A faint scraping whispered through the sand, weak but sharp. It came from the front-right side, then stopped right outside the salt line.Alan didn't turn his head. He simply slowed his breathing.
Then—a sniff, wet and animal-like, not from any human throat.The sound was low, almost thoughtful.Shadowbeasts loved warmth—and they never forgot the smell of blood.
Alan's hand moved to his chest. Beneath his ribs, the Fireseed pulsed once.He patted it twice, soft as a lullaby, and whispered, "Quiet."
The scraping shifted along the line of salt, circled the curved arc, and stopped at the opening.Alan's fingers tightened around the knife. Elbow raised—just enough for one quick strike. He waited, patient as a corpse.
Something pushed its muzzle through the gap. Its breath was heavy, rank with rot.Alan closed his eyes, counted "two," and kicked a metal shard toward the sound.
The clang burst through the fog. The beast lunged at once, charging toward the noise.Alan seized the wind's momentum, flinging a pinch of salt into the air.The grains hit the damp mist with a sharp hiss.
The Shadowbeast recoiled, crashing into the outer hull, then circled back.Alan thickened the inner salt line with shaking hands. Blood beaded from his fingertips, but he didn't wipe it away. Blood on the inside was safer.
The creature didn't retreat. It prowled in slow circles, one after another.Alan's arm went numb; he switched hands, knife still poised.He didn't count time. Time had no meaning here. Only the wind's direction mattered.
At last the wind turned northeast. The fog receded, dragging its weight like a curtain.Alan breathed, "Go." Not to the beast, but to himself.
The scratching faded. Silence returned—thin, brittle, but real."The first night survived," he whispered, a mix of report and prayer.
He dared not relax. Stronger winds were coming.He dimmed the Fireseed until its warmth was no more than a steady pulse.
Alan broke another piece of biscuit. The bread was stone-hard. He didn't bite, only let it soften in his mouth, then swallowed.He knew the fire stole water from the body, but the mind needed sugar to stay sharp.
Then—a new sound. Softer than a beast, lighter than wind.Like a fingernail scraping against metal.Not a growl. Not an echo. Human.
Alan set down the half-eaten bread and pressed his ear to the ground.The noise came from the wreckage—close, perhaps to his left front.The ground there was flat, exposed. If someone was lying there, they hadn't been blown away.
He didn't want to look. But he had to.A living human tonight could become a monster by morning.
Alan reinforced the salt line from the inside, tightened the Fireseed to his chest, then switched knife for crowbar.A blade was for beasts. A bar was for men.
He crept out from the rock, stopping every four steps to flatten his prints.The wind would erase them anyway, but he refused to leave a trail.
A man lay under a half-collapsed hatch, one arm stretched outward, fingers stiff.Alan used the bar to shift the debris, then pressed two fingers to the man's neck.A weak pulse, fading, but still alive.
He dragged the body back to the rocks, quick but careful not to break the bones.The man's abdomen had been pierced; the blood was half-dried.
Alan checked again—no Fire-marks, no blue glow. Not a monster.He tore a strip from his own sleeve and pressed it to the wound.
The man's eyes twitched, lips dry. A whisper escaped: "Water…""None," Alan said. He never promised what he didn't have.
He sprinkled salt around the wound, then used the bone needle to sew two rough stitches.Not pretty. Just enough to stop the bleeding.
From the man's shirt, Alan found a small cloth pouch. Inside were three Emberstones—fuel for fire, but cold as death to touch.He stared at them a moment, then tucked them back inside.
"Name," he asked.The man's throat moved. "Shadow… no. That's not my name. Call me Shadow.""Fine," Alan replied. "Sleep. Don't dream."
He carried Shadow back behind the salt line, resealed the opening.When Shadow awoke, his eyes caught the faint glow beneath Alan's shirt. "That's fire?""Yes.""Does it talk?""No," Alan said. "And it doesn't need to."
The wind roared again, slamming sand against the metal. The sound was like gunfire.Neither spoke.
Alan lifted the Fireseed bag slightly, just enough to watch Shadow's breathing—steady now.He dimmed the flame again. The heat pressed close to his ribs, calming, dangerous, alive.
He wouldn't sleep. Not yet.The third wind was coming, and the third wind always killed.
When it came, it crawled low, damp, like fog slithering across the ground.Alan smelled blood—sweet, metallic. Not human. Beasts' stomachs, twisting.He understood: the Fire-breath was moving, a burning ribbon sweeping the land.Any flame would call it closer.
He shoved the Fireseed deep under his chest, biting down on the pain as the heat seared his ribs.Then he scattered more salt—three lines thick—and readied the bone needle.
Scratching again. Not one beast—many.Steam rolled at the door. Then came a growl, deep and heavy.
Shadow stirred, half awake, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.Alan passed her the crowbar, his gesture clear: Defend, don't attack.Survival first. Killing later.
The first beast poked its head through, eye sockets hollow and dry.It licked the salt—then shrieked, the tongue blistering, pulling back.The roar that followed shook the wind itself.
The second beast slammed into the boards, knocking them half ajar.Alan tightened the saltline's inner thread with the bone needle, making a hard corner.Shadow placed the crowbar against the floor—so if one charged, it would catch its leg.
The third beast moved to the far side.Smarter. Quieter. Watching the gap.
Alan steadied his breathing—four counts.He touched the Fireseed through his chest. The warmth pushed back against his palm.Three… two… one.
The moment the beast lifted its claw over the salt, Alan shoved the line forward.The salt burst upward, white like surf, striking the creature's paw.It recoiled, skin peeling, the stench of blood thick in the air.
Alan drove the bone needle through the line, pinning it into the earth.The door sealed with a solid click.
The beasts circled again but found no second exit.They howled toward the wind, furious, then faded one by one.
Alan layered more salt along the edge, thick as bone.When the wind carried the last of the howls away, only the faint hiss of salt remained.
He leaned back against the wall, one hand still pressing his chest, the fire's pulse steady, faint, alive.