The twin moons of Varnis loomed overhead, their ghostly light piercing the thick haze of dust and ash that clung to the air. The alien wilderness stretched before Kairos and Lyra, a desolate expanse of jagged rocks and twisted, metallic flora. The ground beneath their boots crunched with each step, brittle stone laced with veins that pulsed with an eerie, bioluminescent glow. The air was dry and harsh, carrying a metallic tang that scraped their throats raw with every breath. They moved north from the settlement, guided by a flickering map scavenged from a slaver’s device and the whispered promise of the Ashen Veil—a region where the elusive Whispered Flame, rebels against Varnis’s brutal hierarchy, might be found.

  Kairos walked with his energy blade sheathed at his hip, its faint hum a constant reassurance against the oppressive silence. His dark eyes scanned the horizon, every muscle taut, senses sharpened by the slaver fight that had left bruises blooming across his body and a dull ache in his injured arm. Beside him, Lyra gripped her wrench, her shoulder wrapped in cloth stained with green salve, the burn from an energy bolt still tender beneath. Her steps were resolute, but Kairos caught the fleeting grimaces she tried to mask. It gnawed at him—her pain, a quiet reminder of the dangers he couldn’t always shield her from.

  “You holding up?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, wary of the shadows that seemed to listen.

  Lyra’s green eyes met his, sharp and unyielding despite the exhaustion etching her face. “I’m managing. This place… it’s relentless, isn’t it?”

  He allowed a small, wry smile to break through his grim demeanor. “It has a way of testing us, yeah. But we’ve faced worse, haven’t we?”

  She let out a soft snort, adjusting her grip on the wrench that had become her lifeline. “Worse? Like that time you crashed your bike into a dumpster and I had to patch you up with duct tape and prayers?”

  He chuckled, the sound a rare intruder in this alien landscape. “Hey, that was a learning experience. And you loved every minute of it.”

  “Loved might be a strong word,” she teased, though her gaze softened. “But yeah, we’ve been through a lot. And we’ll get through this too.”

  Their banter was a lifeline, a thread of familiarity woven through the chaos of Varnis. Two years ago, she’d found him bleeding out in an alley, a stranger with clever hands and an unyielding spirit. Now, she was his anchor, her presence steadying him as they navigated this hostile world together.

  The terrain grew increasingly treacherous as they pressed on. Razor-edged rocks shimmered with metallic flecks, and silver vines snaked across their path, snapping shut like traps when disturbed. Kairos severed one with his blade, the energy field sizzling through the tendril, leaving a charred stump that oozed a viscous, silver sap. The substance hissed as it met the air, a sharp reminder of Varnis’s living dangers.

  “Careful,” Lyra cautioned, her tone edged with concern. “This place is alive. We don’t know what sets it off.”

  “Noted,” he replied, keeping the blade unsheathed, its blue glow cutting through the moons’ pale light.

  They’d been trekking for hours, the settlement’s faint glow a distant memory, when an unnatural stillness descended. The skittering of alien creatures ceased, and the wind held its breath. Kairos’s instincts, forged in Earth’s brutal rings and sharpened by betrayal, screamed a warning. He glanced at Lyra, who had tensed, her eyes darting across the landscape.

  A sharp crack shattered the silence, an energy bolt searing past Kairos’s ear, the heat singeing his hair. He reacted instantly, grabbing Lyra’s arm and yanking her behind a boulder as a barrage of bolts rained down, sparking against the stone.

  “Stay down!” he hissed, peering over the edge. Ragged figures emerged from the shadows—six in total—clad in patchwork armor of scavenged metal. Their eyes glinted with feral desperation, and their crude energy weapons glowed with unstable power. Varnis was a crucible, forging predators from its unforgiving depths.

  Lyra tightened her grip on the wrench, her voice steady despite the chaos. “We can take them. Together.”

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  He nodded, adrenaline surging. “Stay close. You go left, I’ll draw them right.”

  Before she could protest, he sprang up, his blade igniting with a fierce crackle. He charged the nearest scavenger, a gaunt man in mismatched armor, dodging a wild shot that scorched the ground. His blade arced through the air, cleaving through the man’s weapon and sinking into his chest. The armor buckled like tin, and blood sprayed in a hot, coppery mist as the scavenger crumpled with a gurgling scream.

