Chapter 12: Sands of Gjallarhull

  But as we drank in Bulkhead Nine…

  She stared at the empty screen, her reflection blurred by blue static lines.

  Outside her window, the stars were silent. Unforgiving.

  In the dark, she remembered:

  Sand and blood.

  K’arreth’s laughter crackling through the comms.

  The day the war came home forever.

  It hit her like a blade all over again.

  Every sound. Every scar. Every loss.

  Reliving it all. No mercy. No escape.

  My eyes were closed.

  Breathing in and out.

  Be mindful of the sensation.

  Only this.

  In.

  Hold.

  Out.

  Slow.

  Hold.

  Repeat.

  My mind raced—kilometres per second—desperate to keep calm.

  Fear will kill you. Keep it together. Don’t lose it. Not now.

  The bench beneath me vibrated with the rising hum of the fuselage, the dull roar of upper atmosphere friction swallowing every other sound. The ship rocked, but I was so rigid my head barely moved.

  The orange glow from the hull lights around us drowned everything else out. Even the colour of my own eyes. But I couldn’t look at it—the room felt like a coffin, walls closing around me. I felt like I might suffocate.

  I was gripping my rifle too tightly by my side. Too close. Claws pressed into the barrel, faint metallic scratches raking under my fingertips.

  My leg bounced against the deck uncontrollably—tap, tap, tap—the heel of my boot striking metal in a steady, percussive rhythm I couldn't stop. Couldn’t slow down.

  I squeezed my eyes tighter, deep lines creasing from the corners—etched by the pressure, by the fear. The roar was getting louder, I was desperate to push it out.

  The cigarette burning between my shaking fingers had already seared my skin, but I didn’t feel it until it slipped, falling dead to the floor.

  The now free hand pulled the collar of my uniform higher. Like I was trying to hide inside it.

  The pulse under my neck pounded uncontrollably against my thumb like a frantic animal.

  I pressed the palms of my hands against my plate armour. Ran my fingers across the webbing. Trauma-kit. Grenades. Five magazines. Trauma-kit. Grenades. Five magazines. Looping the litany over and over, anchoring myself in the feel of it.

  But it wasn’t working.

  I needed something real. Something solid.

  Not fear. Not falling into the darkness.

  The strap on my helmet itched like a noose—too tight, or too loose—I couldn't tell which. I tugged at it blindly, grimacing.

  Fuck… I needed to ground myself. I was losing it.

  Think of the forests.

  The warm, endless forests of Drakar'Ven.

  Sitting on fallen logs, sunlight filtering down, book in hand.

  The slow flicker of colourful birds’ overhead.

  Their weightless freedom. My outstretched hand.

  Think of the forests.

  You’re not there. You’re trapped in a falling tin can.

  You’re going to die!

  The ship lurched violently—my helmet hit the wall behind me.

  The frame began screaming around us now as we hit the lower atmosphere—air becoming thick, heavy—like water slamming against a speeding hull. It was loud now.

  "THIRTY SECONDS!" someone bellowed.

  The ready klaxon sounded, red light spinning by the door.

  Then the banging started.

  Small-arms fire against the underside.

  Distant, hollow knocks—at first random, then too frequent to ignore. Each one felt like it might punch through and pull us into the vacuum.

  A railgun hit at this range, and we were finished…

  And just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard it—the sonic booms of them firing below us. Ground-level flak meant to tear entire starships out of the sky.

  My claws dug harder into the rifle's metal, gouging tiny grooves into the barrel.

  Revealing silver. Drops of my blood now started to bead.

  I don’t want to die...

  I closed my eyes even tighter. I began to rock slightly forwards and back.

  Breathe.

  Think of the forests.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  "…Rina..."

  A voice. Muffled. Far away.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The rhythm of my boot grew faster. Harder. The deck vibrated beneath me.

  "Ka’Rina!.."

  Breathe.

  Think of the forests.

  Breathe.

  "Zeth!" louder now—cutting through the growing maelstrom.

  My eyes flashed open.

