The sled had left them, disappearing over the churning waves in a streak of foam and shimmering scales. The absence of the Water Drake was stark, a severed connection to the relative safety of the ocean. Now, there was only the Badlands—raw and oppressive, daring them to step deeper.
The air itself seemed alive. Each breath burned, not just from the heat, but from the weight of something unseen that pressed against their chests. The horizon was a bleeding wound, rivers of molten rock carving jagged scars into the land, their light pulsating like the breath of a slumbering titan.
James hesitated as his boots touched the brittle, heat-cracked earth. It wasn’t just the overwhelming environment—it was the sensation that they didn’t belong here. That no one did.
"Hell’s kitchen," Thrain muttered, breaking the silence as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. The Dwarf took a deep breath, his thick beard bristling as he exhaled through gritted teeth. "Smells like sulfur and stupidity."
Kael Ironhide snorted, a low rumble in his chest that sounded more beast than man. His clawed feet dug into the ground as he leapt from the sled’s deck, landing with a thud that sent cracks spidering out beneath him. "Then maybe you shouldn’t have come, stone-man. You’re more flammable than the rest of us."
Thrain shot him a glare, but before he could retort, Sylvia’s calm voice cut through the tension. "Enough. If we waste our energy on bickering, we’ll burn out before the Badlands have a chance to do it for us."
She stood at the edge of the group, her Luminous Barrier flickering faintly around her like a protective cocoon. Her wings were tucked close to her back, their glow subdued, as though even they hesitated to shine too brightly in this place.
James shifted his satchel nervously. He felt the weight of their collective gazes as the group turned to face the barren wasteland ahead. The Scorching Badlands were unlike anything he’d imagined, even from the stories. It wasn’t just the heat or the fiery rivers; it was the silence that gnawed at him. A silence that felt… deliberate. As though something was watching.
"Do you feel it?" James asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Kael gave him a sidelong glance, his tail twitching irritably. "Feel what? The heat? The rocks under our feet? Or your own fear crawling up your back?"
James clenched his jaw but didn’t respond. Kael wasn’t wrong—the fear was there, prickling under his skin like a second layer of heat. But it wasn’t just fear. It was something more visceral. A presence.
Elyndor Vale, standing a few paces away, closed his eyes briefly. The High Elf raised a hand, his slender fingers brushing against the air as though searching for an unseen thread. "He’s right," Elyndor said, his voice smooth but edged with tension. "The spirits are uneasy. There’s something here—something ancient."
Sylvia stepped forward, her gaze steady. "We knew this wouldn’t be an ordinary mission. Whatever lies ahead is beyond any of us individually. That’s why we’re here together."
"Together," Thrain scoffed, crossing his arms. "If we make it that far."
Sylvia’s sharp look silenced him, and James found himself grateful for her presence. She had a way of grounding the group, even when the cracks in their unity were starting to show.
++
The group moved forward cautiously, the crunch of their footsteps the only sound against the oppressive silence. James stayed near the back, his mind racing as he tried to process everything. He felt like the weakest link—an artificer among warriors and mystics. His gadgets and quick thinking had kept him alive so far, but here, in this place, he felt exposed. Small.
Kael led the way, his amber eyes scanning the horizon. Every so often, he’d stop, sniffing the air or crouching to examine the ground. His primal instincts seemed to guide him, though his muttered curses betrayed his frustration.
Elyndor walked with a measured grace, his staff tapping lightly against the ground with each step. The Elf’s gaze never stayed in one place for long, his golden eyes flitting between the group and the landscape as though weighing every detail. His calm demeanor was unshaken, but James noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders.
Sylvia stayed near the center, her wings shimmering faintly with each step. She carried herself with an air of quiet authority, her presence a beacon of reassurance even as the heat and silence pressed down on them.
And then there was Thrain. The Dwarf trudged with a stubborn determination, his hands occasionally brushing against his belt where his tools and runestones hung. He muttered to himself, his gruff voice a constant presence that, strangely, made James feel less alone.
As they pressed deeper into the Badlands, the terrain grew more treacherous. The brittle ground gave way to jagged ridges and narrow paths that wound precariously between rivers of molten rock. The air shimmered with heat, and every breath tasted of ash.
"We should stop soon," Sylvia said, her voice cutting through the stillness. "We need to conserve our strength."
Kael growled low in his throat. "Stopping means sitting ducks. I say we keep moving."
"For once, I agree with the beast," Thrain said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Stopping here is just asking to be roasted alive."
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Elyndor raised a hand, silencing them both. "Listen."
The group froze, their breaths catching in their throats. For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of molten rock and the faint hum of their Heat Resistant Runestones. And then they heard it—a low, distant rumble that reverberated through the ground like the growl of a sleeping giant.
"What was that?" James whispered, his heart pounding.
"Trouble," Kael said, his claws flexing.
++
The rumble grew louder as they moved forward, the ground trembling beneath their feet. It led them to a clearing surrounded by jagged spires of blackened rock. In the center lay the remnants of a battle—charred bones and shattered stone scattered across the ground. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh.
Sylvia knelt near the edge of the clearing, her fingers brushing against the scorched earth. Her wings flickered faintly as she closed her eyes. "This wasn’t just a battle," she said softly. "It was a massacre."
Kael crouched near a massive claw mark etched into the ground, his tail lashing with agitation. "Something big did this. And it’s still out there."
James approached cautiously, his gaze fixed on the claw mark. It was enormous, far larger than anything he’d ever seen. He pulled a small gadget from his satchel—a scanner imbued with arcane runes—and aimed it at the mark. The device hummed, its dials spinning as it analyzed the residual energy.
"What do you see?" Thrain asked, his voice gruff.
James frowned, his brow furrowing. "Residual energy. Destructive. Focused. It’s like… it’s alive."
"Alive?" Kael snorted. "What does that even mean?"
"It means whatever did this," Elyndor said, his voice cold, "isn’t just powerful. It’s something beyond what we’re used to."
Sylvia rose to her feet, her expression grave. "We need to report this."
"No," Kael said, his voice firm. "We need to find it. Whatever this thing is, it’s close."
Elyndor turned to him, his golden eyes narrowing. "And if it finds us first? Do you think you can stand against something that left this behind?"
The tension between them was palpable, and James felt the weight of it pressing down on him. He glanced at the claw mark again, his heart pounding. Whatever lay ahead, it was something far beyond any of them.
"Let’s move," Sylvia said, her voice cutting through the tension. "But carefully. We’re here to survive, not to die."
As the group pressed on, James couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. The Scorching Badlands weren’t just a place—they were alive, and they were waiting.