  Lyra darted left, her wrench swinging with lethal precision. She targeted a wiry scavenger, his manic grin faltering as she brought the heavy tool down on his skull. Bone crunched, blood spattered, and he collapsed, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

  The fight erupted into chaos. Kairos parried an energy bolt, sparks bursting from the clash, and tackled another foe, driving his blade into the man’s gut. Viscera spilled, slick and steaming, as the scavenger’s scream faded into silence. But in the fray, he lost sight of Lyra. A sharp cry—hers—pierced the tumult, laced with pain or defiance, he couldn’t tell. Then a crash resounded, like rock collapsing, and panic gripped him, cold and unrelenting.

  “Lyra!” he bellowed, voice raw with desperation.

  A scavenger tackled him, knocking the blade from his grasp. They grappled, tumbling across the jagged terrain, the man’s grimy nails clawing at Kairos’s throat. Kairos drove his fist into the scavenger’s nose, cartilage snapping, blood gushing, then seized a rock and smashed it into the man’s temple. Brain matter splattered his hand as the body went limp.

  He retrieved his blade, spinning to search for Lyra. The remaining scavengers fled, dragging a wounded comrade into the dark, but she was gone. Boot prints and drag marks scarred the earth, leading to the ravine’s edge. Dread churned in his gut as he followed, descending into the narrow chasm.

  The ravine’s walls loomed, steep and lined with glowing, razor-sharp rocks that pulsed faster, as if feeding on his urgency. The air thickened, cold seeping into his bones with each step. His mind raced—had she been taken? Had she fallen? He couldn’t lose her, not after everything. She was his reason, the one who’d pulled him from despair when Marcus’s betrayal had shattered him.

  A menacing growl halted him. From the shadows, a Warhound emerged—a grotesque fusion of flesh and machine. Steel plates armored its hide, scales glinting under the moons, and yellow eyes blazed with malice, venom dripping from clicking fangs. Its spiked tail lashed, mechanical whirs underscoring its movements, and its claws tore gouges in the stone.

  Kairos tightened his grip on the blade, his injured arm protesting with sharp pain. He couldn’t fail here, not with Lyra’s fate unknown. The beast charged, and he sidestepped, swinging at its shoulder. The blade sparked against the steel, leaving only a scratch, and the Warhound snapped its jaws, venom sizzling on the ground. He ducked, its rancid breath grazing him, and thrust upward into its underbelly. The blade sank in, black ichor spurting, acidic and burning his skin.

  The Warhound roared, its tail striking his side with brutal force. Ribs cracked, pain exploding through him as he stumbled, tasting blood. But he pressed on, fueled by the fear of losing her. The beast lunged again, slower now, and Kairos spotted a gap at its neck. He leapt, driving the blade into the exposed flesh. Energy seared through muscle, ichor gushing, and with a final twist, he pierced bone. The Warhound howled, convulsing, then collapsed, its skull split open in a pool of steaming blood.

  Kairos sank to his knees, clutching his side, pain blurring his vision. He forced himself up, limping forward. “Lyra!” he called, the echo mocking his desperation.

  A faint clang—metal on metal—answered. Rounding a bend, he saw her: back against a rock, a makeshift spear of pipe and jagged metal in hand. Two scavengers lay dead, and a third circled, blood dripping from a gash she’d inflicted.

  Kairos charged, blade flashing. The scavenger turned, but the blade severed his arm at the elbow, blood fountaining as he screamed. A second thrust pierced his chest, and he crumpled, lifeless. Lyra dropped her spear, legs buckling, and Kairos caught her, hands trembling as he assessed her—a gash on her thigh, blood soaking her pants, a bruise swelling on her cheek.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, voice thick with relief and concern.

  “So are you,” she replied, a weak smile breaking through her pain. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

  He guided her to an alcove, tearing strips from his shirt to bind her wounds, using the last of the salve. “What happened?”

  “They dragged me down here,” she said, wincing as he tightened the bandage. “I broke free, scavenged materials, set a trap. Got two, but the last one had me cornered.”

  He shook his head, admiration piercing his worry. “You’re incredible.”

  “Just stubborn,” she murmured, her gaze steady. “But you found me. I knew you would.”

  He took her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles, memories flooding back—that alley on Earth, her saving him when he’d lost everything. “I was terrified I’d lost you,” he admitted, voice a whisper.

  She squeezed his hand, firm despite her injuries. “You didn’t. We’re in this together, Kairos. Always.”

  “Together,” he echoed, a vow sealed in blood and trust.

  They rested, the ravine’s glowing walls a stark reminder of the trials ahead. The Ashen Veil loomed, promising answers and peril. But side by side, their bond unbroken, they would face it all.

  Remoran

  It's my rendition on how the Half-Orc race came to be :)