An eerie hiss rippled through the air, rising into a shriek that split the silence, the wasteland tore itself apart in response.
Figures tore free from open space itself, wrong shapes born of neglect and brilliance turned feral, limbs twisting where joints were never meant to bend.
Eyes burned too bright. Their movements stuttered, then rushed.
"Spread, no, wait, " Navir's voice cracked. He lifted his hand, then hesitated. Too many angles. Too close.
One lunged. Another skittered low.
"Ardavan!" Navir shouted.
"I see them," Ardavan said, breath quick.
His fingers twitched, searching for patterns that refused to settle. "Their movement, it isn't random."
A shriek sliced the air. Something slammed into the ground where Navir had stood a second earlier.
"Left!" Navir snapped, then his voice caught. Pressure closed in, thoughts slipping over each other. "No, back, wait, "
The wasteland pressed in, feeding on the fracture.
Ardavan grabbed Navir's sleeve. "You're slipping."
"I know," Navir snapped. "I just… "
A hulking form dragged itself forward, torso swollen with bloated flesh. Its head lolled, mouth splitting wider than speech allowed.
Ardavan froze.
"Ardavan!" Navir screamed, reaching out.
The creature surged.
Ardavan turned too late.
The thing leapt, arms wide, shadow swallowing him whole, and Navir's shout tore through the air as it came down on Ardavan.
A figure leapt out of the shifting dark, his shadow wrong somehow, lighter than the rest, gray where the others drank in light.
The monstrous form lunging for Ardavan never reached him. The figure moved first, one sharp step, a precise strike to the creature's flank, turning its momentum against itself. Not struck down. Redirected.
The body twisted mid-air, hurled aside as if the attack had been anticipated long before it began.
The figure slid in close, one broad hand snapping up, fingers catching the creature's wrist at the exact angle that robbed it of leverage. A sharp pivot followed. Bone met ground. The impact rippled outward, but the man was already gone from that space, his shadow peeling away with him.
Another attacker surged.
He didn't rush it.
He stepped in with a sharp clap against its forearm, bone on bone, just enough to jar its balance. The creature hesitated, weight shifting wrong. He slid past that opening and drove an elbow into its center mass, not with force but precision. The impact disrupted its motion, folding it inward as it reeled, stunned by the mistake it hadn't seen coming.
Dust settled around him.
Silver-black hair brushed his brow as he straightened. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes tightened, evaluating. His left eyebrow lifted slightly as his gaze found Navir.
No reassurance.
No command.
Just a steady look, sharp, measuring, like a question posed without words.
Then one hand lifted, palm half-open, tilting toward the field.
An invitation?
A challenge?
The wasteland held its breath, waiting to see if Navir would move.
Ardavan stumbled backward as the dust cleared, but his eyes were distant, fixed on a vision only he could see. The wasteland around them faded, replaced by the narrow corridors of his childhood home, the walls pressing in with the weight of expectation.
He remembered the first brand, inked behind his ear in a rigid geometric sigil, small enough to hide beneath hair, heavy enough to seal his fate. The council had named it destiny, a symbol that mapped his place, his limits, and the future he was never meant to choose.
Every choice, every invention he had dreamed of, had been judged, clipped, or ignored. He could feel the fingers of unseen authority closing around him, guiding, controlling, suffocating.
A voice followed, his father's, firm and restrained, shaped by rules older than him. "Your mind belongs to the lineage. Obedience is your only inheritance," he said, not cruel, just repeating what had been drilled into him long before he could question it.
Ardavan's small hands had trembled over gears and wire, punishment waiting if curiosity exceeded permission.
Silent treatment, harsh words, the burden of social expectation, every misstep cataloged, every thought questioned. He had learned to move carefully, calculating each gesture, each word. His body carried the memory of burns from forbidden experiments, the lingering calluses a testament to defiance tempered by fear.
And beneath all of it lay the moment that never loosened its grip, the day his uncle ended his parents' lives over a strip of land, a betrayal so abrupt and senseless that it taught Ardavan early how easily family could become a threat, and how silence could feel safer than trust. Ardavan escaped that night with his older sister's hand locked around his wrist, running until the world narrowed to survival, and never truly stopped narrowing after that.
Navir's hand on his shoulder jolted him back. Ardavan inhaled sharply, eyes clearing as if a veil had been pulled away. The wasteland's pressure loosened its grip; his posture straightened, focus snapping into place piece by piece.
"Ardavan," Navir said again, urgent.
"I understand now," Ardavan replied softly, steadier than before. He blinked once, grounding himself, fingers curling as if around an invisible schematic. The tremor left his hands. His gaze lifted, alert, present.
The young engineer's jaw clenched. "The wasteland, it isn't just here," he said, eyes flicking to the shifting horizon. "It's in the mind, it builds walls before you even know you're inside."
Navir leaned in, voice low and fast. "Good. Then listen, we can't stay. This place feeds on hesitation."
Ardavan nodded, already shifting his stance, eyes tracking the terrain.
Navir swallowed hard, the weight of understanding settling over him.
A sudden, deafening screech tore through the ground, shaking the dust from their shoulders. "We need to go." Navir urged him forward, dragging Ardavan toward the pale glow on the horizon, sensing the silent figure keeping pace just behind them.