Morning in the Ashlands did not bring warmth. It brought a pale, sickly light that filtered through the smog layers, revealing the true scale of the wasteland in depressing clarity.
Elara woke up not to the silk sheets of her royal bed, but to the smell of ozone, wet fur, and stale blood.
She was curled up against Ghost's flank. The monster was radiating heat like a living furnace, keeping the biting desert chill at bay. His rhythmic breathing vibrated against her back, a mechanical purr that was strangely soothing.
She sat up, rubbing the radioactive grit from her eyes. Her wedding dress was now a rag of torn grey silk, stained with oil and dirt. She looked less like a Princess and more like a ghost herself.
"You sleep like a rock," a voice rasped from the shadows.
Ciro was slumped against the metal wall of the container. He wasn't sharpening his dagger; he was gripping it white-knuckled, as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the world of the living. He looked terrible—his skin was the color of old paper, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes.
"And you look like you died three days ago," Elara countered, masking her worry with a sharp tone. She stretched her stiff limbs.
Ghost lifted his massive armored head. He didn't have eyes, but Elara felt the weight of his black sensory visor scanning her vitals. He let out a low chirrup—a friendly sound that clashed with his nightmare appearance—and nudged her shoulder with his cold, wet snout.
"He likes you," Ciro muttered, eyeing the beast warily. "I tried to pet him while you were asleep. He nearly took my hand off. The damn thing has a loyalty filter."
"He knows who holds the leash," Elara said, resting her hand on Ghost's metallic neck plating. The white ceramic felt cool and smooth.
She stood up and walked to the open hatch where the wind howled.
The view was daunting. Miles of jagged metal dunes, toxic pools of neon-green sludge, and swirling dust storms stretched between them and the horizon.
"Twenty miles," Elara whispered, remembering the map. "To the City of Glass Bones."
She turned to Ciro. "Can you walk?"
Ciro tried to push himself up. He made it halfway before his knees buckled. He caught himself on the wall, gasping, sweat popping on his forehead instantly. The bio-foam was holding his lung together, but just barely.
"I can walk," Ciro lied through gritted teeth. "Just... give me a minute."
"A minute means dead," Elara said bluntly. "The Scavengers will be back with reinforcements. Or worse."
She looked at Ghost. The beast was massive—four feet at the shoulder, built like a tank with legs. His back was broad, covered in interlocking armor plates designed to deflect bullets.
"Ghost," Elara commanded, pointing to the ground. "Transport Mode."
The beast tilted his head, processing the command. Then, with a hiss of hydraulics, he lowered his body to the floor, splaying his legs to create a stable platform.
Elara turned to Ciro. "Get on."
Ciro stared at her, then at the beast. "You want me to ride the man-eating bio-weapon? My ribs will shatter."
"It's better than walking," Elara said, crossing her arms. "Unless you want me to carry you. And I don't think my dress can take the strain."
Ciro let out a dry laugh that turned into a wet cough. "Fine. But if he eats me, I'm coming back to haunt you."
Elara helped him up. It was a struggle, but they managed to get Ciro straddled onto Ghost's broad back. He gripped the edges of the armor plates, his breath hitching in pain.
Elara climbed up in front of him. It was a tight fit. She could feel the heat of Ciro's fever through his tactical vest, and his chest pressed against her back.
"Hold on to me," Elara ordered.
"Your Highness, that would be improper," Ciro murmured, though his voice was weak and fading.
"I am an Ash Queen now, remember?" Elara said, grabbing the thick, wire-like fur around Ghost's neck. "Propriety died with the Scavengers."
Ciro hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead wearily against her shoulder.
"Ghost," Elara pointed to the west, where the faint outline of jagged towers pierced the smog. "Run."
The beast rose. He didn't lumber; he flowed.
With a burst of speed that snapped Elara's head back, Ghost launched himself out of the shelter.
They didn't just run; they flew across the wasteland.
It wasn't a smooth ride. Every time Ghost's metal claws dug into the trash dunes, the impact jarred them. But the beast moved with supernatural agility, leaping over rusted chasms and vaulting over crushed cars. The wind whipped Elara's hair into a frenzy.
For the first time in days, she didn't feel fear. She felt power.
She was riding a monster of the Old Kings, with the deadliest assassin in the kingdom at her back.
Let Kaelen come, she thought, a fierce grin breaking across her face. Let him try to catch this.
They covered ten miles in less than an hour.
"Elara," Ciro's voice was faint in her ear. "Slow down. Look."
He pointed ahead.
The smog was thinning. Rising from the chaotic ocean of trash was something distinct. Something ordered.
It was a wall. A massive, translucent wall made of jagged, crystal-like structures that soared hundreds of feet into the air. It looked like the ribcage of a god rising from the earth. Behind the wall, spires of white glass and chrome pierced the grey sky, untouched by the rust that consumed everything else.
The City of Glass Bones.
It wasn't a myth. It was real. And it was beautiful in a cold, alien way.
But as they drew closer, the Gauntlet on Elara's hand vibrated with a warning.
[ALERT: HIGH THREAT LEVELS DETECTED.]
Elara pulled Ghost to a skidding halt behind a massive dune of tires. She peered over the edge.
At the base of the crystalline city gates, there was movement.
Shadows. Hundreds of them.
Campfires burned in a ring around the entrance, spewing black smoke. War-rigs—cars modified with spikes and armor—were parked in formation. Banners made of flayed human skin flapped in the wind.
"An army?" Elara whispered, the hope draining from her chest.
"Not an army," Ciro squinted, his assassin eyes scanning the scene. "A Horde. I recognize the banners from the Intelligence briefings. That's Warlord Krog. He controls this entire sector."
Elara's heart sank. "They're besieging the city? Why?"
"Trying to break in," Ciro reasoned. "Scavengers spend their whole lives trying to crack the Old Cities to steal the tech. If Krog is here, the front door is closed."
"There are too many of them," Elara said. "We can't fight a whole tribe."
"We don't have to," Ciro whispered. He tapped Elara's shoulder. "Look at the terrain. The city foundation goes deep underground. The Old Kings built massive drainage systems."
Elara looked at the map on her HUD.
[SCANNING PERIMETER...][ACCESS POINT DETECTED: SECTOR 7G - THERMAL VENT.]
Ghost let out a low growl and turned his head toward a dark, rocky outcrop about a mile away from the main gate, hidden by the shadows of the junk piles.
"The Rat Way," Ciro smirked weakly.
Elara patted Ghost's neck. "Quietly, boy. Take us to the shadows."
The white beast lowered his belly to the ground, engaging a silent-step mode. Like a true ghost, he slunk away from the army and the fires, carrying his Queen toward the darkness beneath the city.