The shadows were Hesi's only friends on this ridiculous journey. Another fortress appeared on the horizon west of the breeding farm, tucked between natural rock formations. Unlike the sandy expanse of Ser-Methon, the edges of Iren-Washep stood like and on stone. This was the empire established by demons from the conquered territories, Ser-Tehra and Ser-Djare, and after less than a decade, not a trace of human civilization remained.

She flattened herself against the smooth wall, peering through the pockets of space, punching through the rock. A new deshet branch sprouted from the lip of her satchel—the only salvation to never fail her. She discovered a cavern in higher ground by chance when the cart and its escorts entered the canyon. Instead of following them, she tackled the rockier but more inclined path.

Her theory was right. Now, she watched like a hawk hungry for its prey from a tunnel-like path carved through the rocks by eons of wind and heat. She didn't have to worry about covering her tracks. The Mayaware weren't familiar with this terrain, nor would they start. They wouldn't find her.

She crept forward as she had been doing for the last five days. It was a long journey on foot, especially if she was supposed to be following a mule-drawn cart. The Mayaware escorts—three in total—took longer to tire, so repose only came every day and a half. Sometimes they traveled the entire night, throwing her sleep schedule into disarray. Not that she had one since childhood.

The dust lining the tunnel's floor crunched against her boots. She never walked this far before. Would her soles give out soon? Where in Qer's name would she get another pair? No human merchants would dare trade near Setene, much less Berheqt.

She'd take the chance when it came. For now, as long as the soles stayed intact, she would walk. The fortress wasn't far off now. They—the cart, its escorts, and her—would come upon it soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. She had to be ready. If these scalebrains puckered up for the night, she would be the happiest person on Tjarma.

They didn't.

The sun set hours ago, plunging the sky into a deep inky blanket. Stars, unbridled by torches and lanterns, shone without worry. Constellations she never knew the names of watched over her. She would love them to guide her, but stargazing was a lost art to humans. They were busy for the past few years to bring it back. It was a habit of the secure.

She gulped what remained of her saliva. Her throat itched and scratched against it, making her wince. Her water skin dried up this morning. She lived off drinking the sap of the yellow stalks growing on the rocks. It was too sweet for her taste, but it kept her alive. Her stomach rumbled, bile rising to her throat enough to make her nauseous. The fluctuating heat and cold of the desert depending on the sun's presence didn't help.

It was a miracle she hasn't dropped dead yet.

But, according to another survival rule, use everything you can to not die, even if it means hurting another life. Of course, it didn't apply to humans—she drew the line there—but now, if it came to that, she wouldn't let it hold her back. She had siblings to save. Everything else could be damned.

At dawn, the Mayaware chattered in their broken language, and certain words floated to her ears. Metal clanged, wheels clattered to a stop, and wooden sticks crackled against the rocky soil. They set up camp, meaning she must as well.

She settled on the floor. She rested her back against the cavern's wall, tucked her hands over her stomach, and hefted her legs up on the opposite wall. The two slits of her dress rode up her legs. She let them. No one would find her unless they blast a hole through the rock. By then, the loud noise would have awoken her, and she'd be out of sight within seconds.

She relaxed her jaw and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the loud chirps of birds nesting on a higher ledge blared in her senses. The sun scorched the sky and boiled the air. She shot up and searched for another gap between the rocks. Her hands slapped on either side when she found one, her face pressing against the scalding stone. Her eyes searched the narrow valley littered with chunks of rock and occasional splashes of green and yellow. Apart from the flashes of beige and brown fur zipping past, nothing remained.

For the first time, being alone wasn't something she wanted.

Darpeh. She strode forward. Her feet scratched against the debris coating the tunnel's floor. Her satchel crunched against her side with every heavy and hurried step. Let them make noise. The fortress. They must have made it inside. How in the Mayaware's fangs could she get out of this formation?

A stream of morning sunlight caught her eye. She rushed towards it and came across an opening as wide as her but sideways. Screw it. She sucked in a breath and tilted her body parallel to the width of the opening. She stuck her boot out, exhaling a bit when it went through as well as her leg. It would be awkward if she got stuck here and dried out like preserved dates.

