The first rays of sunlight filtered through the ribcage of their shelter, casting long bars of light across the dirt floor.

  Riven stirred, and then froze.

  His hand shot to the hilt of his sword before he was even fully awake. His fingers locked around the cold black metal of the hilt, knuckles white, every muscle coiled tight and ready to strike at something that wasn't there. His heart was hammering against his ribs, breath coming short and sharp, the ghost of last night's terror still coursing through his veins.

  Slowly, his grip loosened. He let out a long breath.

  Lya was already awake, sitting with her back against one of the massive vertebrae. She looked just as drained as he felt, her shoulders slightly slumped and her gaze distant.

  Oh. She stayed up the entire second half.

  He had woken her in the middle of the night as they'd agreed, splitting the watch between them. But he hadn't expected her to remain vigilant all the way until dawn.

  She must have caught him staring, because she turned her head toward him at the same moment. Their eyes met, but they didn't need to speak. The understanding passed between them in silence.

  Riven pushed himself to his feet, his jaw clenched tight against the sharp flare of pain in his gut. He braced both hands on the hilt of his sword, using the blade like a cane to steady himself as he rose.

  They gathered what little remained of their belongings. Riven's sword. Lya's dagger. The water flask. Two miserable strips of dried meat. Everything else had either been buried beneath the rubble when the creature attacked, or already consumed.

  Alright. Time to get the hell out of here.

  He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the skeletal shelter.

  Not that I'm not thrilled to leave this cozy little paradise, he thought, rolling his eyes. But we've got a long day ahead.

  They had been walking for less than an hour, and already Riven's body was screaming at him to stop.

  He moved with a stiff, uneven gait, one hand pressed against his abdomen where the pain pulsed through his muscles with every step. His breathing came shallow and controlled, each inhale carefully measured to avoid aggravating the injury.

  He had known the march would be difficult, but knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things.

  At this rate, he thought grimly, we'll have covered a single kilometer in four hours.

  Lya walked half a step behind him, silent despite the worry she couldn't quite conceal. Every time he stumbled or his boots slipped against the loose earth, she let out a soft, sharp exhale through her nose. Each time, her hands instinctively rose toward him, fingers hovering just centimeters from his tattered sleeve, ready to steady him. But something unspoken between them held her back, and her hands would simply fall back to her sides.

  "Riven." Her voice was gentle, careful. "We should... we should stop. Just for a moment. I can help."

  Riven stopped. His jaw tightened, and for a moment he simply stared at the horizon ahead, his grip on the hilt of his sword firm enough to whiten his knuckles.

  "The air's a lot drier today, isn't it?" he said, his tone deliberately casual.

  Lya didn't answer. He could feel her eyes on his back, patient but unyielding.

  "Riven."

  Her voice was firmer this time, just enough to cut through his deflection.

  He let out a slow breath through his nose. "Fine," he said, glancing to the side where a corrupted hand rose from the plains a short distance away. "But at least let me sit in the shade."

  He settled against the black stone of the wrist, the cool surface a brief relief against the oppressive heat. Lya knelt beside him and placed both palms flat against his abdomen, her expression focused and calm.

  The familiar warmth bloomed from her hands, seeping into his muscles like water sinking into dry earth. It spread through his chest and radiated outward, easing the tight knots of pain that had clenched around his organs since that night.

  For a few minutes, Riven simply let himself breathe. The constant ache that had followed his every step began to soften, dulling from a sharp blade into something quieter, more distant.

  Then he noticed it.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Beads of sweat were rolling down Lya's temples, tracing slow lines along her jaw. Her breathing had shifted, deeper and more labored than before, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly against his skin.

  Riven's hand shot up and gripped her shoulder, firm enough to break her focus.

  "What are you doing?" he said, his voice sharp. "Stop."

  Lya blinked, looking at him with a slight frown of confusion.

  "Don't push yourself," Riven said, his tone firm but not unkind. "If you exhaust yourself trying to fix me, we'll both be useless out there.

  Lya slowly pulled her hands back, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I was just experimenting, actually." There was a hint of pride in her voice as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "I noticed that if I push more Koras into the healing, it becomes... denser, I think. Stronger. More effective."

  She flexed her fingers, studying them for a moment. "But it drains me a lot faster."

  Riven nodded, processing her words. He understood what she was saying on the surface, the mechanics of it made sense enough. But the way she described it, the sensation of pushing more of herself into something, of feeling it flow and expand, it was something he couldn't truly grasp. He had no frame of reference for it, no experience to anchor the concept to. It was like listening to someone describe a color he had never seen.

