The rhythmic glide Mara had painstakingly mastered frayed. Each surge of briny energy, once a smooth current beneath her feet, now felt like dragging a leaden weight through grinding salt. Hours bled into an aching eternity across the Shifting Saltpans, the vast, exposed seabed shimmering with brutal, blinding light.
Kael never broke stride. His form, a lean silhouette against the white glare, moved with an effortless, predatory grace Mara despaired of ever matching. His scythe, The Scourge, remained strapped to his back, a dark, silent promise of violence. Mara’s lungs burned, a raw, abrasive scrape from the salt-laced air.
Her vision blurred, the endless expanse of crystalline ground wavering. A misstep. Her foot dragged, catching on a ridge of ancient, calcified coral. Mara stumbled, an uncontrolled sprawl that sent her tumbling onto the crystalline dust. The impact jarred her teeth, a sharp, icy pain blossoming in her hip.
She lay there, gasping, the fine, abrasive particles clinging to her face, rasping against her parched lips. Her core, usually a slow wellspring of briny power, felt utterly hollow, a dry basin. Not a flicker of energy stirred.
Footsteps, impossibly steady, approached. Mara didn’t need to look up to know it was Kael. He stopped beside her, his shadow falling across her like a sudden, chilling shroud. No words. No offer of help. Just the oppressive weight of his presence.
Finally, his voice cut through the ringing in her ears, sharper than fractured crystal. “Still wasting time, Weaver.”
A small, dark lump landed with a soft thud near her head. Mara forced her eyes open. A strip of cured sea-jerky, grey and tough-looking, lay half-buried in the dust. Kael made no move to offer it closer. He simply stood there, waiting.
Her throat felt like cracked earth, each swallow a dry, painful scrape. The idea of chewing anything, let alone this hardened jerky, was agony. But the scent, faint though it was, sparked a primal gnawing in her empty stomach. Mara tried to push herself up, arms trembling, but her muscles screamed in protest. Her body refused to obey.
She heard the faint rustle of Kael settling onto the ground beside her, not a foot away, yet worlds apart. He tore off a piece of his own jerky, chewing it with slow, deliberate movements. He spoke, his gaze fixed on the shimmering horizon, his voice low, almost contemplative, yet entirely devoid of warmth.
“The old world knew peace. Kindness wasn’t a weakness then. You could be soft, and still live. But the waters retreated. The Shallows claimed everything.” His eyes, the colour of deep, bruised brine, finally flickered to her, cold and stark. “Now, the Flats demand strength. Only the sharpest shards survive. Hurt? Tired? Starving? Give up then. The dust claims you faster that way.”
A bitter taste, not of salt, but of raw, unvarnished truth, filled Mara’s mouth. She had seen it in the bleached bones scattered across the plains, in the desperate eyes of those few travellers they’d encountered. The Shallows were an indifferent, beautiful killer.
Kael chewed slowly, his gaze drifting back to the vastness. “Sprawl, if you want ease. If you want to live, even through the ache in your bones, get up. Now.”
Silence descended again, heavy and vast. The only sounds were the distant, mournful whisper of the wind across the Flats and Kael’s steady, quiet chewing. Mara’s pride, a stubborn, brittle thing, chafed. She wouldn’t die here, not like this. Not under his cold, judging gaze.
She began to crawl, a desperate, graceless motion. Her hands, raw and trembling, pushed against the grit. Inch by agonizing inch, she dragged herself towards the jerky. Dust coated her tongue, thick and cloying. Finally, her fingers brushed the tough, cool surface.
She pulled it closer, her movements clumsy, and brought it to her lips. It was dry, tough, nearly impossible to chew with a throat that felt like pumice. Sand clung to it, grating against her teeth, but Mara forced herself. She tore off a small piece, her jaws aching, and chewed, slowly, forcing saliva to form. It took an age to swallow the first mouthful, a lump of dry sustenance that felt like rock in her gut.
But as it settled, a faint tremor, a whisper of returning strength, ran through her. Her power, dormant moments before, stirred. A tiny spark. She felt it, deep in her core, a connection. Not enough to do anything, but present. A fragile promise.
Kael’s voice, a low rumble, broke the silence. “The body and the brine aren’t separate, Weaver. A hollow vessel draws little power. Neglect one, the other withers.”
He was right. Mara had felt it herself, countless times. Her attempts at intricate crystallization, at summoning fine, abrasive gales, often failed not from a lack of innate power, but from her body’s own exhaustion, its inability to anchor the vast, wild energy of the Flats. She nodded, a silent acknowledgment, chewing the last of the jerky.
---
The sun bled from the sky, painting the crystalline horizon in hues of bruised violet and burning amber. Then, darkness fell with brutal swiftness. The air grew sharp, a chill wind sweeping across the exposed seabed, biting at exposed skin. Mara shivered, curling in on herself, the fine salt dust doing little to insulate her from the sudden, profound cold radiating from the ground.
Kael, however, seemed unaffected. He lay stretched out on his cloak, using his packed scythe as a makeshift pillow, his breathing deep and even. His repose was so complete, Mara felt a strange surge of frustrated envy. She barely slept, her body trembling, her teeth chattering, a dull ache throbbing through her.
