Varnis

  Kairos awoke to a jarring assault on his senses. His head pounded as if cleaved in two, and his eyes fought to pierce the strange, dim light. The ground beneath him was rough and unyielding—nothing like the soft bed he last remembered. He blinked, willing the haze in his mind to clear. His final memory was a blinding white light and Lyra’s voice—urgent, piercing—shouting his name. Now, an eerie silence enveloped him, interrupted only by a low, keening wind.

  He hauled himself upright, palms scraping against sharp stone. Pain lanced through his aching muscles, grounding him in the reality of his situation. The air hung heavy, laced with a metallic bite he couldn’t identify. As his vision steadied, he surveyed the alien landscape. Jagged rocks, streaked with faintly glowing veins, jutted upward like silent guardians. Above, a turbulent sky swirled with violent purples and reds, illuminated by two pale moons glowering ominously. This wasn’t Earth. This was a place beyond imagination.

  “Kairos?” Lyra’s voice, faint but familiar, sliced through his confusion. He whipped around, relief surging as he spotted her nearby, struggling to rise. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, her face streaked with grime, but her green eyes burned with determination. She clutched her trusty wrench, holding it like a talisman.

  “Lyra,” he exhaled, hurrying to her side. He steadied her as she stood, hands brushing her shoulders to check for harm. “You alright?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly. “Just… where are we?”

  Kairos shook his head, taking in the bizarre terrain once more. “No clue. But we’re together. That’s enough for now.”

  Lyra nodded, her fingers tightening briefly on his arm, anchoring them both. “We should find shelter. Water, too.”

  He managed a small smile, her pragmatism a lifeline amid the chaos. “Always the mechanic.”

  “Someone’s got to keep us breathing,” she retorted, a fleeting grin softening her tense features.

  They set off, navigating the uneven ground with care. The rocks pulsed subtly, and tiny, scaly creatures darted from their path. The air was arid, clawing at their throats with each breath. Kairos kept Lyra in his peripheral vision, trusting her resilience but wary of this hostile world.

  A sudden sting drew his gaze downward. Blood seeped through a tear in his pants, a gash on his calf throbbing from their rough arrival. Lyra’s sharp eyes caught it instantly, her expression tightening.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, dropping to one knee to examine it.

  “It’s fine,” he began, but she silenced him with a look, tearing a strip from her shirt to wrap the wound. Pain flared, then ebbed under her deft hands.

  “You’re lucky I’m here,” she grumbled, securing the bandage. “You’d bleed out otherwise.”

  He chuckled, the sound oddly out of place. “Probably.”

  Voices shattered the quiet as they pressed on. Kairos tensed, yanking Lyra behind a boulder. Three figures emerged, humanoid yet alien, their blue skin glinting faintly under the moons’ glow. Their armor shimmered like molten metal, and their weapons—sleek hybrids of blade and gun—hummed with menace. They appeard to be looking or hunting for something.

  “I don't like the look of them,” Kairos whispered, instincts honed from rough streets kicking in. “They’re after people like us i bet.”

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  Lyra’s eyes widened, but she gripped her wrench tighter. “We need to get out of here.”

  They edged away, but fate intervened. A stone slipped beneath Lyra’s foot, clattering loudly down the slope. The sound echoed like a beacon.

  “There!” The lead slaver's head jerked toward them, his gaze predatory.

  Kairos seized Lyra’s hand. “Run!”

  They sprinted, Kairos’s leg screaming with each stride. The slavers pursued, their steps sure and relentless, their shouts barking commands. Kairos and Lyra darted between rocks, breath ragged, but the hunters knew this land too well. The hum of weapons closed in.

  They rounded a corner and stopped short. A sheer cliff rose before them, its surface an impassable wall. Kairos whirled, positioning himself between Lyra and the slavers. Three against two, armed with little more than grit and a wrench.

  The leader stepped forward, sneering, his weapon crackling with energy. “No escape, outsiders. You’ll fetch a good price.”

  Kairos’s mind raced. He’d faced bad odds before, but never with Lyra beside him. He couldn’t let them take her. “Stay back,” he murmured to her.