She wiggled like a teased worm until her head got through. Then, just as she was about to pull the rest of her free, she looked down. A gasp filtered out of her mouth, her fingers wildly searching for a ledge to hold on to. Dear gods.

It was a long drop. The cavern brought her straight into a pit. Which meant...

The fortress wasn't a day away, and she lost the Mayaware escorts not because they simply went ahead but because they took a detour. She gritted her teeth and ran her hand against the flat wall the cavern faded into. Her fingers knocked against a bump large enough to hold her weight. That should do. She extended her leg and tapped around for a manageable edge. Found one not long after.

She freed the rest of her body off the narrow opening. A groan escaped her lips as she whirled around to grip both ledges with her limbs and swing her body so that she spread-eagled with the pit's wall brushing her stomach. The wind blew as if in mockery, teasing strands of hair to bounce against her back and for Pai's scarlet scarf to flutter against her neck. One more breeze and the cloth would probably unravel and float to the bottom of the pit. She tilted her neck to one side, locking the scarf between her jaw and her shoulder. It made shimmying up the wall harder.

When she reached flatter ground, sweat slicked every inch of her, plastering her hair to her nape, back, and arms. Her breaths came out in thick puffs. She hauled herself off the pit's influence and collapsed on the floor. Thankfully, the sand in this area was minimal and didn't sting her eyes more than her perspiration did.

Her detour with that cavern proved faster than the cart and its escorts, so she rolled back up and peered at the horizon. The fortress was closer now, enough for her to see the dark bricks used to build the wall up. Did they mix their scales with clay? If so, it might be harder to infiltrate.

She glanced behind her. The cart was nowhere to be found. Maybe they were still on the road, or she slept for a week and they already made it inside. Either way, all roads ended on the upcoming stronghold.

One last baleful look at the sun, and she lurched towards it with renewed strength. She might beat the cart to its destination. Not an excellent source of competition, but it was peachy.

It was almost night when she reached the edges of the wall. More carts lined up at the gate underneath the arch decorating the middle of the wall. Not that way. She had a better option.

She picked her way towards the side of the fortress where no one lingered and where fewer torches watched. She rubbed deshet leaves between her fingers, wiping the scent on her wrist, jaw, and chest. Her knife glinted against the starlight when she drew it and stuck it into the mortar between bricks. Then, she climbed.

Her arms and legs throbbed, so when she flipped over to the walkway atop the wall, she collapsed against the crenelations. Unlike the breeding farm, this fort had walkable pathways meant for shooting enemies within the perimeter. She knew how to play with shadows, and they considered her their friend.

No time to waste. What happened to those women? Were there more shoved into the fort from various sources? Berheqt hasn't called for such an order since Iren-Washep's establishment, so maybe everyone was eager to dip their claws into it.

She sheathed her knife in her belt and crept forward. Her mind ran with the thought of sharpening her trusty blade after sticking it into various surfaces over the month. A walkway bled into a third direction, distracting her from continuing forward. It was a wall within a wall, dividing the fortress into partitions. She scanned the horizon, committing the aerial view to memory. The walkways supervised the partitions, connecting to each other like an irrigation map. A big mistake on the Mayawares' part. Now, she could reach any part of this fort with just her two legs.

And that was what she meant to do.

The wind tore at her hair, driving it away from her face. As she passed a division dedicated entirely to stables and riding animals, she unwound Pai's scarf from her neck and wrapped it around her head instead. That should keep it still.

She met her first sign of resistance when she collided with a Mayaware whose dark scales were out, blending with the inky screen of the night. Before they could think, she lashed out, gripped the curved blade sheathed in its side, and drove it straight into the side of its head. The sharp ends shrieked in a silent hiss against scales, skin, and bone. The force she threw made the blade hook past the demon's maw, its glinting tip flitting past the demon's lips like an additional forked tongue.

The demon's slitted eye darkened as dark smoke bled from its wound. Dark sand ran across her palms as blood would. She shoved the demon's body away, setting it against the pile of sacks that could have been cement. Then, she was on her way.

