The night air nips at my skin as I crawl out from my pathetic excuse for a shelter Ah, the luxurious Dune View Suite. Five stars. Would die here again.

I stretch, feeling the satisfying pop of joints, stiffened from another day of hiding from the sun.. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, an endless sea of sand sprawls before me, moonlight painting it in shades of silver and shadow. All a girl could want – sand, more sand, and the occasional death by dehydration. My stomach lets out a growl reminding me why i’m out here. Right. Food. I sling my quiver over my shoulder, fingers brushing across the familiar fletching of my arrows. My bow – a beauty I barterted three weeks of scrawny catches for – feels like an extension of my arm. Out here, it's the difference between eating or starving.

I slide across dunes, shielding my silhouette as I move. My footsteps barely whisper across the cooling sand. Every sound, every shift in the air, could mean prey – or danger. I've learned to tell the difference, or I'd be nothing but bleached bones decorating some lucky predator's den by now. An hour in, and nothing. Frustration bubbles up, but I shove it down. Patience, Blithe. The desert doesn't reward the hasty. It prefers to torture them slowly instead.

Then I hear it – the faint scrabble of claws on sand. My chapped lips curl into a grin as I slowly nock an arrow. "Here, bunny bunny," I breathe, drawing back the string. The shot is clean, a perfect arc, ending in a soft thud and a surprised yelp from the newly deceased desert hare. As I retrieve my prize, a howl slices through the night, setting my nerves on edge. Something big is hunting tonight. I weigh the hare in my hand, considering my options. But hell, when have I ever played it safe? Probably that one time. You know, never.

I melt into the shadows, adrenaline singing in my veins. In this damned desert, you're either the hunter or the hunted. And I'll be damned if I end up as something else's midnight snack.

The howl slices through the night again, closer this time. My pulse kicks up. I secure the hare to my belt, moving silently up the dune, senses sharp. The peak gives me a perfect view—there they are. Desert wolves. Six of them. Lovely. Their prey catches my eye, a young camel, poor thing’s strayed from its herd. My stomach grumbles at the thought of fresh meat. That camel could feed the Clan for weeks. I nock an arrow, considering the odds. The wolves haven’t clocked me yet, too focused on their prize. I could kill their alpha, throw them into chaos. Or... miss, and suddenly I’m the main course.

The wolves close in on the camel. It was now or never. I let the arrow fly. It finds the leader’s throat, dropping him mid-snarl. The pack explodes into confusion. I fire two more arrows, quick and clean. One wolf hits the sand. Another limps off, yelping.

The camel, startled, bolts straight at me. Perfect.

I slide down the dune, racing to intercept it. I can hear the wolves right behind me, paws pounding the sand. My legs scream in agony, but I reach the camel, grabbing its halter just as it rears. It nearly drags me off my feet, but I hold on.

“Easy, easy,” I murmur, breath ragged.

The wolves are closing in, hungry and pissed. I nock another arrow, spinning to face them. For a second, I lock eyes with the nearest one I see hunger, I see desperation in his eyes, one that probably mirrors my own. But there was no time to feel pity. I let the arrow fly. Down it goes. The others skid to a stop, suddenly unsure. I grin, feral and sharp, drawing another arrow.

For a tense moment, we stare each other down. Then, with angry yips, they retreat, walking into the night.

I sag against the camel, heart pounding, legs burning. The adrenaline fades, leaving me shaky. The camel was still snorting nervously, but it doesn’t bolt. There’s a lot of work ahead: carving, preserving, rationing. Sighing, I glance up at the stars, easily finding the constellation I was looking for The Wanderer. It points back home. Back to the Clan.

At least tonight, I’m not starving.

Dragging myself and the camel back to the Ibrory Clan’s camp, exhaustion clings to me like the sand on my skin. The cluster of tents and rough lean-tos huddled against a wind-worn boulder comes into view. Home sweet dust pit. It’s not much, but it’s kept us alive through countless storms. Can't complain too much, I guess. I head toward the central tent, where Yatri, our Clan leader, is perched, surrounded by the younger kids. Her wrinkled face cracks into a grin when she spots my prize.