  “No chance,” she shot back, wrench raised, defiance blazing in her eyes.

  The leader struck first, his blade arcing toward Kairos’s chest. Kairos dodged, the energy searing past him, and grabbed the slaver’s arm, slamming him into the cliff. The impact rang out, but the slaver stayed upright, snarling.

  Lyra lunged at the second slaver, her wrench cracking against his knee. He yelped, staggering, but the third fired a bolt of energy, grazing Lyra’s shoulder. She gasped, dropping her wrench as she clutched the burn.

  “Lyra!” Kairos roared, fury overtaking him. He tackled the shooter, wrestling him down. The slaver was strong, but Kairos’s anger was stronger. He smashed his forehead into the slaver’s face, blood bursting from the broken nose.

  The leader recovered, aiming a strike at Kairos’s back. Lyra, despite her wound, snatched her wrench and threw it, striking the leader’s hand. His weapon clattered away, and he turned on her, furious. Kairos leapt up, driving a fist into the leader’s jaw with a resounding crack.

  The second slaver, hobbling, charged Lyra. She ducked, slowed by her injury, and Kairos reacted instinctively. He grabbed the fallen energy blade, its weight awkward but lethal, and swung it wide. The blade cut through the slaver’s armor, blood spilling as he fell.

  The third slaver scrambled for his rifle, blood dripping from his face. Kairos kicked it aside and brought the blade down ending him.

  Kairos stepped back, chest heaving. Lyra joined him, her shoulder raw but her resolve unbroken. “We did it,” she said, voice thick with fatigue and pride.

  “Yeah,” he replied, wiping blood from his brow. “But we can’t stay here.”

  They searched the slavers, finding a pouch of green salve. Lyra smeared it on her shoulder, hissing as it numbed the pain. Kairos took a canteen, sipping metallic water, and grabbed some tough rations. He kept the energy blade, its hum reassuring.

  Lyra spotted a device on a slaver’s belt and pried it loose. Its screen glowed with symbols she quickly deciphered. “A map,” she said. “Settlements nearby. One looks significant.”

  Kairos agreed. “Let’s head there. Maybe we’ll learn something.”

  They moved on, staying hidden, the blade at Kairos’s hip and Lyra’s wrench reclaimed. The landscape pulsed with life—rocks glowing, creatures skittering, distant growls rumbling. Varnis was a predator’s domain.

  Hours later, they reached a settlement. Huts of scavenged metal flickered with light, housing a mix of blue-skinned locals and odder beings—horned, scaled, eyes aglow. A market thrummed, offering strange fruits and grilled meats. Kairos and Lyra blended in, cautious.

  At a stall, a scarred vendor eyed them. “New here.” Kairos said evenly.

  “Rift-spawn,” the vendor grunted. “Lucky you’re not collared yet.”

  “Collared?” Lyra pressed.

  “Slaves,” he said. “Low tiers feed the Ascendants’ games. Learn quick.”

  Kairos’s gut clenched. “Ascendants?”

  The vendor pointed to a spire piercing the sky. “Rulers. Twelve tiers, them at the top. Hate outsiders.”

  Lyra whispered to Kairos, “We need to stay off their grid.”

  In the market’s center, an old man spun tales of Varnis’s hierarchy—twelve tiers, from the powerless to the godlike Ascendants. Kairos and Lyra listened, grasping their vulnerability.

  They approached the storyteller after. “How do we avoid the Ascendants?” Kairos asked.

  “Stay low, learn fast,” the old man said. “The Whispered Flame—rebels—might help. Tricky to find, trickier to trust.”

  As they turned, a cloaked figure watched. Kairos gripped his blade, but the figure stepped forward, revealing a scarred young woman. “I heard you mention the rift,” she said. “I can help.”

  “Why?” Lyra challenged, wrench poised.

  “I was lost here once,” she replied. “I’m Myra, Whispered Flame. Follow me, but stay alert. Varnis doesn’t spare the weak.”

  Kairos and Lyra shared a look, then followed. A chance, a danger, a start—together, they’d face Varnis and carve a path to survival.