  Across from me, K’arreth grinned like a lunatic—face slick with cold sweat, eyes bright and wild. His helmet strap hung loose, tilted awkwardly to one side. On the right shoulder plate of his armour, the familiar image was still visible: a human skull, painted in stark white, grinning back through the grime.

  Beside him, another soldier leaned over, vomiting onto the floor at his feet.

  "You good girl?" K’arreth asked, grinning wider, voice half a shout against the growing chaos.

  I stared into his green eyes. Focused. Forced the panic down like a stone into deep water.

  "Yes," I shouted. But the voice that came out was ragged, unrecognisable.

  "We got this, right?" he said—eyes wide, too wide, but shining with something close enough to confidence.

  But I still caught it. The same terror I felt.

  The desperate need for consolidation, flickering behind his grin.

  Begging for me to tell him it would be okay. Just hidden under that cracked, fearless mask.

  "TEN SECONDS!"

  My head whipped toward the officer crouched by the side door. He was pale—whiter than the ash-streaked floor—gripped the altimeter like a drowning man.

  He looked at me. Abject terror across his gaze. Mouth gaping and eyes wide in horror.

  I turned back to K’arreth. Locked onto him like an anchor.

  "Yeah mate," I said, snarling a grin now.

  "We fucking got this."

  My fingers stopped shaking.

  My leg stopped bouncing with a snap.

  "FIVE!"

  I breathed in deep through my nose, held it.

  Let the rage rise in my chest.

  Let it fuel me.

  "FOUR!"

  I pulled my lips back into a snarl.

  A low growl as I chambered a round, pulling the slider with a brutal metallic clack. The sound of it—and safeties being flicked off—echoed all around us like a ritual.

  The roar of air was reaching a crescendo now.

  "TWO!"

  I closed my eyes again—one final time.

  Maybe the last, of my own choosing.

  Thinking of the forests.

  "ONE!"

  I opened them and looked into K’arreth’s.

  He was grinning wildly. So was I.

  We’re not fucking dying today.

  BOOM.

  The Vanguard drop-ship slammed into the dirt with a gut-wrenching screech of metal. Fold Arrays slowing our descent in only the final seconds. The side hatch blasted open a heartbeat later, flooding the interior with blinding sunlight, sand and wind.

  No time left for fear—or anything.

  We stood, and ran outside.

  I caught K’arreth’s mad grin beside me as we spilled out together—

  Into the hellfire.

  Into the teeth of the war.

  Into the sand of Gjallarhull.

  The first thing that hit me was the heat.

  Not the wind. Not the dust. Not the blood.

  The raw, suffocating atmosphere of Gjallarhull slammed into me like a brick wall. It was nearly fifty degrees Celsius—too hot even for my reptilian skin.

  I stumbled forward out of the drop-ship hatch, boots skidding across cracked dirt, coughing with lungs already full of sand.

  K’arreth was right beside me, dragging me along with his words, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the wall of sound—the screaming engines, the automatic gunfire, the death around us.

  My rifle was up, the holographic reticle flashing wild green—stark and frantic against the chaos in front of me. I fired in short, controlled bursts, teeth rattling in a grimace as the TR-30 slammed against my shoulder with every shot.

  I couldn’t even tell if I was hitting anything.

  Because the view was apocalyptic.

  Ahead, the Irukathen desert boiled red and orange across cracked stone and burning sand.

  Tracer fire stitched the sky with furious lines—like Ashur’na carving the heavens apart.

  Soldiers—our soldiers—were falling all around us, bodies hitting the ground in crumpled heaps. Some still screamed. Most didn’t.

  A desperate defensive line had formed about a hundred meters ahead. I fired over it towards the enemy, teeth clenched.

  Through the smoke, I watched a Vanguard lieutenant slump against the dirt bank—

  the back of his helmet smoking, a hole where an energy blast had punched through.

  His final thoughts spilled messily across the ground behind him.

  I didn’t even make it ten steps before I tripped—slamming knees-first into the dirt over the body of a Khevarin Vanguard trooper.

  His plate armour was torn open, grey skin exposed, intestines sprawled across the sands of his homeworld like an offering to Ashur’na.

  His face was barely intact—one long row of teeth exposed through the ruin of his jaw, tongue lolling sideways grotesquely.