“Well done, Blithe,” she croaks. “You and Ajlar keep us fed. Bless you both.”

Ajlar materializes at my side like he’s got a sixth sense for praise, a smug grin plastered on his sand-dusted face. His curly black hair is braided into neat cornrows, glinting with seashells and bone beads. Because nothing says desert chic like shells from an ocean none of us have ever seen. His clothes? The usual: an oversized brown shirt, sleeveless, with pants that look like they belong to someone twice his size, held up by a rope that’s trying its best to be a belt.

“Nice haul,” he says, eyes flicking to the camel. “Bet I could’ve dropped it faster, though.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, if it tripped and landed in your lap.”

He laughs, that annoyingly loud cackle of his. “You wish you had my charm, Thalorian,” he fires back with a wink before yanking the camel away, prepping to butcher it. I follow him, knives out, getting to work on skinning and carving. Between slinging insults, dodging playful punches, and a couple of thrown knives (for fun, of course), we manage to finish just as the sky starts hinting at sunrise.

“Time for the Understone run!” Yatri calls out, rallying the kids like it’s some grand adventure. My heart skips. These trips are always a chaotic blend of excitement and dread.

We gather at the hidden trapdoor. The cool, musty air from below hits me as soon as it swings open. I grab my balaclava, pulling it over my head. The fabric catches on the long scar tracing my neck to my collarbone.

I pause to glance at a shard of mirror propped against the wall. The mask covers most of my face, but my eyes, a deep purple, mistaken for blue in low light, stare back, weary from years of watching, waiting for danger. And that didn’t just mean animals, Sentries could be anywhere. Always.

“Admiring your own reflection again, princess?” Ajlar's voice cuts through, dripping with sarcasm.

I flip him off without even looking. “Keep talking, Ajlar. Maybe someday you’ll say something useful.”

He laughs, completely unfazed. “Very well, Your Highness,” he says, mock bowing before gesturing toward the tunnel. “After you.” With a sigh, I lead the way. After about ten minutes of crawling through the cramped tunnel, it opens into a massive underground space.

Welcome to Understone.

Torchlight flickers off crystal-studded walls, illuminating the bustling oasis. It’s an underground village, alive with quiet chatter and the sounds of trade. Tents and shops line the cavern—some vibrant and colorful, others patched together from scavenged scraps. Lean-tos of canvas, hide yurts, even a few structures that look like they’ve grown from the crystal itself.

But what hits me, as always, is the masks. Everyone wears one here, from simple cloth coverings like mine to elaborate creations decked out in feathers and gems. It's an unspoken rule of Understone. No one cares who you were before, identities remain hidden, pasts are left at the door.

“Oh, Blithe, look!” A little girl behind me tugs on my sleeve, pointing.

A tall man in a hooded cape walks by, playing the most mesmerizing tune. The instruments? Floating around him, plucking notes in mid-air, his hands moving with a strange grace. His hat rests on his palm, slowly filling with coins and trinkets from the enchanted onlookers.

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I smile under my mask. Understone never disappoints.

To my right, a boy juggles water droplets, mesmerizing a small crowd as the liquid twists and dances at his whim. The audience gasps, entranced by the way it shifts, becoming delicate shapes and figures in midair. Envy tightens in my chest for a brief second before I shove it down. I may not have their magic, but I’ve got my own set of skills.

Ajlar and I guide the kids toward Marta's stall, our usual spot for trading. But tonight, something feels off. The air’s different… thicker, maybe. The usual lively chatter has dwindled to a low hum of whispers. People are nervous, darting from stall to stall like they’re waiting for the ground to crack open beneath them.

Marta’s weathered face lights up the moment she sees us. “Blithe!” she exclaims, eyes landing on my load. “What have you brought me today?”

