been nothing but wind. Panic clamped at her throat like an iron band. She'd lost the group, and it had happened amid a sudden sandstorm and in the most hazardous part of the abandoned minefield.
The walkie-talkie! Alex fumbled for the old radio hanging at her chest. She hit the transmit button: all she got was a harsh, static hiss; the battery icon blinked a weak red. She cycled through channels, calling the team's call signs, but only noise replied. Despair congealed around her like the mud—cold and thick. She leaned against a rust-streaked iron ore chunk and forced herself to calm down. She could not panic, she told herself. There was food, water, and tools in her pack—if she could find shelter and ride out the storm, they could regroup or wait for rescue.
The storm refused to abate; it only intensified. Darkness fell as if night had descended. Alex knew she couldn't stay exposed on that slope—hypothermia and dehydration could both be deadly. She scanned the area and chose a route that looked like an old minecart track, firmer ground leading uphill; she hoped it would lead to the rumored abandoned shaft.
Each step felt like wading through glue. The wet, slippery mud, exposed barbed wire, and scattered stones drained her strength. Wind-driven sand lashed her face; her jacket was saturated, clinging to her like a second skin. Sweat and mud soaked into her clothes and stole her warmth. She felt like a leaf in a raging current, ready at any moment to be swept away.
She struggled on until her strength nearly gave out. Just as she was about to collapse against a broken concrete post and surrender to curling into a shallow depression, a faint scent broke through the iron-and-dust stench.
Blood?
So faint it could've been imagined, yet its metallic tang pierced the air and lodged in her nose. Alex's heart clenched. In a place like this, the smell of blood spelled trouble. An injured animal? Or worse?
Fear urged her to retreat, but another obsession—whether it was the scientific curiosity of a fieldworker or a human compassion she couldn't deny—propelled her to follow the scent. She carefully pushed aside a clump of mud-slicked, stubborn barbed wire.
The sight froze her breath.
In a narrow hollow formed by several huge mounds of slag, sheltered somewhat from the storm, something large was curled up. It was nothing like any animal she'd seen around mines.
It seemed canine? Or something else? Alex couldn't tell at first. Its body was huge and cloaked in an uncanny, smoothly metallic dark-silver pelt that shimmered with a cold gleam even in the dim light. Yet now that extraordinary coat was plastered with dark, crusted blood. A savage gash ran from its powerful shoulder down across its flank, flesh torn open and flayed, rainwater mixing with blood and sluicing over exposed tissues and hints of bone. The fur around the wound was matted and clotted; a rotten tang clung to the air.
The creature lay in a deep stupor; its massive frame barely rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths. Its head drooped onto its forepaws; its eyes were tightly shut, the soaked fur clinging to the skull. Even so close to death, it retained the dignified bearing of a dominant beast.
Alex's heart hammered against her ribs. Fear numbed her limbs. What was this thing? A mutated oversized dog? An injured wolf? What could do this to it? And if something capable of inflicting such wounds had been nearby, was that threat still close?
She instinctively stepped back; her boots sank into the mud with a soft sucking sound. Logic insisted: leave now! Even at its weakest, such a beast might lash out; whatever had inflicted this wound had to be terrifying.
Cold rain and sand stung her face, and still her gaze stuck to that horrendous wound. The rain washed some of the grime away and made the devastation more visible. The creature's body twitched; each faint breath was a struggle.
"Huu…" A tiny, barely audible exhale—like air leaking from an old bellows—slit across the storm's noise and hit Alex like a blade.
She thought of an eagle she'd found years ago with a broken wing, dying in a storm. She'd taken it back to camp, nursed it, and watched it fly away. This monstrous animal, though frightening, shared that same fragile arc of life slipping away.
Compassion and the logic of danger warred in her mind. Rain and sand blurred her vision. Her fingers tightened around the iron rod she used for probing the ground.
Save it? Or don't?
Saving it carried unknown risks: attack, wasting precious time, attracting worse predators. And with the meager supplies she had, could she possibly save something this size?
If she left, the creature would die here in the cold and mud, become just another part of this blasted landscape. The animal's faint draw of breath, the flash of pale bone beneath torn flesh, seared her conscience.
Time slowed; only the storm's roar continued without mercy. The urge to act—stubborn, almost defiant—overwhelmed her fear. She couldn't stand by and watch a life extinguish if she could do anything about it, no matter the danger.
"Damn this for a weakness…" Alex muttered, voice trembling but resolute. She inhaled, coughing as the gritty air scratched her lungs, and a sliver of clarity returned.
She unshouldered her pack with stiff movements and loosened the straps. Cold mud splattered her hands as she searched for first-aid items. She found the largest sterile gauze and a roll of heavy canvas. Against the gaping wound, her supplies seemed absurdly insufficient.
But something is better than nothing.
She crept forward into the hollow, one careful step at a time, each one sinking into muck and gravel. Up close, the stench of blood and the animal's musky odor made her gag. She forced herself to calm and crouched, fingers trembling as she brought the gauze to the worst of the bleeding.
At the very moment her fingertips were about to touch the cold, slick fur—
Under the creature's tightly shut lids, its long dark-silver lashes fluttered, barely.