According to the meteorological station on the Hrbov Heights, this year’s storm season will arrive early. Damage to property, disrupted food supplies, and an increased risk of wild animal attacks have already been reported from the south.


Reng, Central Raj Region


Only two, maybe three days remained until their destination when Reng first caught sight of a flash of light on the eastern horizon. At first, he wasn’t sure if his eyes were deceiving him, but the distant rumble assured him that this was no illusion. This year’s storm season had arrived sooner than usual.


Grid tightened the reins beside him, his expression growing even darker.


“We pick up the pace!” he ordered.


The wranglers immediately urged their kernals forward, and the herd of hornbeasts gradually picked up speed. Reng silently watched the sky shift before his eyes. Just the evening before, it had been clear and calm, but the night had brought streaks of black clouds. And by morning? The sky was dark as lead, ready to unleash its fury upon the land.


It wasn’t long before the wind picked up. Powerful gusts struck the hornbeasts, spooking them and breaking their otherwise tight formation. Their steady ride was over—the road ahead had turned into a grueling struggle for every step forward.


By noon, the rain had come. At first, refreshing droplets washed the dust from Reng’s face and Sirnak’s scales. He welcomed them with naïve relief, but it didn’t last. The relentless wind drove the rain against his face, and the water seeped into every crease of his clothing. His hat, meant to shield him from both sun and rain, became an encumbrance. The heavy drumming soaked everything he wore, cold water trickling down his back into his boots.


But the worst part was the mud. Solid ground slowly turned into a sticky trap. At first, only puddles formed around them, but as the earth drank up the water, it transformed into an amorphous, slippery mess. The kernals and hornbeasts began sinking under their own weight. Sirnak, his slender legs already exhausted from the struggle, started stumbling, losing strength with each step. Reng knew this was only going to get worse.


The first hornbeast got stuck. Its massive body sank up to the shoulders in the muddy trap. Reng felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the bellowing, panicked animal.


All the wranglers leaped from their saddles, grabbed their lassos, and with great effort, looped them under the beast’s body. Then the battle began. The harnessed kernals pulled with all their might while the herders pushed from the other side, trying to free the creature from the mud that refused to let go. Reng’s boots slipped on the churned-up ground, and his hands trembled from the strain.


When they finally managed to get the animal onto firmer ground, Reng collapsed to his knees, exhausted. Soaked to the bone and chilled to the core, he shivered like an aspen leaf. Borin handed him a flask with a bit of anak, but his hands were so numb that he nearly dropped it. One thought pulsed in his mind: Do I have what it takes?


He took a sip of the alcohol, feeling its warmth spread through his body, bringing a fresh wave of resolve.


Not giving up now, he thought, handing the anak back to Borin.


With the last of his strength, he pushed himself up, braced against Sirnak, and scrambled back into the saddle. He felt every muscle, every breath—but he knew stopping meant losing.


To the east, where the horizon flickered with intermittent lightning, something new appeared. A faint glimmer in the darkness, distant yet hopeful. Oko Lahab. It was close. It was within reach. They just had to drag themselves there.


“We keep moving!” Grid’s command was clear. The wranglers, frozen and battered by the storm, did not protest. They all knew stopping would mean disaster. The panicked herd would trample anything in its path. Moving forward gave them rhythm, gave them hope that they could hold together.



The night was dark. Rain drummed against Reng’s hat, spilling over its brim straight into his boots. Sirnak trudged beneath him, his movements slow, and it was clear he, too, was running on empty. Reng hunched in the saddle, letting the kernal carry his exhausted existence forward. His eyelids drooped, and before he realized it, half the night was gone.


The storm didn’t let up—if anything, it grew worse. The wind ripped the hornbeasts off course, and the wranglers shouted over one another, struggling to keep them together.


Then came the strike.


A searing line of fire split the darkness, shooting straight into the heart of the herd. Instinctively, Reng yanked his reins tight to stop his startled Sirnak and ducked as a blinding flash lit up the night. The earth thundered, and the massive bodies of several hornbeasts collapsed with eerie silence. The acrid stench of burnt fur mixed with the rain, forming a suffocating wave of death that filled his lungs.


