The medical ward was silent again.

Caden sat in his wheelchair, staring at nothing, his mind churning with conflicting emotions.

Anger at Jorghan for what he'd done. Rage at his own body for failing him. Frustration with his mother for not understanding. Resentment toward Constance for treating him like a child who needed management.

But underneath all of it, buried deep where he didn't want to acknowledge it, was fear.

Fear that they were right.

That his obsession was consuming him. That he was turning into exactly the kind of broken soldier his mother had described, spiraling deeper into darkness with no way back out.

Fear that even if he did somehow manage to kill Jorghan, it wouldn't actually make anything better. That he'd still be missing a leg, still be scarred, still be broken, just with additional blood on his hands and no purpose left to pursue.

Fear that the hatred was the only thing holding him together, and if he let it go, he'd fall apart completely.

He looked down at the space where his knee should have been, at the bandaged stump that ended his leg prematurely. He touched the scar running across his torso, feeling the raised tissue through the bandages, remembering the moment that blade had nearly split him in half.

Jorghan Sol'vur had done this. The half-blood warrior with crimson eyes and power that exceeded all predictions. The heir to a bloodline that shouldn't exist anymore but did, stronger than ever.

Caden closed his eyes and made himself a promise, silent but absolute.

He would heal and get stronger. He would learn to fight with one leg if that's what it took. He would train until the prosthetic felt natural, until the scar tissue didn't limit his movement, until he was as capable as he'd been before the desert.

And then he would return to that cursed sand and find Jorghan Sol'vur.

And one of them wouldn't walk away.

His mother might never forgive him. His sister might try to stop him. The Empire might declare the region off-limits and order him to stand down.

None of it mattered.

This wasn't about duty or military objectives or following orders anymore.

This was personal.

And Caden would see it through to the end, no matter what that end looked like.

In the quiet medical ward, surrounded by machines monitoring his broken body's healing, Caden Wynifreed fed his hatred and let it keep him warm.

Because hatred was all he had left.

And he would nurture it until it gave him strength to stand again.

***

The sun was setting when Kaleth descended toward Brownhill Dunes, his massive white wings casting shadows across the landscape below. The Swarafa had been flying for hours, and even his incredible stamina showed signs of strain. His wing beats were slower and heavier, each movement requiring visible effort.

Jorghan sat in the carriage, watching the familiar landscape come into view. Rolling sand dunes that appeared brown in certain light, hence the name. Scattered rock formations providing shelter from constant wind.

And nestled between the dunes, three distinct settlements clustered together.

The Nuwe'rak clan occupied the eastern section, their buildings low and practical, designed to withstand sandstorms.

The Nue'roka settlement spread across the western dunes, larger and more established; after losing two leaders, they settled down near the Nuwe'rak clan.

But what dominated the landscape was the floating island.

It hung above the river that cut through the desert, a massive vegetative structure that defied normal nature. Old trees with root systems that dangled into the water below, vegetation so thick it formed a solid foundation, and built among the branches were the homes and structures of the third clan sharing this territory.

The Nor'vack clan's Floating Island, Turtlerock.

Home.

Except as Kaleth drew closer, something felt wrong.

The settlements were too quiet. No children playing between buildings, no warriors on patrol, and no normal bustle of clan life. The structures stood intact, showing no obvious damage, but the atmosphere carried tension that made Jorghan's instincts scream warnings.

"Land near the house," Jorghan instructed.

"Quickly."

Kaleth descended with obvious nervousness, his animal instincts sensing danger even if the source wasn't immediately visible. He touched down in the courtyard directly in front of the main residence, where Sigora maintained her quarters, his talons scraping against packed ground.

Before Jorghan could even exit the carriage, the door to Sigora's house burst open.

Swana emerged first, her face streaked with tears, her normally composed expression shattered by grief and fear. Behind her came Sik'ra, his scarred features showing barely controlled rage mixed with helplessness.

