Warren clenched his fists as he trudged through the sand, jaw set as he threw a bitter glance at the backs of the hunters striding confidently ahead. They had left Sabir behind without a second thought, as though he’d been little more than a discarded pawn, and it had taken every ounce of Warren’s restraint to keep from lashing out. He had argued—pleaded even—to go back for Sabir, but his protests had fallen on indifferent ears. Zabo, beside him, looked pale and worn, his posture that of a man walking under the weight of his own guilt.


    The group had been coldly decisive, insisting they continue toward the dungeon, ignoring Warren’s pleas. “We can’t waste time or resources. Quinn knew the risks. Good riddance, if you ask me,” Elektra had said, her eyes narrowing with a sharp, almost predatory indifference.


    Warren knew she’d made her decision, and there was no swaying her. The image of Sabir’s last desperate expression burned in his mind, and he could only guess at what his friend was enduring. He suppressed the impulse to turn back, forcing himself to take one step after another, but he could feel the weight of his own guilt pressing down harder with each passing moment.


    Beside him, Zabo walked in silence, head lowered, hands trembling. He was a shell of himself, his face pale and drawn as if he’d lost something essential in himself. Sabir had his friend; they had bonded over the shared hardships, surviving together when others would have given up.


    “Sabir would still be here if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t lost focus after beating the Queen…” Zabo muttered, voice barely audible.


    “And if I could control my powers better,” Warren added bitterly, frustration seeping into his tone. It felt as if every ounce of strength he had was useless—he was nothing more than a half-breed struggling in a world that expected him to be grateful for every scrap thrown his way.


    They trudged in heavy silence, each buried in his own self-reproach, until a mocking laugh broke the quiet.


    “Hah! Look at the two of you, so sad and pathetic.” The voice was unmistakable—Rudiger Boreas, his arrogant smirk infuriatingly clear even in the dim evening light. He sauntered over, hands lazily tucked into his belt, as he eyed them with disdain. “Did you really care about that porter? Birds of a feather, I suppose. I get it with you, porter, but you, Warren? You’re noble blood—or close enough. Act like it.”


    Before Warren could respond, Elektra’s hand shot out, grabbing Rudiger by the shoulder and spinning him around to face her. Her eyes burned with fury as she glared at him.


    “What did you just say about my brother?” Her voice was ice, each word razor-sharp.


    Rudiger faltered under her gaze, his arrogance momentarily overshadowed. “What?” he scoffed, trying to regain his composure. “You say the same things, Elektra.”


    “You’re forgetting something, Rudiger,” she replied, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a Boreas. You have no right to speak about the Voltaires.”


    Rudiger’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, but he held his tongue, nodding sarcastically. “Yes, yes. Lady Voltaire, I apologize,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to Warren with something resembling a reluctant acknowledgment. Then he straightened, composing himself. “Forget I said anything.”


    As he turned back to the group, Warren caught the whispered exchange between him and Saliba, who had been watching with a smirk of his own.


    “Why must we babysit children here?” Rudiger muttered, his voice a low hiss. “We could die. We’re out-manned.”


    Saliba shrugged. “I thought we’d be fine, but they’re dead weight. Useless,” he murmured, glancing back at Maize’s griffin, Violet, to make sure she couldn’t hear.


    Saliba then leaned closer, her voice an icy whisper. “Maybe we can just kill them ourselves and turn back. Save our own skins.”


    Rudiger’s hand shot out, gripping her arm to silence her. “Don’t be an idiot. If three nobles die in the wasteland, they’ll investigate, and we’ll be as good as dead,” he sneered. Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “From here on, though, we don’t look out for them. If they die on their own, we have an excuse to turn back. We’ll be heroes for surviving while some Voltaire dies a tragic death.”


    Saliba’s eyes glinted with malicious delight. “You’re a genius, Rudiger,” he whispered.


    But Warren had heard enough. Though he couldn’t make out every word, the malice was clear. These two had no intention of protecting anyone outside their own circle, and the lives of porters, even noble blood like Warren’s, were worthless to them.


    As the sky darkened into twilight, Rudiger raised his hand. “Let’s stop here,” he announced, gesturing to the barren landscape around them.


    Elektra scoffed, arms crossed. “Camp? We have no equipment, no protection out here. We’re completely exposed.”


    Maize Gaian stepped forward, casting a sharp look at the darkening horizon. “We’re only a few kilometers from the dungeon entrance,” she said, nodding in the direction they’d been heading.


    Rudiger cut in, his tone dark. “If you think we’re in danger during the day, we’re in even more danger at night. We have no light, no vehicle… lack of bedrolls is the least of our worries.”


    Elektra held his gaze, clearly unimpressed, but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But we’ll need lookouts.”This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Rudiger’s gaze shifted to Warren and Zabo, and he sneered. “Those two can stand watch,” he said dismissively.


    Without another word, Maize, Elektra, and the others settled in, prepared to make the most of the rough, exposed terrain. Saliba stepped forward, his hand outstretched. The ground underfoot grew warm as he channeled his powers, spitting out his disgusting bile melting the sand to create a shallow, makeshift pit. It was far from comfortable, but it would offer them some cover from the open desert.


    Saliba looked over at Warren and Zabo, his face impassive. “Good luck,” he said, an edge of mockery in her voice, before climbing into the pit and lying down.


    The griffin, Violet, perched nearby, eyeing Warren and Zabo with a calculating gleam. Maize gave them an apologetic look, but said nothing more before she settled into the pit.