Even with my face hidden beneath the mask, I can’t help but smile back. Marta’s been a constant in my life, one of the rare few who doesn’t look at me like I’m some sort of charity case. “Just a humble hare,” I say, setting the desert catch on her counter. “And some dried meat from last week’s hunt.”

Marta clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Humble, she says, as if surviving out there is just another stroll.” She inspects the goods with practiced hands. “You know, most people down here wouldn’t last a day in that wasteland.”

While she haggles with Ajlar, my eyes wander. Powers ripple through the air, effortless displays of ability. A woman floats jars onto a high shelf with a flick of her fingers. A kid spins tiny whirlwinds in his palms, giggling as they flutter around. Across the way, a healer’s hands glow, her touch knitting flesh back together.

That old familiar sting of being different creeps in. I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by people born with these gifts. The Awakened. People call it a blessing from the gods, or evolution or whatever. Me? I think its just another way the universe found to screw me over. Why am I so different? Why was I left out when the powers were handed down?

Marta’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “How’s that training of yours coming along?” She asks it casually, but her eyes are sharp.

I blink. “You remember that?”

She scoffs, waving a hand. “Think these old ears don’t work? I’ve heard you muttering about it for weeks.”

Heat creeps up my neck, thankful for the mask hiding my face. Ajlar, ever the opportunist, snorts beside me, biting back a laugh.

“It’s going,” I grumble. “Still can’t hit a target while blindfolded, but I’m getting there.”

Marta gives me a nod that’s more approving than I deserve. “Good. Keep at it. Powers aren’t everything. What you’ve got”—she taps her temple—“up here, that’s worth more than a few fancy tricks.”

“Thanks, Marta,” I mutter, just as my elbow connects with Ajlar’s ribs, wiping the grin off his face as he stumbles, choking on his laugh.

Marta waves away my thanks, but there’s softness in her eyes. “Enough of that. Now, about this hare…”

As they dive back into negotiations, I turn my focus to rounding up the kids, trying to ignore the growing unease in the air. Then Marta’s voice lowers, serious. “Blithe.”

I glance back at her. The warmth in her face is gone, replaced with worry. “Be careful up there. Word is, something big is stirring in the desert. Something… unnatural.”

A chill ripples down my spine. “I’ll keep my eyes open. Ajlar will too,” I add, shooting him a look. He nods, face suddenly serious.

Marta leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s been talk of Sentries nearby. The High King’s dogs, sniffing around where they don’t belong.”

My blood goes cold. Sentries were always bad news. Ruthless soldiers with abilities that make most Awakened look like amateurs. They don’t leave survivors.

“How many?” I ask, fingers curling instinctively around the knife at my hip. Beside me, Ajlar’s hand tightens on the knuckle dusters he’s slipped from his belt, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

Before Marta can answer, a scream shatters the uneasy quiet. A woman bursts from one of the tunnels, blood streaking her face.

“They’re here!” she cries.

Panic spreads like wildfire. Armored figures pour into Understone, their hands crackling with barely contained energy, advancing with a predator's grace. Sentries. Chaos erupts. People scatter in every direction. I draw my knives, ready to defend myself, but Ajlar’s hand clamps down on my arm.

“We need to get the others out!” Ajlar hisses, urgency crackling in his voice.

Instinct takes over, and we turn to gather the kids, but what I see stops me cold. The younger ones are huddled together, eyes wide and faces pale with terror. Then, one of them points at me.

“There she is!” a trembling voice calls out. “The powerless one! Take her!”

I freeze, disbelief and confusion battling inside me. Ajlar’s grip tightens on my arm, his knuckles white.

“I’m sorry,” a kid whispers, tears pooling in his eyes. “They said they’d leave the clan alone if we gave them you.”

Before I can fully process the betrayal, a Sentry charges at me, his fists glowing with raw energy, his armor gleaming under the torches, marked with the High King’s crest. I wrench free from Ajlar’s hold, dodging just as the Sentry’s massive arm sweeps past my head. His momentum nearly topples him.

