Lyra blinked awake, her head pounding as if someone had taken a hammer to it. The light was blinding, searing through her eyelids. She groaned.
"Fuck..."
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to massage away the ache, but as she rubbed her face, she felt something coarse against her skin. Grains clung to her damp forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
Sand.
Her eyes snapped open.
She wasn't in a room. She wasn't in a building. She wasn't anywhere remotely civilized.
She was in a desert.
A fucking desert.
Panic clawed at her throat. This couldn't be right. Wasn't Thalassara supposed to be an oceanic kingdom? A city surrounded by water? Where the hell was the water?!
Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself upright. Pain rippled through her muscles—every inch of her body ached like she had been thrown out of a moving car. She winced, glancing down.
Her clothes were a mess. The front of her blouse had a massive tear, exposing far too much cleavage, and her pants had been shredded at the knees. She looked like she had survived a bear attack, and she hadn't even been here for five minutes.
But something was new. A bag.
It sat next to her feet, as if it had been placed there. With a sense of urgency, she yanked it open, searching for anything useful. Weapons. Water. A goddamn map.
Instead, she found... a feather.
A large, black feather—elegant, like something plucked straight from an old writing quill. And that was it. She stared at it in disbelief.
You've got to be kidding me.
The Veil was supposed to provide what she needed—was this all it thought she needed? A fucking feather?!
Her frustration bubbled up, hot and suffocating. She wanted to scream, to cry, to kick the sand like a tantrum-throwing toddler. But before she could let her emotions get the best of her there was a sound. A sharp, rhythmic click-click-click, right behind her.
The hair on her arms stood on end. Slowly—so slowly—she turned. And her blood ran cold.
Towering over her was a scorpion. Not a normal scorpion. Not even a big scorpion.
A monster.
Its exoskeleton gleamed under the sun the same colour as the sand dunes, reflecting light off its jagged, armored plates. The beast was as large as a goddamn car, its pincers twitching, its barbed tail arched high, dripping with thick, dark venom. And it was staring at her. Oh shit.
It lunged and Lyra ran.
Sand flew beneath her feet as she sprinted, lungs burning, legs pumping harder than they ever had before. The heat was suffocating, the dunes treacherous, but she didn't dare stop—
Because behind her, the scorpion charged.
Its heavy legs pounded against the desert floor, kicking up sandstorms in its wake. The earth shook beneath its weight. Lyra's breath hitched as a shadow loomed over her.
MOVE!
She dove to the side just as the creature's tail came crashing down. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, dark venom hissing as it seeped into the sand. Lyra scrambled up and ran faster.
I can't outrun this thing!
Her heart slammed against her ribs, the burning in her legs unbearable. She couldn't keep this up. She needed to hide—
But where?
Sand. Sand. More fucking sand.
The scorpion struck again, its tail a blur. She dodged at the last second, her body reacting on pure instinct. This time, the stinger slammed down so hard that it lodged into something beneath the sand. Lyra didn't hesitate. She ran like hell. Then something caught her eye. A flicker in the distance. A glint, like someone signaling her.
She didn't think. She couldn't think.
She bee lined for it, legs wobbling, breath coming in ragged gasps. The light grew brighter. Closer. Just a little more—
Then the ground vanished beneath her feet. She barely had time to scream before she plummeted.
The world spun—sand, sky, shadows—then pain. Her head slammed against something hard.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
...
For the second time, Lyra woke up with a splitting headache. She opened her eyes slowly, grateful that there wasn't a glaring sun assaulting her vision this time.
Where the hell was she now?
She looked around, taking in her surroundings. It seemed like she had fallen into an underground cave of some sort. A small beam of light streamed down through the hole she must have dropped through—too narrow for that monstrous scorpion to follow. That was one bit of luck.
She reached up and touched the back of her head, wincing. It was caked with dried blood. At least that meant she wasn't actively bleeding anymore.
When this whole mission was over, she was going to have some very strong words with Abel Johnson. Talk about being unprepared for shit.
Lyra got to her feet, moving as silently as possible. The last thing she needed was some other underground nightmare deciding to investigate her presence.
A quick assessment of her situation led her to two undeniable conclusions:
1) She had developed a deep, unwavering hatred for the desert (Dubai was officially off her bucket list).
and 2) The only way out of this forsaken cave was the way she came in—straight up.
She sighed and slumped onto a rock, exhaustion settling deep into her bones. Her feet ached, her head throbbed, and the only thing she had to her name was… a feather.
She pulled it from her bag and stared at it accusingly. This had to mean something, right? They wouldn't have given it to her otherwise.
Above, pebbles rained down as the scorpion shifted, still patrolling the area, waiting for her to resurface. "Well, I'm not going to be your easy meal," Lyra muttered, shifting her glare to the cave's ceiling.
The cave would be uncomfortable to sleep in, but she didn't have a choice. There was no way in hell she was stepping outside while that thing was prowling.
Her gaze dropped back to the feather in her hand. Was this some cruel joke? Because she'd written "writing" as a skill, was this what she got? A glorified quill?
She turned it in her fingers, studying it more closely. It did seem… off. There was something about it, a strange hum of power, an undeniable presence.
Before she could dwell on it, a sharp crack echoed above her. Lyra's head snapped up just in time to see one of the scorpion's legs wedge into the hole. Her blood ran cold.
It was trying to pry the opening wider. It was trying to get in.
Panic surged through her. She had already searched the cave—there was nothing here that could help her. Frantically, she grabbed the largest rock she could find, her only hope being to use it as some kind of distraction.
The ceiling gave way in a sudden, deafening collapse.
With a resounding thud, the massive scorpion landed directly in front of her, death gleamed in its beady black eyes.
Lyra had never known fear like this. She hurled the rock at its face, aiming for its eyes. The throw was feeble, pathetic—her strength had abandoned her.
The scorpion barely seemed to notice. It skittered forward, claws clicking, eyes locked on its prey. Lyra whimpered, scrambling backward until her shoulders hit the cold stone wall. There was nowhere left to go.
She squeezed the feather in her hand so tightly her fingers ached, as if somehow it could shield her. The scorpion lunged and Lyra screamed.
In a desperate, last-ditch effort, she flung the feather straight at its head. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact — but it never came.
Cautiously, she cracked one eye open. The scorpion loomed inches from her face, its eyes frozen in an eerie expression of rage. But it wasn't moving.
It was dead.
Lyra blinked in disbelief. A dagger was lodged between its eyes.
She reached forward hesitantly and pulled it free. The moment she held it in her palm, she realized, It wasn't just any dagger. It was the feather.
Her breath hitched. The feather had transformed, its blade sleek and black, dripping with ink. But the ink didn't fall. It simply vanished into thin air as if dissolving into nothingness.
She could kiss that damn Whispering Veil right now.
A shaky, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of her.
She had done it.
She was still alive.