It seemed like they were in a deep state of emotion. They were able to hear the sounds of Kaleth's sharp cries and came out quickly. And as soon as they saw Jorghan, they were filled with grim sadness.

"Jorghan!"

Swana's voice cracked as she ran toward him.

"Thank the ancestors you're back. I'm so sorry.

I really am sorry.

We tried.

We tried to stop them, but we couldn't—"

She broke down completely, her words dissolving into sobs.

Jorghan stepped down from the carriage, his blood going cold. Sigora followed, her expression already hardening as she recognized the signs of disaster.

"What happened?" Jorghan demanded, his voice carrying a command that cut through Swana's crying.

"Swana, tell me what happened?"

His six-foot frame stood before kneeling Swana, matching his sight with her.

Sik'ra stepped forward, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out like cords.

"Terraspers. Humans from Terrasper, but not like Grace or Scarlett. These were warriors, organized, equipped with weapons we'd never seen before."

Jorghan's eyes went wide, and he was startled. And he could already sense that they did something horrible.

"When?"

Jorghan asked, his hands already beginning to manifest blood essence in unconscious response to rising fury.

"Four days ago," Sik'ra replied.

"Early morning. They arrived in some kind of flying machine, smaller than Empire airships but faster. It landed on the edge of the settlement before anyone realized we had hostile visitors."

Swana had regained enough composure to speak, though tears still streamed down her face. "There were maybe twenty of them. They wore strange armor and carried weapons that fired projectiles like Empire rifles but were louder and more destructive. And several of them had... abilities. Like our warriors, it was mana, I think, but a different kind."

"They attacked without warning?" Sigora asked, her voice cold.

"No," Sik'ra said, and bitterness filled his tone.

"They announced themselves. They said they were here to retrieve property that belonged to them. They demanded we hand over Grace and Scarlett."

Jorghan's blood essence manifested more visibly, crimson spirals coiling around his arms. "And?"

"We refused," Swana said quickly.

"Of course, we refused. They were guests under our protection. We told the Terraspers to leave, that we wouldn't hand over anyone to strangers making demands."

Sik'ra's expression became darker.

"That's when they demonstrated what refusal meant. They killed Kethran. Just... executed him in the courtyard as a demonstration. Shot him with one of their weapons, and his chest just exploded. Then they killed Morasha, and Vel'tun, and they kept killing warriors one after another until we agreed to listen to their actual demands rather than just refusing."

"More than a dozen of our strongest warriors died in the first five minutes," Swana whispered. "They were so fast, so coordinated. Their weapons killed from distances our warriors couldn't close. And the ones with abilities..." She shuddered.

"One of them could create fire dragons from nothing. Another moved faster than eyes could follow. A third had skin that turned to some kind of hard metal, making him nearly impossible to injure."

"Where was Sarhita?" Jorghan demanded.

"Where were the clan elders?"

"Not many of them were present on the island," Sik'ra replied.

"But the Terraspers attacked so quickly, killed so efficiently, that by the time Sarhita and the other elders arrived with an organized response, we'd already lost over a dozen warriors, and the Terraspers had positioned themselves where any assault would result in massive civilian casualties."

Swana's voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"Sarhita tried to push them back. The elders from all three clans, working together, were strong enough. They could have driven the Terraspers away, maybe even killed some of them. But the humans made it clear that if we fought, they'd destroy the entire settlement. They'd kill everyone—warriors, civilians, and children—before we could stop them all."

"They had some kind of explosive device," Sik'ra continued, his hands clenched into fists. "Showed it to us. Said it could level everything within a mile radius. Said if we didn't cooperate, they'd detonate it and take our entire population with them even if they died in the process."

Jorghan's jaw worked, his teeth grinding together with force that made his skull ache.

"So you gave them Grace and Scarlett."

"We had no choice!" Swana sobbed.

"They were going to kill everyone. Hundreds of elves, three entire clans, just... gone. For what? To protect two humans we barely knew? Two alien creatures who weren't even our people?"

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