Another Sentry raises his arms, manipulating the wind, creating a vortex that begins to suck in everything nearby—debris, tents, and even villagers. The force is overwhelming, but I manage to grab a handful of sand from my pouch, hurling it into the vortex. It blinds him just long enough for Ajlar to take advantage, landing a powerful uppercut to the Sentry’s jaw. The sound of the impact is sickening.

The first Sentry charges again, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he barrels toward me. At the last moment, I sidestep, sending him crashing headlong into a jagged crystal formation. The loud crack of his armor breaking against the stone echoes through the cavern.

Chaos reigns around me as I weave through the fighting, looking for anything to gain an advantage. A basin of water catches my eye, the one used by the boy who had been juggling droplets earlier. With a swift kick, I knock it over, sending a slick wave across the ground. Two Sentries chasing a group of villagers slip, sprawling onto their backs. Soldiers they may be they were dumb. So very dumb.

A hulking Enforcer corners me, a grin spreading across his face as he cracks his knuckles. His arms bulge with strength, the kind that could snap me like a twig. I feint left, then duck under his swing, my dagger materializing in my hand. In a swift motion, I slice through the straps of his armor, and the heavy plates crash to the floor. Before I can deliver a final blow, a telekinetic wave slams into me from the side, hurling me against the cavern wall. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and stars dance across my vision. I struggle to my feet, gasping for breath, and that’s when I see Marta. She’s being dragged away by two Sentries, her face pale with fear. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, pure panic grips her. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I push through the pain, drawing both daggers. With a sharp flick of my wrist, I send them flying. They strike true, burying deep into the neck and stomach of the telekinetic Sentry. He crumples to the ground, his blood pooling around him.

Ducking under a piece of flying debris, I sprint over to retrieve my daggers, wiping the blood off as I scan the battlefield. Ajlar is struggling, his movements slowing as he fights off another Sentry. I move behind him and yank his mask down, shouting into his ear.

“Grab the kids and get out of here!”

He spins, his eyes blazing with anger. “And leave you behind? I’m no fucking coward, Blithe.”

Blood is trickling down his forehead, and I place my hands on his shoulders to steady him. “I’ll be fine,” I lie, giving him a shove toward the children. “Go!”

We both know the truth—there’s no coming back from this. But he hesitates only for a moment before he turns, gathering the terrified kids as I watch him go. Hurt and betrayal burn in my chest, but there’s no time for those emotions now. The battlefield around me is a nightmare. Bodies lie scattered, crystals shattered, and the air is thick with smoke and screams. I spot an opening in the chaos and dash toward it, staying low, my heart pounding. A fireball whizzes past my head, grazing my balaclava, filling the air with the sharp stench of burnt fabric. I don’t slow down, my eyes scanning for any escape.

“There! That’s her!” a voice shouts behind me. I risk a glance and see three Sentries closing in, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light. I weave through the panicking crowd, using them as cover, but they’re gaining on me.

Suddenly, the ground erupts in front of me. A wall of earth rises, cutting off my escape. I skid to a halt, trapped. Panic flares in my chest.

“End of the line, freak,” one of the Sentries growls, his hands sparking with energy.

I bare my teeth, my pulse racing. “Not yet,” I spit back.

I hurl my last dagger, not at the Sentry, but at the crystal formation above him. It shatters, sending shards raining down on my pursuers. In the chaos, I make a break for it, but before I can get far, a telekinetic force hits me like a freight train. My body slams into the cavern wall, my breath knocked from my lungs, and I crumple to the ground.

I try to push myself up, but a heavy boot presses down on my back, pinning me in place. I can barely move.

“Stay down,” the Sentry commands, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rough hands grab my wrists, binding them tightly. My vision blurs—whether from the pain or tears, I can’t tell. As I fade into unconsciousness, the last thing I see is Understone in ruins, its crystals dim and its people scattered.

Darkness takes me.