Chapter 27 – The Desert and the Voice
The world was silent.
Then came the voice.
"Boy… wake up."
It was distant at first—an echo through sand and heat. John stirred but didn't open his eyes. Everything hurt. His chest, his throat, his thoughts.
"Wake up, boy. Now."
The tone snapped through his half-dream like a whip. Harsh. Old. Alive.
"If you don't move this instant, you'll die where you lie. Something comes—stronger than anything you've seen. Up!"
John's breath caught. His eyelids fluttered open.
Sand.
Everywhere.
He was lying half-buried beneath a dune, the air so dry it clawed at his lungs. Heat pressed down like a weight. The sky above him burned red-gold, rippling with waves of distortion.
For a heartbeat he didn't know where he was. Then memory struck—the portal, the flash of light, the world tearing apart—then nothing.
"Revenak…" he croaked. The word fell flat in the wind.
"Focus!" the voice barked again inside his skull. "Hide, boy! Now!"
The panic in that command pushed him upright. He gasped as hot sand poured from his armor joints. His vision swam, his head pounding.
And then he saw her.
Tamara lay a few feet away, half-covered in dust, her pale hair matted against the sand. Her chest rose and fell—alive. Relief struck like water in a drought.
John crawled to her, brushing sand from her face. "Tamara… hey. Wake up."
No answer.
The voice rumbled again, sharper now.
"No time. It's coming."
John didn't argue. Instinct took over. He slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and lifted her. The desert burned against his boots as he stumbled toward a jagged outcrop of stone jutting from the dunes.
He pressed them both into its shade just as the sky darkened.
A sound rolled across the wasteland—deep, guttural, like thunder grinding through bone.
Then the wind hit, and the sand rose in violent spirals.
John held Tamara close, shielding her face against his chest. His pulse hammered. Sweat slicked his palms.
And through the storm, it appeared.
At first only a shadow against the burning clouds—massive, graceful, wrong.
Then it broke through the haze.
A dragon—or something that had once been one. Three heads writhed atop its serpentine neck, each with jaws large enough to swallow a carriage whole. Its wings were torn, but still vast, stretched like black sails over the desert.
Veins of red light pulsed across its scales, and from its mouths dripped something that hissed when it struck the sand.
The heat of its passing seared the air. Every flap of its wings cracked the dunes below.
John's entire body went cold. His breath caught in his throat, muscles trembling as the beast's shadow slid over them.
"Don't breathe," the voice warned. "Its kind hunts by the pulse."
He froze. Even his heartbeat felt too loud.
The creature circled once overhead, the thunder of its wings shaking the rock that hid them. A single eye—golden and lidless—swept across the landscape. For an agonizing moment, it lingered on their direction.
Tamara stirred slightly in his arms, a faint gasp escaping her lips. John tightened his grip, whispering without sound, please stay still.
The monster turned away. Its shriek split the horizon—a cry that made the very sand quiver—and then it drifted east, vanishing into the molten sky.
Silence returned in pieces. The dunes settled. The wind died.
Only then did John realize how fast he was breathing. His body was shaking, sweat glistening down his neck.
Tamara shifted again. Her eyes fluttered open—ice-blue, unfocused. She blinked up at him, still pressed against his chest.
"John…?" Her voice was small, raw.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "You're safe. I've got you."
Her brow furrowed. "Where… are we?"
He looked around—the endless dunes, the warped horizon, the emptiness stretching in every direction. "I don't know," he admitted. "But it's not Revenak."
Tamara's gaze followed his upward. She caught the last glimmer of the beast fading into the distance, and her breath hitched. "What was that?"
"Something that wanted us dead," John said. "And I don't plan on meeting it twice."
He finally eased her onto her feet. The heat was unbearable; every breath burned.
"Do you see anyone else?" she asked quickly, scanning the dunes.
He shook his head. "No. No one. Not even Ember." The name lodged in his throat. He glanced at the sand, half expecting the bear's golden glow to burst through at any moment—but nothing.
Tamara touched his arm. "We'll find them."
He met her eyes—steady, determined despite the exhaustion. He nodded. "Yeah. We will."
Find water. Shelter. Survive.
The words came again, that same unseen voice, quieter now but insistent.
John's head twitched slightly. Tamara didn't seem to hear it.
"You okay?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Yeah. Just… heat."
But his thoughts raced. Who was that? What was that voice?
He looked east, where the horizon shimmered like molten glass. Somewhere out there lay answers—or more death. Either way, staying here meant dying first.
"Come on," he said, tightening his grip on his short blade. "If the sun's that direction, then maybe we'll find ruins or shade before nightfall."
Tamara gave a slow nod. "Then we walk."
The two of them stepped out from behind the rock, the sand already swallowing their footprints as they moved.
Behind them, high above the burning sky, three distant shapes still circled—too far to see clearly, but close enough to promise they weren't alone.
And they vanished into the shimmering expanse.