Bright, amber flickers whizzed in her periphery. She skittered to a stop and braced the walkway's crenelations to peer down at its source. A vast courtyard spread out before her, lined with date trees and landscaped bushes. Arches leading deep into the fortress' workings flanked all four sides. Even in the darkness of night, ridges lining the floor were clear. This was a fancy courtyard, even for Mayaware standards.

Distressed screams echoed from the darkness beyond the arches. She squinted at the dancing shadows creeping from it. She watched as women poured into the open, held by the neck or hair by Mayaware, spears or blades pressed at the small of their backs. None of them wore any clothes. She doubted these demons could tell the difference between a naked or clothed human. They were all prey to the Mayaware.

Within minutes, at least a hundred women stood shivering in the courtyard, surrounded by demons leering and buzzing with strange anticipation. The torches provided no warmth, even to her who surveyed the scene like a detached deity, unable to help. What could she do from this position? She needed to be one of them in order to infiltrate Berheqt without the risk of being killed for showing up.

So, with her gut roiling, she gripped the crenelations. The crowd hushed into a deadlier silence when an imposing figure strolled into the courtyard from the arches' shadows and stopped in front of the women. Judging from the abundance of bracelets lining its arms and the mere extravagance and number of colored sheets of stone the collar over its shoulder had, this was no ordinary Mayaware.

Maybe it was a distinguished soldier. Better yet, this might be a General in the Mayaware King's army.

Some words chittered in the silence, but she was too far to hear. Soon, the general went through the women with leisurely steps, hands clasped behind its back. It didn't have its scales out, appearing as a lanky man with a bald head dressed in an off-white kilt gilded in blue and gold—the royal colors. He ran his hands down the women's arms, backs, and between their legs. Her nails dug against the stone. There was nothing she could do. Not when she was so high up. Not when she has a secret and a promise to keep.

As the general finished perusing, he dragged one woman after the other to the front. With a nod to the soldiers present, silver flashed against fire, and red colored the night. Screams. Limbs flew in the air. Heads rolled. Claws trampled over lifeless eyes and pools of blood.

She stumbled back, her knees knocking together. Bile covered her throat, forcing her head to snap forward. Something rancid slipped out, painting the floor. Her chest heaved, but she crawled back to the crenelations and hauled herself up. The women standing beside the general wailed and clawed at their hair as they watched the rest get slaughtered.

A collective howl tore into the darkness when a wave of onyx rushed through the crowd. Like awakened beasts, the Mayaware licked blood with forked tongues and bit through chunks of flesh with sharp fangs. The general glanced at the women, its lips parting to reveal a relieved smirk.

Then, it put two fingers into its mouth and blew a sharp note. All Mayaware present snapped to attention, their onyx hides fading back into warm sienna, shrinking several sizes. They picked up their fallen weapons and trampled over what remained of the women on their way back into formation. The general said something, and the first line of demons tore off, grabbing the women and dragging them into the arches' darkness.

Her breaths were heavy as though she labored to live. Seeing blood spilled without mercy and without the veil of deshet bushes shook something in her, something she couldn't name even if she tried.

She pushed on, keeping the squirming women from disappearing into the shadows. The darkness was her companion, the only friend she made through lonely weeks, but knowing what it held, what it protected, she understood why it was wrong to treat it as such. It wasn't a friend. Wasn't an enemy either.

It was merely an obstacle she has to use and overcome all the same.

Before she flung herself off the wall on her way down, she whirled one last time and forced herself to look at the swirling rivers of red and the splotches of unconsumed flesh. They had once been people, with lives and beating hearts. And to end like that, it was the greatest melancholy she had to bear until her last breath.

As penance for her inaction, she touched two fingers to her chest then to her lips, before finally, to her mind. Never to speak. Never to breathe. Never to remember.

She uttered the traditional blessing to those who pass on to the Fields of Topt, but for her, it contained a different meaning. Never to be felt. Never to be spoken of. Never to be forgotten.

Then, she was on her way. Towards the path leading to the beginning of a plan she had to see through the end before she truly lived.