In the flash of light, he saw an empty space where Handsome had been just moments ago.


“No!” he shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the roar of thunder. He couldn't tell if the herder had sunk into the mud or had been struck down by the lethal lightning.


The hornbeasts, now driven purely by terror and pain, turned back. A mass of bodies surged forward—straight for Reng and Sirnak.


Reng lashed his whip, cracking it several times in the air, hoping to slow the herd or steer it in another direction. But the storm drowned out his efforts. The sharp snap of the whip was lost in the howling wind and relentless drumming of the rain.


The ground beneath Reng trembled as the first hornbeasts rushed past. He could feel their massive bodies so close that all it would take was reaching out a hand.


Then it happened.


One of the hornbeasts tossed its head. Its horn, sharp and hard as a blade, struck Sirnak’s exposed flank. The kernal screamed and lunged forward in pain, as if he could somehow outrun it.


Reng barely clung to the saddle, knowing this could only end one way—badly.


The beast beneath him, driven by pain and fear, broke into a frenzied sprint. Reng desperately tried to rein in Sirnak, but the kernal didn’t respond to his commands. They were heading straight for disaster.


The slender front legs sank deep into the mud, which suddenly gave way beneath them. The animal lost its balance and pitched forward. Reng felt his own momentum rip him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard on his side, sliding through the slick sludge until a deep puddle finally stopped him.


Pain.


That was the first thing that forced its way into his dazed mind. His left shoulder burned as if someone had driven a red-hot spike into it. He lifted his head from the thick mud and tried to inhale, but water mixed with filth filled his mouth and nose. With effort, he rolled onto his side, coughing out the murky liquid—until he heard a faint, ragged wheeze in the rain.


“No!” he cried, his eyes finally locking onto Sirnak’s motionless body, half-buried in the mud.


Reng pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the protests of his injured shoulder, and ran to his fallen kernal.


Up close, the sight was even worse than he had feared. A long, gaping wound stretched across Sirnak’s belly, torn open by the horn of a panicked hornbeast. His left front leg was broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. The kernal lay still, his chest barely rising and falling. When Reng pressed a hand to his head, the beak gave a faint, weak tremor.


“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here,” he murmured desperately. He grabbed the reins and pulled, trying to urge the animal to move. “Come on, get up! Don’t give up! Get up!”


“Reng!”


Borin emerged from the darkness. The wrangler was soaked, breathless. He stood there for a moment, silently watching Reng’s futile struggle to help Sirnak. Finally, he placed a hand on Reng’s shoulder, stopping his hopeless efforts.


“Let it go. It’s over.”


Reng shook his head. “No, not like this. We can help him!”


His voice cracked, the resolve that had held his tears at bay crumbling. Now they mixed with the rain, streaming down his mud-streaked face.


“Look at him,” Borin said quietly. “That animal’s done. Trust me.”


The foreman arrived moments later. He dismounted and slowly walked toward Reng. In his hand, he held a pistol, offering it to him.


“Do you want to do it yourself, or should I do it for you?”


There was no pressure in his voice—only a friendly offer.


Reng lowered his head, staring at the offered weapon for a long moment. Finally, he took it, his hands trembling.


“I’ll do it.”


Grid nodded and stepped back. Borin lingered a moment longer until Reng asked, “Please, go.”


Without a word, Borin obeyed and rode away.


Reng sat beside the dying Sirnak. He stroked his head, his fingertips gliding over the leathery beak.


“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”


He raised the weapon, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.


The gunshot cut through the rain. Sirnak’s body jerked one final time, then fell still.


Only the rain remained, along with the distant crack of whips.


For a moment longer, he knelt beside the creature that had been his companion. Then, at last, he understood—there was nothing left to do but move on.


Exhausted, he pushed himself to his feet. He struggled to unbuckle the soaked saddlebags, slinging them over his good shoulder.


In the distance, lightning still flickered, but the rain was beginning to ease.


He turned his gaze eastward.


Oko Lahab.


It was closer than it had seemed.


He knew they would come looking for him here, but now, he had no intention of waiting.


He stepped forward, setting out on the next stretch of his journey.


He was soaked, wounded—but alive.


And for now, that was all that mattered.