  His one amber eye stared blindly at the burning sun above, never to see it set again.

  His hand still clutched a bone war-knife he never got the chance to use—a sacrament unpaid, for how they had taken his home. For how they tried to enslave his people.

  I knelt there by his side, wide-eyed, staring at him in horror and grief. Frozen.

  But something else caught my eye above.

  Slowly, I looked up to the wide orange sky—

  —and my jaw dropped open into a blood-curdling scream.

  A series of explosions punched holes across the atmosphere—like a supernova tearing the sky apart.

  Through the smoke and burning clouds above, I caught sight of the HCS Valkyrie—our own battlecruiser, and home—breaking apart in low orbit. Escape shuttles ejecting the sides.

  We had just left it. Five minutes ago.

  Flaming orange and blue arcs split the hull like Azriel fallen from the heavens.

  There were still a thousand souls aboard...

  My legs buckled, threatening to collapse under me.

  I almost lost it completely—mind snapping like a string.

  But I forced myself to look down.

  Forced my eyes closed.

  Focus. Focus on survival.

  Anything but that.

  Think of the forests.

  We were alone now.

  K’arreth yanked me up with a grunt, dragging me backward toward the splintered remains of our dropship, half-buried in a sandbank like a broken bird.

  "DON’T LOOK, KEEP MOVING!" he roared over the cacophony of war.

  I nodded, stumbling after him, half-blind and gasping.

  Then—A sound like tearing cloth. A whine rising in pitch.

  I turned just in time to see a rocket—small, sleek, spiralling—slam straight into the open hatch of our dropship.

  The explosion ripped the air apart like a thunderclap. Reality fractured into bright white light and fire.

  The concussion flung me and K’arreth sideways, bodies tossed like dolls across the sand.

  My helmet cracked against the dirt. My ears screamed with static. My vision doubled, tripled—blurring into chaos.

  I blinked, stunned—world spinning—as a fireball billowed where the hatch had been.

  I touched just below my ear. My glove came away red with blood.

  Everyone behind us—

  Gone.

  I gasped, mind flashing to the officer standing behind me—the look in his eyes before we dropped.

  He. All of them. Reduced to ash, bone, molten steel.

  Only smoke remained, curling hungrily into the sky.

  K’arreth grabbed my vest again—harder this time—hauling me upright like a drowning swimmer. I was taller than him, but he was strong for a human.

  "WE NEED FUCKING COVER! NOW!"

  I fought back the tears and nodded.

  We ran. Half-blind, half-mad, lungs burning with grit and fire. The battlefield raged around us—bodies, cries, blood boiling into the sand.

  To my left, fifteen other dropships stood across the broken desert, grim and orderly in their formation. The final legacy of the Valkyrie.

  Their battered hulls gleamed under the twin moons—two shattered pieces of a painting that had forgotten how to be whole. For a moment, I almost gasped at the sight.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  And behind us in our retreat, the towering shapes of the Viren emerged through the smoke towards the line that was now lost.

  Tall. Armoured. Inhuman in their cold precision.

  Their visors burned with crimson light, their movements sharp and predatory—faster than most of us, stronger than many of us, built for one thing only: domination.

  And there were so many.

  The Helion Commonwealth was on its knees.

  Nearly ten million civilians dead or captured across six star-systems near the galactic centre.

  Over half a million Vanguard troops killed—defending the Wormhole Network or trying to reclaim the worlds the Viren had invaded.

  The Commonwealth was bleeding out — but it would not die on its knees.

  We stumbled, sprinting behind the wreckage of our own Vanguard drop-ship—panting, bleeding, half-alive—and collapsed against the still-smoking hull.

  I checked my webbing. Three magazines left.

  Blood already drying on my gloves, not all of it mine.

  We weren’t winning this.

  We weren’t even surviving this.

  We locked eyes.

  K’arreth’s grin had finally faded.

  And for the first time, he looked just as terrified as I felt.

  But in unison, both our heads looked forward.

  Ahead of us, away from the main Viren horde, the railgun emplacement loomed on a low outcrop not two hundred and fifty meters away—still firing into the sky, still hunting the retreating cruisers as they fled Gjallarhull’s orbit. They must have flanked around when we landed, but now it looked mostly undefended.

