The village square had changed.

  It was no longer just a dusty space between huts where children chased each other and goats bleated from tethered ropes. Now it was where people gathered to whisper about the boy from the dunes. Where they glanced nervously at the scarred black corpses of corrupted hyenas still heaped outside the palisade, waiting for the desert winds to swallow them. Where they stole glances at Nyra, fire girl, who walked among them like a living flame with her hood always low.

  And today, it was where Adonis stood.

  He waited at the well, leaning casually against the new water tank he had designed, the faint gleam of damp clay glistening in the sun. His golden-flecked eyes swept the crowd, sharp and calculating. He wasn’t simply looking at faces — he was measuring. Judging. Deciding.

  They whispered when he had passed before. Now they went silent.

  Adonis smirked faintly, letting the quiet weigh on them. He wanted them listening before he spoke.

  “The desert is changing,” he said, voice cutting through the heat. “You’ve seen it. You’ve seen the black blood spreading in the sand, twisting beasts until they’re nothing but teeth and hunger. You’ve seen me drag their corpses back here, broken.” He gestured lazily toward the heaped hyenas outside the square. “That was a warning. Not an end.”

  Mothers pulled children closer. The hunters in the crowd lowered their eyes.

  Adonis straightened, letting the sand curl faintly at his feet in a slow, deliberate spiral. He didn’t need a show of power this time. Just a reminder.

  “This village has water now. It has food. It has tunnels beneath your feet, so that when dragons come, you can vanish into the earth. I’ve given you these things, and I’ll give you more. But safety is not enough. Not in this desert. If we are to live, we need strength. We need teeth.”

  He let the word hang, sharp as stone.

  > Recommendation: establish chain of command, Vantage whispered in his mind. Direct authority is required for efficiency. Selection of individuals should reinforce loyalty through visible symbolism.

  Adonis’s lips twitched. Yeah, I know. Pick someone they trust, and when he kneels, they all do.

  He raised his hand, finger pointing through the crowd until it landed on a broad-shouldered man near the front.

  The hunter was tall, his skin darkened like old leather from years beneath the sun. His hair was bound back in thick cords, streaked with ash-gray. Across his chest ran three long scars that disappeared beneath his tunic — reminders of a fight with something that hadn’t killed him. His arms were corded with muscle, and in one hand he gripped a spear so worn its haft gleamed smooth from decades of use.

  “Barek,” Adonis said, his tone leaving no room for question.

  The man stiffened, eyes narrowing, but he stepped forward slowly. Murmurs rippled behind him. Barek was the strongest hunter in the village. The only man who had once returned from facing an Ironback, though empty-handed and half-dead. He was respected. Feared, even.

  And now he stood before the boy from the dunes.

  Adonis didn’t lower his gaze. “You’ve hunted beasts longer than anyone here. You know the Ironbacks better than most. You’ll be the first.”

  Barek’s eyes flicked toward the crowd, toward the elders who sat in the shade of the council tent watching silently, then back to Adonis. “The first… to die chasing your madness?” His voice was low, a growl that carried more weight than outright defiance.

  Adonis smiled thinly. “The first to tame one. The first to prove this village is not prey.”

  Laughter broke, sharp and bitter, from another hunter in the crowd. Adonis didn’t look his way. He kept his gaze locked on Barek.

  “You’ve faced them,” Adonis continued. “You know their strength. And you know their weakness.”

  Barek’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.

  Adonis stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was just loud enough for the crowd to strain to hear. “You nearly brought one down once. But you lacked the tools. The desert wasn’t on your side then. It is now.”

  At his gesture, the sand rose behind him in a sharp column, twisting into the shape of a spear before crumbling back into dust. The crowd gasped. Barek’s eyes widened just slightly, then narrowed again.

  “I don’t need blind followers,” Adonis said. “I need men who already know fear and spit at it anyway. You are that man, Barek. Which is why you’ll ride the first Ironback. And when you do, every other man here will know it’s possible.”

  The silence was heavy. All eyes were on Barek.

  He gripped his old spear tighter, the muscles in his forearm taut as stone. His gaze flicked once more to the elders. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The weight of the village pressed on his shoulders.

  Finally, he let out a slow breath. “If this is death, boy, I’ll drag you with me into it.”

  Adonis grinned. “That’s all I ask.”

  He turned back to the crowd, voice rising. “You’ve heard him. The strongest among you stands with me. Ten men will follow, but Barek will be the first. He will bring back the Ironback that breaks the desert. And when he does, you will see that this village has teeth again.”

