Shadows Between Steps **************** The wind had changed by the time Kael and Mira reached the broken plains. Not a harsh wind, not a wind that threatened, but one that made hair itch and sand scratch in the corners of your eyes. Kael hated it immediately. He rubbed the grit from his eyelids and cursed under his breath. Mira didn’t look at him. She didn’t have to. She always knew what he was thinking before he did. They walked in silence at first. The plains stretched like pale bones beneath them, cracked and dry. Rocks jutted out at odd angles, almost deliberately, as if the land itself had a sense of humor. Kael stumbled once over a flat stone, too confident, and caught himself with one hand on a jagged edge. Blood didn’t flow, just the sting of scraped skin. The dragon shifted inside him, impatient, a low hum vibrating up his spine. It smelled danger somewhere in the east. Kael couldn’t tell if it was human, animal, or something else entirely, but the sensation pricked his

Where Salt Turns Red ******************** By midday the flats stopped pretending to be empty. Heat shimmered low across the ground, turning distance into a lie. The child—who had finally whispered her name was Ilya—walked between them now instead of being carried. She refused help with a stubborn tilt of her chin that reminded Kael of someone he didn’t want to think about. He didn’t say that out loud. He also didn’t say he was relieved. Her steps were uneven but determined. Salt cracked under her bare heels. Mira had wrapped strips of cloth around her feet, muttering the whole time about infections and stupidity and why children never listened. The cloth was already stained gray. Kael walked slightly behind them. Not protective. Just positioned. The dragon hadn’t stopped watching since morning. It didn’t trust the quiet. Neither did Kael. The air had changed—thicker, almost greasy. Even the wind sounded wrong. Less like movement. More like whispering. Ilya coughed.

The River of Glass **************** Night had settled long before Kael noticed. Stars reflected in the shallow pools of water along the uneven land. Not a river. Not flowing. More like a mirror fractured into thousands of shards that rattled faintly when wind passed through. The dragon hummed beneath Kael’s ribs, restless. Not hungry. Not amused. Curious. Impatient. He didn’t like curiosity when it smelled like consequence. Mira moved beside him, boots crunching lightly over the glassy ground. Ilya stayed close, dragging her bare toes across the wet sand where water had crept over the land overnight. Tiny splashes, faint, soft. Kael noticed. Unnecessary. He mentally catalogued it anyway. “You’re quiet,” Mira said, her voice low, rough with fatigue. “Because I’m not dead yet,” Kael replied. Not a joke. Not meant to be. “Not helpful,” she said. He shrugged. A habit. Bias flared immediately. He assumed every voice that sounded calm across this stretch of land had se

What the Sky Keeps ****************** The sky did not sleep. Kael watched it long after the fire had burned down to red bone and smoke. The others sounds of the forest had returned in cautious fragments — a far owl, the rustle of something small moving through dry leaves — but above them the clouds moved too slowly, too deliberately. He hadn’t imagined the wings. He knew dragons. Not just in legend. Not just in blood. What he had seen was not kin. It had moved wrong. Mira slept on her side across the dying fire, one arm under her head, blade still within reach. She always said she could sleep anywhere. She lied. He could tell by the way her fingers twitched sometimes, like she was reaching for something she refused to name. He should wake her. He didn’t. Instead he stood and stepped away from the camp, boots quiet against damp earth. The air felt thinner. Charged. The mark on his arm had cooled but not faded. It pulsed faintly, as if responding to a distant

Faultlines *************** The tower didn’t fall. It just leaned, like it had reconsidered standing. Kael and Mira walked down the fractured spiral in silence. Stone crunched under their boots. Dust hung thick in the air, turning every breath dry and bitter. The smell wasn’t smoke anymore. It was something like burnt copper and rain. Mira kicked a loose shard over the edge. It didn’t hit bottom. “That’s comforting,” she muttered. Kael ran his thumb over the mark on his arm. It had faded back to dull ember beneath his skin, but it wasn’t quiet. Not fully. It felt… alert. Not hungry. Not raging. Listening. He didn’t like that. “You’re doing it again,” Mira said without looking at him. “What.” “That face. The one where you start carrying the entire sky on your back.” He snorted softly. “It was technically on my back.” “Not funny “A little funny.” She didn’t smile, but her shoulder bumped his as they reached the lower chamber. The ground-level door hu