  From the angle of its barrel, I knew without question:

  This was the one that took out the Valkyrie.

  We didn’t speak.

  We didn’t need to.

  We wanted revenge.

  And if death was coming, we'd meet it snarling, broken, and spitting blood.

  We had one chance left.

  Take the hill. Take the railgun.

  Or die here in the sand like cowards.

  We sprinted forwards.

  The hill wasn’t that far.

  But the distance felt like infinity.

  I was holding my rifle loose in my hands like a prayer—weaving, stumbling, half-crouched against the gunfire that now cut the air above our heads like stormwind. Scrambling to stay upright in the loose sand.

  The first Viren squad spotted us immediately—two figures breaking from the smoke, fast, disciplined, their crimson visors flashing in the dustlight.

  They didn't hesitate.

  Neither did we.

  I dropped to one knee mid-sprint—dust flying up around me catching the sunlight—slapped the targeting-assist on my helmet’s HUD, and braced the rifle hard against my shoulder.

  Sighted the lead soldier.

  Tracked his movements.

  Saw his expression.

  Breathed in.

  Felt the resistance of the trigger.

  And fired.

  I hit him right between the chest plate, a spray of dark mist trailing behind him as he folded sideways onto the sand. Its scream echoed across the clearing we were closing.

  K’arreth kept running past me—charging straight into the second one, blasting two rounds through its throat before it could even lift its weapon. It fell sideways, clawing wildly to seal the artery.

  I sprinted forward again—ducking, weaving like a serpent. I was too fast for them to get a clean shot. But inside, my breath bellowed, barely keeping the terror down.

  We moved like animals—wild, desperate, efficient. All the way across the sanded cleaning.

  Another three Viren pushed forward—heavy, hulking in exo-suits, their weapons spitting bright tracer bursts that ripped the sand apart around us.

  I hurled myself down into a pile of boulders as K’arreth dove the opposite way, flanking wide.

  We hit the base of the shallow rise now—less than fifty meters from the railgun array.

  Ahead of us, the outcrop narrowed into a shallow funnel—too tight for a clean advance.

  The Viren exo-suits were powerful, but they had a fatal flaw: poor manoeuvrability on loose sand and uneven ground.

  It was the primary reason the Vanguard still fought in boots, combat trousers, chest armour—running on will and sheer grit. We had the advantage of speed over brute strength.

  And with that, I saw the opportunity.

  I pulled a grenade from my belt—flicking the pin with my claw—and threw it arching high into their path. They slowly tried to move back up the hill in a panic screaming on the uneven ground.

  Boom.

  The sand around them exploded upward, a cloud of shrapnel and broken bodies.

  "Good one Kat’. Move fast—we’ve got them on the back foot!" K’arreth barked with conviction. But I still heard the fear threading through his voice.

  Looking back, it was clear we were the only two left alive from our dropship.

  I got up, and we started running up the hillside. Keeping as low as possible, eyes fixed ahead.

  Bodies littered our path now—scattered Viren corpses, some still moving.

  I drew the knife from my boot and drove it into the chests of the ones closest as we moved forward, methodical and unflinching. Making sure they were dead.

  I wasn’t about to risk any survivors—not after what they had done to our ship. They fucking deserved it.

  I didn’t even look at them as I struck. The feeling of bone and muscle giving way under the blade only hardened my resolve.

  Crawling on our stomachs, we reached the brow of the hill.

  I risked a glance back.

  The Viren troops had now reached the shattered wreck of our drop-ship—moving slow, deliberate, advancing like a black tide.

  Not fast.

  But unstoppable.

  We needed to move—now.

  I turned forward.

  The railgun loomed ahead—long as a school bus back on Earth, its barrel split down the centre for graviton-assisted rounds. Gunmetal grey and black, some sand-coloured camouflage webbing. Each shot powerful enough to punch through atmosphere—and tear building-sized holes in any starship whose shields had failed.

  Another shot fired.

  The ground jolted under me like an earthquake. I flinched—ears folding inward as the air itself buckled.