  The murmurs swelled into something else — not cheers, not yet, but the kind of uneasy awe that precedes faith. The elders nodded silently from their shade.

  Barek stepped back, jaw tight, but the decision was made. The boy from the dunes had chosen, and the desert had listened.

  ***

  The sun was sliding west when Adonis and Barek moved to the edge of the square. Villagers trailed at a distance, whispering, watching. No one offered to help pack, but no one dared interfere either.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Barek checked the haft of his old spear, tightening the bindings with calloused fingers. His movements were steady, practiced, the rituals of a man who had walked into the jaws of death too many times and returned with scars instead of bones.

  Adonis, in contrast, was crouched in the sand, sketching glyph-lines with his finger. Each stroke shimmered faintly before the grains collapsed, the desert refusing to hold them more than a few seconds. Still, the patterns repeated — anchoring hooks, binding coils, shock lines meant to disrupt muscle tension. He tested, erased, redrew, smirking to himself as the shapes burned brighter with each attempt.

  > Containment analysis complete, Vantage said in his mind, its voice a steady counterweight to the heat. Probability of subduing a healthy Ironback with your current psionic capacity: seventeen percent.

  Adonis arched a brow. That’s lower than this morning.

  > Correct. You failed to account for herd reinforcement. Ironbacks travel in groups of six to ten. If one is threatened, the others will charge.

  Barek noticed the boy’s grin widen. “What’s amusing about dying under ten horns?”

  Adonis straightened, brushing sand from his palms. “Nothing. I just like a bigger stage.”

  Barek’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

  Adonis packed what little he needed — a skin of water, a pouch of dried figs, and the fragment of Ironback horn tucked at his hip. To the villagers, it probably looked careless, arrogant. To him, it was efficiency. The desert provided everything else.

  The murmurs around them grew louder. A young hunter spat into the sand and muttered, “He drags our strongest man to his death.” Others shushed him, but the fear was real.

  Adonis ignored it. He turned to Barek, voice low. “When we find them, don’t fight. Hold their attention. That’s all I need. I’ll do the breaking.”

  Barek snorted. “You’re half my weight, boy. You’ll be pulp before you ever climb one.”

  Adonis smirked. “Good thing I don’t climb. I chain.”

  He gestured, and the sand at Barek’s feet coiled upward in a spiral, forming a crude cuff around his ankle before falling away. Barek’s eyes flicked down, then up again, jaw tight.

  “Play your tricks,” he muttered. “But when the beast comes, tricks won’t stop it.”

  “Neither will fear,” Adonis said.

  The elders watched from their shade, silent but intent. The crowd, restless and murmuring, pressed forward a step. The tension in the air was a live wire, waiting for the strike.

  Adonis turned his back on them all. “We leave now.”

  And with that, the boy from the dunes and the scarred hunter stepped into the desert, the sun throwing long shadows across the sand.

  ***

  Adonis and Barek had just finished securing their packs when the sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. Selene stood a few paces away, her white locs catching the sun like threads of silver. She didn’t rush forward, didn’t blurt words like her brother might. She simply waited, grey eyes steady, until Adonis set his pack down and looked at her fully.

  “You want something,” he said.

  She nodded. “A riddle.”

  That surprised him. Barek glanced between them, scowling faintly, but said nothing. Adonis studied her a moment longer, searching her face. “Your brother hasn’t told you, has he?”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “No. He’s a terrible liar. I can see it every time he looks at me now. He hides something—something you gave him. And I want it too.”

  Adonis raised a brow, folding his arms loosely. “Why?”

  Selene’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because it isn’t magic.”

  Her tone carried a sharpness that caught even Barek’s attention. Selene’s voice rarely rose, rarely cut. Now it did, though softly.

  “Our parents died because of magic,” she continued. “Because of a patrol that thought their fire and steel gave them the right to decide who lived and who burned. My brother and I survived. But I won’t put my trust in the same power that killed them.” She shook her head slowly. “If you have another path—if you can give me something different—I’ll walk it.”

  For the first time, Adonis saw her not as the quiet, gentle balance to her brother, but as someone with steel buried under calm.

  He glanced at Barek, who shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to hearing Selene speak with such conviction. Then he returned his gaze to her. “Riddles aren’t toys,” he said. “They change you. If you answer wrong, the desert doesn’t listen. If you answer right, it does—and it won’t let you go back to who you were before.”

