The Striker hummed beneath my boots as it carved through the sky, sharp and silent. Below, the Saharan Waste stretched out like a corpse—sun-bleached, cracked, and hollow. A desert born after the world ended, reshaped by mana and ruin.
From this high up, it looked still.
I still was not sure if I could trust stillness.
Inside the aircraft, no one spoke.
Eitan Velar sat across from me, calm as stone, flipping through a mission slate with practiced ease. Gold-tier. Clean-cut. Everything about him radiated discipline. He didn't ask questions. He read people through silence.
The Silver-tier sat to my right—braided hair, steady hands, a compact arc-rifle resting across her lap. Her eyes flicked across the cabin once, then settled into a quiet rhythm. She was a field type. Experienced.
The younger guy—Calen—was trying not to fidget. He checked his boots. Then his wrist slate. Then the strap of his sidearm. Then repeated the cycle. I recognized the pattern.
First expedition nerves.
Same as mine. Although our situation was quite different.
"You ever been down here before?" I asked quietly.
He looked up, surprised I was the one speaking. "Me? No. This is my first deployment."
I nodded. "Same."
He blinked. "Wait, really? But you're—"
"Still my first."
He seemed to relax slightly after that. Like it was okay to be uneasy if even a Legendary didn't act like he owned the sky.
Across from us, the Silver-tier glanced sideways. "Don't treat it like a ceremony," she said. "It's just ground. Different from a simulation, sure, but it bleeds the same."
Calen didn't reply. Neither did I.
The pitch of the Striker's engines changed—lower, slower.
Eitan stood. "Final checks. We land in sixty seconds. Stick to formation. No mana flares unless ordered."
We rose.
I hadn't brought weapons. This expedition was meant to be my testing ground.
Testing ground for Hellflame.
Not that I was worried. But getting a better grasp of my ability mattered.
The ramp hissed open.
Heat hit me first—dry, layered with grit and static. It felt like walking into a forge.
One by one, we stepped onto the sand.
The Striker lifted off behind us, disappearing into the haze.
And just like that, we were alone.
The landscape stretched out in silence. Pale orange dunes and blackened cracks in the earth. The sun wasn't up yet, but the sky had begun to burn with early light.
"Three clicks northwest," Eitan said, eyes on his slate. "That's the last ping from Recon. If the nest's still active, it'll be there."
We moved in silence.
No one talked.
Every step pressed into dust that felt too dry to be natural. Every gust of wind came without warning, cutting sideways like a whisper. The terrain wasn't just dead—it was stripped.
Like something had peeled the life off it and left the skin behind.
Calen eventually drifted closer to me. "You ever train for this kind of environment?" he muttered.
"Not exactly."
"Didn't think deserts could feel... hostile."
I glanced at the horizon.
"Feels that way."
He nodded, then went quiet again.
After thirty minutes, Eitan raised a hand. "Hold."
We dropped behind a ridge—low cover, broken stone, maybe the remains of an old fortification. It was half-swallowed by the dunes.
I crouched near the edge, scanning the horizon.
That's when I saw it.
Far out, maybe a kilometer ahead, something had torn a line through the sand. Not a natural trench. It was too perfect. Straight. Uniform in depth. Carved with intent.
I pointed. "There."
Eitan followed my gaze. His jaw tightened slightly.
The Silver-tier narrowed her eyes. "Not erosion."
"No," I said. "It's too clean."
We moved again—slower now, controlled. The air grew thinner as we approached the trench. Not in temperature, but in pressure. Like the atmosphere itself didn't want us there.
Closer now, I could see the trench wasn't just long—it was deep. Seven meters at least. The walls were smooth, the floor compacted into hardened glass.
Something had burned through here.
Eitan knelt and ran his fingers over the rim. "Mana residue. Barely detectable."
The Silver-tier frowned. "This was recent."
Calen stayed behind us, eyes flicking from side to side. I didn't blame him. The silence had changed. It was still quiet—but not empty.
It felt watched.
Something shimmered faintly at the base of the trench—scorch marks, yes, but also fragments. Shells. Not from weapons. From something that had molted.
Large.
I didn't say anything right away.
Eitan stood beside me. "Thoughts?"
"Something big. And fast. Probably burrowed."
He nodded once, then checked his slate again. "We camp here for now. Wait for drone recon. No one separates. We hold this position until further notice."
"No need for that," I said quietly. "I've got a perception trait—strong one. Not questioning your call. Just thought I'd say it."
Eitan looked at me for a beat. Neutral. Measuring.
Then nodded once. "Noted."
I wasn't trying to come off arrogant. And I had no reason not to respect a capable warrior.
I stood at the edge, eyes tracking subtle shifts beneath the sand. The light shimmered strangely—just a ripple at first. Then another. Not random. It had rhythm.
Movement.
Deep. Fast. Circling.
I narrowed my focus. Mana currents filtered through my senses—faint but unmistakable.
"There," I said, pointing toward a warped stretch of glassy sand, maybe forty meters out and slightly left of the trench's center. "Something's down there. Not stationary. Circling. Waiting."
Eitan walked over, eyes following my line of sight.
"You sure?" he asked.
I nodded once. "I can't see it directly—but I can feel the path it's carving. It's big. Probably the one that made this."
The Silver-tier stepped closer. "You think it's a Dreadscorpius?"
"It fits," Eitan muttered. "Burrowed ambusher. Tail strike could punch through steel if it's one of the bigger ones."
Calen looked pale. "And we're baiting it out?"
Eitan gave him a sharp look, but I spoke first.
"I'd like to try something," I said. "This is my first expedition—and I didn't bring weapons for a reason. I came to test my ability. In the field."
The Silver-tier turned slightly, raising a brow. Eitan just watched me.
"You want the first strike," he said.
"I want the whole thing," I replied. "You can back me up if it gets out of hand, but if I can handle it solo, I'd rather see where I stand."
Eitan didn't answer right away.
His eyes stayed on mine. Measuring. Weighing.
Then he nodded.
"Fine. Your call."
He probably wanted to see what a Legendary-tier could do.
I exhaled through my nose, just once. Calm.
Eitan turned to the others. "We'll use the bait drone. Calen—deploy it, slow crawl pattern, low elevation. Keep it about fifteen meters from the trench's midpoint. We'll position along the arc, spread wide enough not to cluster but close enough to react."
Calen scrambled to obey. The drone lifted a moment later, humming softly as it glided out across the sand like a hovering beetle. Its underbelly glowed faintly with a weak mana pulse—just enough to draw attention.
I walked forward slowly, stopping about twenty meters from the edge. Sand shifted beneath my boots. Dry wind tugged at my clothes.
I could feel it.
Beneath.
Stalking.
Waiting.
A shadow beneath the skin of the earth.
The others fanned out behind me, silent.
I lowered my stance, steady breath flowing through my lungs.
This was what I wanted.
Not just a test. A beginning.
The drone gave a soft chime—proximity alert. It had caught something.
The sand near the trench convulsed.
The creature was coming.