Outside, Mihel and Riche hit the sand with weapons already drawn.
The desert had erupted into chaos. All around them, other would-be Exousia clashed with Rajhu riders, steel ringing against steel, engines snarling as bikes carved wild arcs through the dunes.
Four Rajhu riders broke off and surged toward Compartment Twelve.
'Ours.'
Riche's twin blades, Mundo and Mitad, spun once in his hands before flashing forward.
He launched himself at the first rider.
The bike screeched as it braked hard, skidding sideways. Sand burst into the air, swallowing Riche's vision.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated.
A spear shot out of the cloud, aimed straight for his chest.
Mihel read the strike before it fully formed.
His blade snapped up, knocking the spear aside and driving its tip deep into the sand.
At the same moment, two more riders closed in from either flank.
Back to back, Mihel and Riche planted their feet.
A sword whistled toward Mihel's head. He ducked under it and kicked forward, his heel crashing into the rider's stomach.
To his right, Riche dropped low and swept his blade across the other rider's calves, drawing a sharp cry.
The Rajhu facing Mihel snarled and scooped up a fistful of sand, hurling it straight into his face.
Mihel shut his eyes and leapt back—
Too slow.
Steel tore across his chest. Pain flared white-hot as he staggered.
Riche wasn't faring any better. One of the riders locked an arm around his neck, brute strength crushing his breath away.
Then—
An arrow hissed through the air and buried itself deep in the rider's armpit.
The Rajhu choked, staggering back.
Riche tore free and drove both blades into the man's stomach as he tried to jump back.
Mihel was still trading blows with the other attacker, strike for strike, muscles screaming. A sharp whistle cut through the noise.
'An arrow?'
He twisted, expecting impact.
Instead, the arrows landed wide, thudding harmlessly into the sand.
'That was Halise. But why was she missing?'
The question barely formed before the rider slipped under his next swing and surged forward.
A fist like stone slammed into Mihel's jaw.
The world flipped.
He flew backward, vision fracturing, tongue numb, thoughts unraveling as his body crashed into the sand.
'Riders. Black. Arrows. Fire. Paper… Riche. Good.'
Fragments drifted through his mind.
Suddenly, the arrows buried in the sand ignited.
Flame blossomed outward, and thick smoke poured from every impact point, rolling low and fast.
It twisted, stretched, and rose, shaping itself into vague humanoid forms.
The figures closed in around the two Rajhu riders, swallowing them in darkness.
They shouted, disoriented. Blind.
Riche didn't hesitate.
He drove his fist into the rider's nose, bone crunching beneath his knuckles, then brought both cleavers down onto the man's shoulders.
The Rajhu twisted as blood soaked into the sand, swinging his blade in a final, desperate arc.
It fell short.
The life drained from him where he stood.
Riche spun and sprinted for the second rider.
Mundo plunged into the man's left abdomen. With a grunt, Riche hooked the rider's legs and slammed him into the ground.
As the man struggled weakly, Riche caught sight of the mark on his shoulder.
An R, flanked by wings.
'Rajhu.'
Once he was sure neither rider could rise again, Riche turned back to Mihel.
Mihel lay motionless.
'No. Please be alright. It was just a punch.' He thought frantically.
Riche knelt, hands shaking as he checked for breathing, for movement, for anything.
Relief barely had time to settle before shouting ripped through the air.
Riche looked up.
Chaos still raged around the Engine. Nearly every compartment was under assault.
'Where am I needed most?'
Then a scream from Compartment Twelve.
His stomach dropped.
One of the riders had broken away.
He had charged straight for the Engine.
Riche turned just in time to see him.
The Rajhu swung a body over his bike like cargo, lifted a horn, and blew.
The deep guttural sound cut through the desert.
At once, the remaining Rajhu disengaged, peeling away from their fights and vanishing into the dunes as if they had never been there.
Riche bolted for the compartment, carrying Mihel on his back.
Inside, Vinelyn lay slumped across a bed, blood streaking down from his forehead.
Midia was nowhere in sight. In the far corner, Halise sat curled in on herself, shaking.
She flinched at the sound of footsteps, then looked up.
"Riche—"
She scrambled to her feet when she recognized him.
"They… they took Midia," she whispered. Her voice broke. Tears spilled freely as she clutched her hair, staring at the floor. "I couldn't do anything."
Riche swallowed, words failing him.
He laid Mihel carefully on the lower bed across from Vinelyn.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should've seen the other rider."
Halise shook her head, but said nothing.
Normally, Mihel would be the one thinking clearly now. The one piecing things together.
'Guess I'll have to try waking him up.'
Riche first washed the cut on Mihel's chest, then cupped water in his hands and splashed it over Mihel's face.
Mihel sputtered, coughed, and slowly forced his eyes open.
The first thing he saw was Vinelyn, blood dried dark against his forehead, unmoving. He slowly looked around.
"W-where…" Mihel swallowed hard. "Where is Midia?"
Riche hesitated. Just long enough.
"The riders took her."
Something in Mihel changed.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, the fog in his eyes burning away. He began pacing the compartment, steps quick, precise.
"We're getting her back."
Halise looked up at him, disbelief giving way to a fragile thread of hope.
"Compartment Twelve is a team now," Mihel continued. "We can't afford waiting for help that may never come. We have to go after her."
Riche met his gaze and nodded.
"We know the approximate direction they retreated," Riche added. "And we've got two sets of rider gear from the ones outside. We disguise ourselves, track them, find their base."
Mihel turned to Halise. "You stay here. Take care of Vinelyn." His voice softened just a little. "Tell him his smoke saved us. Without it, Riche wouldn't have had the opening."
Riche nodded firmly.
"Riche," Mihel said, already moving, "strip the riders outside and bring their clothes. Halise, help me divide the emergency rations. Enough for two people, a few days."
No one argued.
They moved.
The plan settled into place quickly. They would leave after sunset, when the desert's fury dulled and shadows stretched long enough to hide in.
When night finally fell, Mihel and Riche stood outside the compartment, clad in black from head to toe. A small satchel of rations hung at each of their sides.
From the window, Vinelyn watched, head wrapped in cloth but eyes clear now. Halise stood beside him.
"Well then," Riche called, forcing a grin as he raised a hand, "wish us luck."
"May the gods favor you," came the reply.
Mihel didn't look back.
Together, they turned toward the open desert and stepped into the sandy hell of Avra.