  Above, a blue streak ripped into the burning sky—narrowly missing another of our Vanguard ships.

  My jaw locked tight.

  Those fuckers needed to be taken out. Now.

  I spat the sand from my mouth, reloading by muscle memory—slamming a fresh magazine home with a brutal snap.

  Only five Viren troopers remained. But it wasn’t the weapon that made my blood run cold.

  It was the scene just left of it. And the sound of screaming.

  A Khevarin soldier—one of ours—had been dragged up there.

  Grey skin torn. Arms shackled behind a body barely alive.

  Two Viren knelt beside him, laughing, knives glinting in the sunlight.

  And they were cutting off his ears…

  "This’ll make a fine souvenir, brother," one said, sawing through flesh. "They dry out nice."

  The Khevarin’s scream tore across the desert—high, raw—like a wounded animal.

  The Viren mocked him, talking in their gutter tongue about how easy it was to butcher a race once feared as warriors. One spat in the soldier’s wounded face.

  The Khevarin screamed again, hoarse with agony.

  Tears welled hot in my eyes, blurring the sight.

  One of them—tall, in red armour—turned his blade lazily in his hand.

  "Maybe if we cut out his tongue, this mutt’ll finally shut the fuck up," he sneered.

  I felt the world narrow to a pinhole. And something snapped inside me.

  A rage and disconnect I had never felt before. Something primal. Something new and terrible.

  K'arreth shouted behind me—something desperate—but it was distant. Meaningless.

  Death was all I could see now.

  Without thinking, I stood. Without speaking, I ran—gun raised.

  K’arreth’s voice tore after me, sharp with panic—"ZETH, NO!"

  But I was already gone. Nothing could stop what was about to happen.

  One of the Viren—still laughing—drove his knife deep into the Khevarin's chest.

  A wet, brutal crunch.

  My boots pounded closer, desperate to stop it.

  The Khevarin soldier howled—arms stretched helplessly toward the twin moons—as blood flooded from the wound.

  I screamed—raising my rifle from the hip—and opened fire.

  The TR-30 cycled like a buzzsaw in my hands. At my justice.

  The first Viren took the rounds full in the chest—folding backward like paper—splattering blood across the railgun’s struts.

  The second tried to turn—but I was already on him.

  Then: Crack. The pain shot through me like a lance.

  A slug punched into my upper arm—ripping muscle, shattering part of my pauldron.

  I screamed—raw rage tearing loose—and dropped to one knee, almost falling.

  Through gritted teeth, I yanked my sidearm.

  A clean, perfect shot. I was the best at the Academy.

  The round punched through the second Viren’s visor slit. He crumpled instantly, falling like a marionette with its strings cut.

  Two more Viren spun toward me, weapons raised—shouting.

  Thankfully, K’arreth was there—diving low, firing.

  One dropped mid-stride, blown apart in a spray of red mist. The other tried to dive for cover—but too slow. A sharp burst from K'arreth painted the railgun's struts with another kill.

  And then there was one.

  The wounded Viren.

  Crawling. Scrabbling in the dirt. Trying to flee.

  I stalked toward him—bleeding, breathing ragged.

  My boots heavy on the broken ground.

  His helmet had been knocked aside, revealing a sickly, pale face twisted in pain and hate. The bloodied knife still clutched in his now trembling hand.

  Beyond him—the Khevarin soldier lay still.

  Arms fallen to his side. Dead.

  And something inside me gave way.

  Fully. Finally.

  For the first time, flames ignited in my eyes.

  I stamped down hard on the creature’s wrist.

  There was a sickening crack—bones shattering like brittle wood.

  It screamed—high, broken—ripping across the desert like tearing metal.

  It tried to pull away. Desperately tried to crawl away.

  But I pinned it—grinding my heel deeper into the ruined joint.

  It squirmed, gurgling, trapped under my weight.

  Helpless. Exactly as it deserved.

  Slowly, I holstered my pistol.

  Switched my rifle to one hand—my only good arm now.

  I drew in a slow breath and closed my eyes. My mind felt clearer than it had in hours.

  Clear enough to drown out the creature’s screaming.