    Warren exhaled, scanning the horizon. This would be a long night. He and Zabo stood together on the uneven ground, backs stiff, watching as the others drifted off to sleep. They remained vigilant as shadows grew longer and the last traces of daylight faded, leaving them under a blanket of cold stars.


    “What do you think they’re planning?” Zabo whispered, voice laced with worry.


    Warren shook his head. “Nothing good,” he replied, eyes fixed on the still darkness around them. “We have to be careful. They won’t look out for us, so we’ll have to look out for each other.”


    A heavy silence fell between them as they turned their attention back to the night. The others’ low, steady breaths drifted up from the pit, while the griffin, Violet, remained motionless, eyes gleaming in the dimness.


    Under the vast, starlit sky, Warren and Zabo lay side by side, their backs pressed against the rough, hot ground. Silence blanketed the surrounding wasteland, only interrupted by the soft shuffling of the occasional night breeze and the crackling of distant stones shifting with the wind. They stared up at the stars, their minds drifting.


    It was Zabo who broke the quiet. “You know, I’ve been thinking... I might just leave. Run off on my own. Staying here, it’s like signing my death warrant,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’d rather take my chances out there, in the wasteland, then get slaughtered in some dungeon for these nobles’ amusement.”


    Warren turned his head slightly, considering Zabo’s words. “You really think you’d survive out there alone?”


    Zabo shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But better that than waiting to get stabbed in the back by one of them. You should come with me, Warren.” There was a glint of desperation in his eyes, a sliver of hope that maybe he didn’t have to face the darkness alone. “Think about it. They treat you like trash too, even though you’re supposedly one of them. Nobility, my ass.”


    Warren let out a soft, bitter laugh. Zabo had a point. For all his so-called status, he was still just another pawn to be used by his family. But running? He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to turn his back on his family, even if they barely acknowledged him. “I can’t, Zabo,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “My place is here. I have a duty. My family—”


    Zabo cut him off. “A family that doesn’t even respect you? That doesn’t see you as their own?” He shook his head in frustration, gesturing toward the distant horizon. “We should be out there searching for Sabir, not risking our lives for people who wouldn’t think twice about leaving us behind.”


    Something snapped inside Warren at the mention of Sabir. His friend, his responsibility, a person he had failed. “Sabir is dead, Zabo!” Warren’s voice cracked, his face contorted with the weight of his guilt. He could feel tears prickling his eyes, a surge of pain he had been holding back. “There’s nothing we can do about it. He’s gone, okay? Dead.”


    Zabo’s face softened as he looked at Warren, who was trembling, his fists clenched as if holding back a wave of grief. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But listen… you still have me.” His hand reached out, resting gently on Warren’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”


    Warren let out a shaky breath, feeling a fragile sense of peace settle between them as the quiet stretched out. The stars above seemed endless, casting a dim, silvery light that softened the harsh contours of the wasteland around them. But then, something cut through the stillness—a sound, faint but distinct, like the rhythmic beating of heavy wings slicing through the night air.


    He tensed, his eyes darting to Zabo, who looked back with the same realization.


    A sense of dread curled in Warren’s chest. Slowly, they turned, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as they stared into the night.


    There, hovering just beyond the reach of the starlight, were two enormous eyes, gleaming with a predatory hunger. They glowed in the darkness like twin embers, unwavering, locked onto them with a bone-chilling intensity.


    The beast was still too far away too fully see, but there was no mistaking its power. Each beat of its wings echoed across the desolate landscape, the sound growing louder with every pulse, resonating like a steady drumbeat of death. The eyes seemed to move with an eerie grace, advancing with a slow, merciless patience that promised they had no chance of escape.


    Warren felt his blood turn to ice, his muscles frozen as the creature loomed ever closer, a dark shadow against the horizon, each moment sharpening the promise of death into something real and inescapable.


    “Run!” Zabo hissed, grabbing Warren by the arm. The two stumbled to their feet, hearts pounding, as they bolted across the open ground. The monster gave chase, the shadows around them twisting and morphing as it pursued.


    Ahead of them, a new light appeared—a small, singular glow, piercing the thick darkness. It was faint at first, like a firefly flickering against the night, but within moments, it intensified, transforming into a steady, purposeful beam. Warren and Zabo froze, feeling the hairs on their arms rise as they watched it approach.


    Fear wrapped itself around them like a vice as the light grew brighter, bearing down on them with impossible speed. The warm amber hue cut a sharp line through the night, streaking forward like a comet blazing across the heavens. Shadows leapt and danced across the barren ground, cast in sharp relief by the oncoming glow. They couldn’t tear their eyes away, caught between two unknown monsters.


    Behind them, the creature’s cries grew louder, its guttural shrieks vibrating through the ground, sending fresh waves of terror coursing through them. The beating of the monster’s wings was close now, each flap kicking up dust and whistling wind that swept over their backs. But the oncoming light didn’t waver, surging toward them as though it would carve a path straight through the beast’s shadow and the darkness surrounding them.


    They braced, instincts telling them to run, but legs locked in place. As the blinding glow neared, they squinted, straining to make out any details, desperate to know what was coming.


    Warren felt his legs grow weak, his mind already slipping into the fatalistic calm of a man who knew his end was near. He closed his eyes, bracing himself.


    But then, the blinding light closed in, stopping just short of them. Warren squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust—and saw a figure outlined by the light. Recognition hit him like a lightning bolt.


    “Sabir?” he whispered, incredulous.


    There, in front of them, perched on a motorbike with a wild grin and a fierce glint in his eyes, was Sabir.