  Selene’s expression didn’t falter. “Then I don’t want to go back.”

  Adonis let the silence stretch. The crowd at the edge of the square had grown again, watching, murmuring. He wasn’t going to put on a show for them. This wasn’t spectacle—it was a choice.

  Finally, he spoke. “Fine. I’ll give you one. Harder than your brother’s. If you find the answer, the desert will know you.”

  Selene inclined her head once, calm and certain.

  Adonis’s lips curved faintly. He leaned closer, voice dropping so only she could hear:

  “I am always present, but never grasped.

  I guide the tide, yet touch no water.

  I shine only by another’s fire,

  and in silence, I endure.

  What am I?”

  Selene’s eyes widened just slightly. She breathed the riddle in like a secret. Her mind turned, her gaze distant, already circling the answer. But she didn’t speak it yet. She simply nodded, accepting the weight of the riddle like a burden she had chosen to carry.

  Adonis stepped back, slipping his pack onto his shoulders again. “Take your time. The desert doesn’t answer to the impatient.”

  For the first time, a flicker of a smile touched Selene’s lips. “Then it will like me.”

  Barek gave her a long, measuring look but held his tongue.

  Adonis turned toward the dunes. “We’ll be back with an Ironback. When we return, you’d better have an answer.”

  Selene said nothing, but her eyes followed him as he and Barek walked into the blazing horizon—her calm expression hiding a storm of thought.

  ***

  Kalen watched from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight. He had lingered near the well when Selene stepped forward, had heard the word riddle slip from her lips. His stomach clenched when Adonis leaned close, whispering words only she could hear.

  When Selene finally stepped back, eyes thoughtful and lips curved with the faintest smile, Kalen felt heat rise to his chest.

  He waited until Adonis and Barek disappeared into the dunes before striding up to her. “What was that?” he demanded.

  Selene blinked, calm as ever. “A riddle.”

  “Don’t play games with me. He gave you one too?”

  “Yes.”

  Kalen’s fists tightened at his sides. “You don’t even know what it does.”

  Her gaze sharpened, cutting through his anger like the edge of a blade. “I know it isn’t magic. And that’s enough.”

  Kalen froze.

  Selene turned from him, her voice soft but steady. “Magic killed them, Kalen. Our parents. I won’t chase the same power that burned our home. If there’s another path—something older, something stronger—I’ll take it. Even if you’re too afraid to tell me what it gave you.”

  Her words hit harder than any blade. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t glare, didn’t scold. She simply told the truth. And Kalen hated her for it—because she was right.

  He turned away, jaw clenched, fury simmering. “You think he’s saving us,” he muttered. “But all he’s doing is binding us to him. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  Selene didn’t answer. She only looked out at the desert where Adonis’s figure was fading into the horizon, the riddle echoing in her thoughts like a whisper in the wind.

  ***

  The sun was falling lower when Barek raised his hand, signaling for them to stop. Sweat streaked his scarred face, but his eyes were sharp. “Tracks,” he said.

  Adonis crouched beside him, running his fingers through the grooves pressed deep into the sand. The prints were massive, wider than a man’s chest, sunk inches into the earth. He brushed the grains away to reveal the cracked edges where the weight had split the surface.

  “Ironbacks,” Barek confirmed. “Fresh.”

  Adonis’s lips curved. “Good.”

  > Seismic readings confirm multiple signatures, Vantage said in his mind. Seven distinct mass-displacements moving in formation. Herd size consistent with early estimates. Warning: probability of lethal outcome in direct engagement exceeds ninety percent.

  Adonis rose slowly, golden flecks glowing faintly in his eyes as he stared across the dunes. In the distance, faint shapes moved—hulking shadows against the setting sun, each one crowned with horns like jagged pillars. Dust clouds rolled around their heavy steps, and the ground trembled faintly beneath their passage.

  Barek’s grip on his spear tightened. His scars seemed to burn fresh. “Seven,” he muttered. “Seven is too many. One alone nearly killed me.”

  Adonis smirked faintly, never looking away from the herd. “One won’t be enough.”

  The Ironbacks bellowed in the distance, their cries rumbling across the desert like thunder. The herd moved together, unstoppable, the embodiment of the desert’s raw, brutal will.

  Adonis’s voice was quiet, but the wind carried it. “When one kneels, the rest will follow.”

  The first hunt had begun.