  And with a snarl, I raised the rifle high, shining in the sun—and brought the butt crashing down on its face with a crunch.

  I lifted again, slower.

  The second blow stopped the screaming.

  I raised the rife again.

  On the third, its face caved in entirely. Its skull collapsed inward. Blood sprayed across my boots like a spilled drink.

  It spasmed once, twice. And died.

  But I didn’t stop.

  I beat him into the dirt until there was nothing left but pulp.

  Faster. Harder.

  I started screaming. Tears pouring from my eyes.

  Again. And again. And again.

  Until my rifle was slick with gore.

  Until the sand encircling me was saturated red.

  Until I was hammering the earth itself.

  Only then—only when my breath caught, muscles screaming—did I step back, shaking.

  Behind me, K’arreth stood frozen—rifle lowered, mouth slightly open in horror.

  He had seen me kill before. But never like this.

  Never like a monster.

  Never like Ashur’na herself had stepped into my skin.

  And I didn’t even care.

  I turned from the broken body toward K’arreth —blood slick across my front and face, my heart hammering a new, terrible rhythm inside my chest.

  He just stared at me—standing in the devastation we had created.

  "Ka’Rina… are you okay?"

  I couldn’t answer.

  My mind felt numb. Vision washed grey, like trapped inside a dream.

  "Ka’Rina, you’re shot," he said, pointing at my left shoulder blankly.

  I looked down.

  Green skin torn. Blood flowing. I didn’t even feel it.

  "I think it passed through clean," K’arreth said. "Sit down—let me pack it."

  Still, I couldn’t reply.

  My eyes widened, looking past him…

  "Look," I managed—raising my good arm and pointing.

  He turned—and froze.

  Near the base of the outcrop, more Viren soldiers were gathering.

  Not a handful. Hundreds. A black-and-red tide rising across the dunes.

  We both stared down the hill in disbelief.

  "Well… fuck me," he whispered.

  I moved to stand beside him.

  "What do we do?" I asked.

  Our eyes met.

  And in them—I saw it.

  Utter, renewed horror.

  I glanced at the ammo counter on my weapon—it was empty. Completely drained.

  I dropped it to the ground.

  "K’arreth, do you have ammo?"

  He just kept staring into the valley, mouth slightly open, lost for words.

  "K’arreth! Ammo?!"

  I grabbed him by the jaw and yanked his face toward me. His eyes were full of tears.

  I let go slowly. He shook his head, wordless.

  "The Viren weapons are bio-signature locked. What do we do?" he rasped.

  My gaze snapped back down the slopeside.

  To the glint of enemy armour closing in.

  Their battle cries rising—louder, sharper, closer.

  And then it hit me. A gasping terror that hollowed my lungs.

  We were going to die.

  "Ka’Rina, we need to leave. Now! We might still have time—"

  I stood frozen, staring down into the valley below in horror.

  Hundreds of them. We were finished...

  A crack of gunfire whizzed past my head.

  I didn’t flinch. I didn’t feel anything.

  "Ka’Rina, we need to move! Fucking move, girl!"

  We didn’t have time. We were too late.

  He was kidding himself. We were already dead.

  I didn’t even have the heart to say it.

  I looked at him—at his eyes. They were panicked.

  I didn’t even have the strength to reach for his hand.

  And strangely—I felt calm. I breathed in, smiling faintly.

  "KA’RINA—We. Are. Leaving. Right the fuck now!"

  I looked at him again. His green eyes were desperate, pleading—still clinging to some hope I couldn’t see.

  I almost gave in. Almost let it end there.

  Perhaps I should have?

  But then—

  I saw the smoking railgun beside him, still pointed uselessly skyward.

  And a thought ignited inside me.

  Fierce. Bright. Primal. Horrific.

  Like a match struck inside the void of my soul—immolating the girl who once lived there forever.

  My eyes snapped to the railgun supports beneath the platform.

  They were rusted. Fragile.

  It was a stupid idea. But it might work.

  I closed my eyes.

  Felt the ground beneath my boots.

  Ready for it. Braced.

  "ZETH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

  "Saving our lives."

  In three strides, I sprinted past K’arreth’s stunned expression and hurled myself at the railgun.