Just before sleep finally claimed her, Kael had unrolled his heavy canvas cloak and spread it flat on the ground. She hadn’t understood then, but now, a flicker of insight. He wasn’t using it as a blanket, not yet. He was preparing.
‘Everything,’ Mara decided, as the first faint hint of dawn began to grey the eastern sky. ‘I will learn everything.’
---
Morning arrived, stark and cold. Kael stirred first, sitting up with an almost imperceptible movement. He gathered his cloak, carefully squeezing the fabric over a cupped hand. Tiny droplets of dew, precious lifeblood, beaded on the cloth. He drank, slow and deliberate, before rolling the cloak back into a tight bundle.
Mara, her own clothes feeling stiff with night moisture, followed suit. She peeled off her tunic, pressing it against her face, then wringing it out. A few meagre drops, nowhere near as much as Kael had collected, ran into her palm. She licked them clean, a desperate offering to her parched throat. A spark of resentment, irrational and fleeting, pricked her. If only she’d known, if only she’d observed earlier.
Kael stood, turning towards the vast expanse. “Move, Weaver. Before the sun bakes the Flats.”
Mara nodded, already anticipating. No point in asking directions; he wouldn’t offer. She launched into her refined glide, a silent flow across the crystalline surface. Yesterday’s lessons echoed in her bones: control, subtlety, conservation. Mana management was paramount. The memory of near-collapse, the raw, empty ache, spurred her on. The question lingered: how to replenish her briny energy, not just conserve it?
The sun climbed, a relentless orb in the pale sky. Heat radiated from the ground, shimmering waves distorting the horizon. Dust devils, miniature tornadoes of grit, danced across the plains. Mara pushed through it all, her glide growing smoother, more instinctive. She felt the subtle currents of residual brine beneath her feet, the faint pulses that offered purchase, allowed her to conserve her own core energy.
Night fell once more, a welcome respite from the sun’s tyranny. Kael stopped abruptly, planting The Scourge point-first into the ground. Mara, though exhausted, still had a flicker of power in her core. She hadn’t drained herself completely this time.
Kael tossed a piece of jerky. Mara caught it, a dull ache in her hand. This time, she didn't have to crawl. She sat, carefully tearing off a small, thin strip, chewing with extreme slowness, savouring each fibrous bit, letting it soften in her mouth before swallowing. Kael, she noticed, was still barely a third through his own piece, his movements even more deliberate than hers.
A strange, quiet determination settled in Mara. She would not only survive; she would learn to thrive. Her own piece of jerky, though chewed with excruciating slowness, soon vanished. Still, her stomach rumbled a protest. Asking for more was out of the question. She would endure the hunger.
But first, shelter. She peeled off her outer layer of clothing, spreading it flat on the ground, a silent offering to the dew. Then, she turned to the ground beneath her. Her unique power, usually for swift movement or defensive crystallization, could serve a different purpose.
She reached out, extending her will into the ground. A faint hum vibrated through her hands. The crystalline dust and ancient mineral seabed began to shift, to churn. A circular depression formed, then deepened, the edges rising like low walls. Mara shaped it, solidifying the loose particles, interlocking them with subtle surges of brine-energy until they held firm. A small, self-contained burrow, barely large enough for her.
She slid inside, the coarse, cool crystals pressing against her. With another whisper of power, she drew the loose material over the opening, creating a domed roof. It wasn’t perfect, but it was solid, insulated. The chilling wind was muted, the radiant cold of the Flats held at bay. A sigh escaped her, a deep, weary release. She could rest. She would rest.
A thought of Kael, sleeping out in the open, crossed her mind. She dismissed it. He would find his own way, as always.
---
Mara woke abruptly. Not to the cold, but to a subtle thrumming beneath her. A low, persistent vibration, felt through the crystalline floor of her burrow. She pressed her ear to the ground. The pulse grew stronger, deeper. Her heart began to pound.
She pushed open her makeshift roof, scrambling out into the pre-dawn darkness. The air was thick with it now, a palpable tremor in the ground, in the very air. Kael stood a short distance away, The Scourge planted before him, its wicked curve catching the faint, starless gloom. He was staring out into the absolute blackness of the eastern Flats.
Mara followed his gaze. Nothing but impenetrable dark. But the vibrations intensified, a rhythmic, heavy thudding, growing louder, closer. Dozens, no, hundreds of impacts. Her breath hitched. A cold dread, sharp as a shard, pierced her.
Kael’s face, illuminated by an unseen inner light, twisted into a feral grin. A flash of teeth, a spark of manic delight in his eyes. He turned to Mara, his voice a low, guttural exultation. “Survive, Weaver! Heh!”
The vibrations became a roar, an avalanche of sound. And then, in the deepest dark, eyes, hundreds of them, pinpricks of furious, predatory red, began to emerge from the gloom. Low, snarling growls rippled across the Flats. Massive, hulking shapes, too numerous to count, charging from the night. They were the Brineheart’s scavengers, creatures of the deepest Shallows, drawn to the slightest scent of weakness.
“Shard-Hounds,” Kael murmured, his grin widening. “A whole pack.”
Mara’s blood ran cold. She would not die here. She would not.