Chapter 2 : Raiyn Vex

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  The sun hung heavy at its zenith, a pitiless furnace scorching the Contient Kharazoth Wastes. Dunes rolled endlessly, their crests shimmering in the heat, broken only by jagged rocks clawing at the sky. A restless wind howled, flinging sand in stinging spirals, the air thick with the desert’s unyielding wrath. Four riders, shrouded in dark, tattered cloaks, urged their camels onward, hooves sinking into the shifting earth. Their breaths rasped, their mounts grunting under the strain. In the distance, veiled by haze, rose the ruins of Velotharx—once a pinnacle of progress, now a shattered husk of toppled spires and forgotten glory.

  Raiyn Vex, barely eighteen, rode at the rear, his dark eyes peering from beneath a hood, sweat slicking his brow. His father, Darian Vex, led the group, his scarred face set like stone beneath a scarf. Flanking them were Jorr, broad and weathered, and Finn, lean and vigilant, their cloaks snapping in the gusts. They rode in silence, their purpose unspoken, Velotharx a name heavy with secrets Raiyn did not yet grasp.

  “It’s too hot,” Raiyn grumbled, tugging at his cloak. “How much longer?”

  “A few hours,” Darian replied, his voice firm. “Bear it.”

  Jorr chuckled, his deep voice warm despite the heat. “Tiring, lad? The desert’s no place for soft hearts.”

  “I’d rather strip naked than roast in this,” Raiyn shot back, his tone half-joking, half-pleading.

  Laughter broke the stillness—Finn’s sharp bark, Jorr’s rolling guffaw, even a faint twitch of Darian’s lips. The moment faded, and the wind’s wail reclaimed the silence, their camels plodding toward the ruins.

  Finn stiffened, his hand raised. “Wait.”

  Darian reined his camel, eyes narrowing. “What?”

  Finn’s gaze swept the dunes, his voice low. “They’re coming.”

  Jorr’s face drained of color, sweat beading on his brow as fear gripped him. His breath hitched, a shudder running through him. Raiyn, bewildered, scanned the horizon, seeing nothing but sand and sky. Yet the dread in Finn’s words quickened his pulse.

  “There,” Finn whispered, pointing to a cluster of weathered rocks, their shadows forming a shallow canyon. “We hide. Now.”

  “Move!” Darian snapped, spurring his camel. Panic seized them, their mounts lurching toward the rocks. Raiyn’s heart pounded, questions burning in his throat, but he followed, the urgency undeniable. Something hunted them, and it was no mere scavenger.

  A low hum pierced the wind, growing louder. Two sleek, silver vans, floating on unseen currents, crested a dune. Six figures in pale armor disembarked, their movements precise, their rifles—pulsing with green runes—gleaming with menace. Their visors hid their eyes, their faces cold as the machines they wielded, hunters in pursuit of blood.

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  The group scrambled into the canyon, forcing their camels to kneel and tying them tightly to silence their grunts. Raiyn crouched beside Darian, his breath shallow, dust coating his tongue. Darian gripped a black rifle, its green runes glowing faintly, his knuckles white. Jorr and Finn mirrored him, their weapons drawn, eyes darting to the canyon’s rim. Raiyn’s hands trembled, clutching a dagger useless against such foes, his chest tight with fear.

  Footsteps crunched above, slow and deliberate. A hunter spoke, his voice sharp. “Thermal scans detected movement. They’re here.”

  “Search every inch,” their leader ordered, his tone like a blade.

  Raiyn’s breath caught, sweat tracing his cheek. The hunters’ devices hummed, their scanners casting pale beams across the rocks. One approached their hiding place, his boots grinding sand into stone. A soft *beep* rang out, and Raiyn’s heart lurched. The hunter paused, his scanner fixed on the camels, their heat signatures betraying the group.

  “They’re here,” he called, his comrades converging.

  Darian’s eyes met Finn’s, a silent command passing between them. Jorr pressed Raiyn deeper into the shadows, his hand firm. The hunter stepped closer, peering into the canyon. His visor glinted, catching the sun’s fire.