  With a grunt, I lifted my foot high—and slammed a brutal heel kick into the supporting column beneath its targeting frame.

  Nothing.

  I did it again—pain lancing through my bloodstained boot.

  On the third strike, the metal snapped clean through with a shriek. I barely registered the hairline crack spidering across my ankle.

  It worked.

  The entire railgun lurched forward with a tortured groan.

  Its barrel, once pointed skyward—toward the Valkyrie breaking apart in the flaming atmosphere—

  Now swung low.

  Now aimed into the valley.

  Toward the charging horde.

  The motor controls still worked. I seized the joystick, adjusting the aim by eye—sharp, cold, certain.

  They were close now.

  I could hear it—the screaming, the shouting, the panic—as they stumbled and trampled over each other, trying to retreat.

  "Oh my god... Zeth..."

  K’arreth staggered back, hands clamped over his ears, tears rising in his eyes.

  But he couldn’t look away.

  Couldn’t look away from me.

  Like he was seeing a monster he no longer recognised.

  I tore off my helmet and hurled it aside—it smashed against the ground, splitting apart. It was in my way.

  The wind caught my starling-wing hair, scattering it wild and untamed into the burning sunlight.

  I pressed my cheek against the cannon’s barrel aligning the shoot, teeth bared, saliva hissing onto the sun-hot metal.

  My eyes flashed—blazing like twin suns.

  And I had it.

  I stood up, and screamed.

  A raw, blood-curdling roar that ripped from my throat, shredding my voice into tatters.

  A scream filled with every ounce of rage—for every friend they had slaughtered.

  For every moment of fear they had carved into my bones.

  Like Ashur’na herself. She wept.

  The sound of a dragon, reverberated across the valley, louder than their panic.

  Drowning them.

  Drowning everything.

  Then—

  I pulled the trigger.

  The railgun’s shockwave shattered the ground beneath us.

  Dust and debris hung in the air—just off the ground—like a breath caught in a throat.

  The force of the cannon cycling nearly tore my arm from its socket—I dropped sideways, hitting the dirt hard.

  Down in the valley—the Viren soldiers vanished. Along with their screams.

  Atomized in an instant.

  Some from the direct impact. Some torn apart by the sheer pressure of the blast.

  Reduced to sprays of pink mist, splintered bone, and shredded viscera.

  The projectile ripped through the valley, past our dropship, and smashed into the cliffs just beyond—carving a crater the size of a thirty-story building, half a kilometer wide.

  It worked.

  But the real terror was only beginning.

  The blast had torn boulders—some the size of shuttlecraft—into the sky.

  The air filled with pulverized cliffside.

  Spinning death.

  I watched it rise—

  Watched it tilt—

  Watched it fall, straight toward us.

  My stomach dropped.

  Oh fuck.

  "GET TO COVER! NOW!"

  We sprinted—I grabbed K’arreth by the collar and dragged him downhill, away from the blast zone, diving sideways under the battered frame of an overturned Vanguard drop-ship just as the first slabs of rock slammed into the earth.

  The ground shook.

  The sky roared.

  And then—

  Silence.

  Lying on my stomach, I turned my head sideways toward K’arreth.

  My eyes were wild—still burning with solar fire.

  "And you were worried?" I grinned.

  For a second, he stared at me—eyes wide, stunned.

  Then he burst out laughing—hysterical, unstoppable.

  I laughed too—blood staining my lips—a sound no sane person would ever make.

  I rolled onto my back, gazing up at the warped metal above.

  The metal above hummed faintly in the wind.

  But in my mind’s eye.

  The treeline of Drakar’Ven burned now.

  Always and forever.

  The forest. The panicked birds.

  All of it—reduced to ash.

  And so was I.

  I would later learn I’d annihilated two entire garrisons with that kill shot.

  I never wore the medals.

  During a spacewalk, I took it outside the ship—and cast them into the stars...

  Let it drift. Let it vanish, weightless, among the ruins of everything we’d lost.

  That day, I left something behind in the sands of Gjallarhull.

  Only one tear ever slipped from my eye, lying under that wreckage, watching the forest burn inside my mind.

  The last one—