  He didn't dwell on it any longer and leaned his head back against the stone, when something felt off.

  "Hey," he said, frowning as he glanced up. "Doesn't this hand look... different?"

  His gaze swept across the horizon, scanning the other silhouettes scattered across the plains. "All of them, actually."

  Lya raised an eyebrow. "They do look like they've changed shape."

  She stood up, stepping back to get a better view of the massive structure looming above them.

  That's strange," she murmured, tilting her head. "Before, the fingers were pointing almost straight up, spread wide open. But now... it looks like they've started to curl inward on themselves."

  Riven pushed himself to his feet, bracing himself on his sword. The pain had dulled since Lya had worked on him, but it was far from gone.

  He turned his gaze toward the corrupted hand, studying the way its fingers had begun to curve inward.

  I don't know if we should be surprised or not. Everything about these things is strange. First the corrosive liquid, and now they move?

  "Alright, we've lingered here long enough," he said, already adjusting his grip on his sword. "We should get moving."

  He glanced back over his shoulder toward the distant silhouette of the skeletal shelter. "Because I can still almost see where we started from."

  His gaze drifted to the nearest corrupted hand as they set off. Something about the way its fingers had curled inward sat uneasy in his mind.

  The red sun beat down on them as it always did, relentless and unforgiving. Their boots crunched steadily against the deep purple earth, the long grass swaying in slow waves around their legs.

  But something was different.

  Riven noticed it first. He slowed his pace, his gaze drifting upward. The blue stretch of sky that had hung above them all this time was slowly being swallowed, eaten away at the edges by thick, ashen clouds that crept across the horizon like a stain spreading through water.

  The wind picked up, sharp and uneven, and the last traces of blue vanished from the sky. The air felt heavy, almost thick against their skin.

  Lya's brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes scanned the darkening sky.

  They quickened their pace instinctively, as if trying to outrun something. Riven's gait was uneven, a broken half-jog, but he pushed forward.

  Around them, the corrupted hands had curled even further inward. Their fingers, once reaching toward the sky, were now folded tight against their palms, almost like closed fists.

  Lya broke the silence, her voice wavering. "I... I have a bad feeling about this. Something is coming."

  They bolted toward the nearest corrupted hand, their boots digging into the purple earth as the sky opened up above them.

  Thick drops began to fall, heavy and dark, splattering against the ground with a viscous, almost oily sound. They weren't like any rain Riven had ever seen.

  A sudden hiss made him glance over his shoulder. Lya had clenched her jaw, her brow pulled tight as she pressed a hand against her shoulder where one of the drops had struck. She didn't cry out, but the way she held herself, stiff and controlled, said enough.

  More drops fell, scattering around them in uneven bursts. One caught Riven on the back of his hand and the pain was immediate, a searing burn that dug into his skin like a hot coal pressed against flesh.

  Shit. it burns!

  More drops struck them as they ran, each one a fresh flare of burning pain across their arms and neck.

  He gritted his teeth and pushed forward. Behind him, Lya's boots kept slipping against the earth, each step less steady than the last.

  They reached its base and scrambled up without hesitation, fingers clawing at the black stone as they hauled themselves toward the curled fingers above. Lya was right behind him, her breath ragged and sharp.

  The gap between the fingers and the palm was barely wide enough to squeeze through. Riven forced himself into the narrow space, his shoulders pressed tight against the stone on both sides, his chest almost flush against the inner curve of the palm. There was hardly room to breathe, let alone move.

  Lya slid in after him, her grip weak against the stone. Riven reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up into the narrow space.

  The burns on his skin scraped against the stone with every slight movement, sending sharp waves of pain radiating through his already battered body.

  One on the shoulder. One on the arm, he counted, his face tight.

  A sharp hiss beside him drew his attention. Lya was pressed against the other side of the narrow space, barely able to catch her breath. Her clothes had taken the brunt of it, but not enough. Patches of angry, raw skin peeked out where the fabric hadn't protected her, scattered across her neck and the side of her face. She had been hit far more than he had.

  The dark substance continued to fall outside, each drop striking the black stone with a viscous, wet sound that echoed through the narrow space. They were trapped, with no way to tell how long it would last, or if it would stop at all.

  Riven leaned his head back against the stone, the burns throbbing where the substance had touched his skin.

  Beside him, Lya's gaze was fixed on the stone above. Her fingers had curled tight around the edge of her sleeve, knuckles white against the fabric.