  *Swish.* A laser bolt tore through his throat, blood sizzling on the sand. Darian lowered his rifle, its barrel smoking. The hunters shouted, diving for cover as Finn and Darian fired, green bolts lancing through the air. Two hunters fell, their armor pierced, but the others retreated behind rocks, returning fire with lethal precision.

  Raiyn’s ears rang, his breath ragged as he huddled against the stone. Jorr shielded him, his rifle clutched tightly, his face torn between terror and resolve. Finn darted toward another boulder, aiming to flank the enemy. A sharp crack split the air—a sniper’s shot from above, swift and merciless. The bolt struck Finn’s skull, and he crumpled, lifeless, his rifle clattering to the sand.

  “Finn!” Darian’s voice cracked, grief and rage twisting his face. He fumbled for a grenade, its casing glinting as he hurled it toward the advancing hunters. *Boom.* The explosion shook the canyon, sand and shrapnel spraying. One hunter staggered, wounded, retreating behind a dune, but the others pressed forward, undeterred.

  Two hunters closed in, their rifles trained on Darian. “Drop your weapon!” one bellowed, his voice amplified through his helm. Darian gripped his rifle, sweat streaming down, his breath heaving. Death’s shadow loomed, cold and certain. “Drop it!” they roared again.

  Darian knelt slowly, his rifle lowering. Raiyn’s heart thundered, dread choking him. Then Jorr surged forward, his rifle blazing. A bolt struck one hunter in the back, felling him. Darian spun, firing point-blank at the other, the man’s chest erupting in sparks and blood.

  The sniper remained, perched high, his scope glinting. The wounded hunter, limping toward the van, clutched his side, blood staining his armor. The sniper, seeing his comrades fall, abandoned his post, retreating with the wounded man toward the van, their steps hurried but cautious. Raiyn, unnoticed by Darian and Jorr, seized Finn’s fallen rifle. His hands shook, but a reckless fire burned in his eyes. He crept through the rocks, their cover shielding him, his breath hitching with each step.

  The sniper and the wounded hunter reached the van, the sniper hauling himself toward the controls. Raiyn emerged, the rifle heavy in his hands. He aimed, his finger trembling, and fired. A green bolt tore through the sniper’s back, and he collapsed with a thud, dead before he hit the sand. The wounded hunter froze, his comrade’s body at his feet. Fury twisted his face as he snatched the sniper’s rifle, aiming at Raiyn, who stood exposed.

  “Raiyn, run!” Darian shouted, sprinting toward him, Jorr at his heels.

  The hunter’s rifle hummed, its runes flaring as he took aim. Raiyn’s legs locked, his eyes wide with defiance and fear. Then, a soft clink—a grenade rolled across the sand, stopping beside the hunter. *Boom.* The explosion ripped through him, his body torn to fragments, the van’s hull scorched and smoking.

  A deeper hum swelled, not from the van but from beyond the dunes. A massive, armored truck, floating on unseen currents, crested the horizon, its hull bristling with weapons. Twelve figures, cloaked like Raiyn’s group but radiating disciplined menace, disembarked, their rifles raised. From the truck’s rear stepped a man, broad and commanding, his presence a storm in the desert’s stillness. In his late thirties, he bore the scars of war—faint lines near his eyes, a trimmed beard framing a chiseled jaw. His dark green shirt clung to a muscular frame, his black spectacles glinting as he surveyed the carnage.

  Raiyn stood defiant, Finn’s rifle still in his hands, his youthful frame dwarfed by the man’s six-foot stature. Darian and Jorr reached him, their weapons lowered but their eyes wary. The stranger approached, his boots crunching sand, his gaze locked on Raiyn’s. No words passed, only the weight of their stares—one a boy on the cusp of manhood, the other a veteran forged in blood.

  The wind howled, carrying the scent of scorched metal a

  nd death. Velotharx’s ruins loomed closer, their secrets waiting.