A shadow streaked across the battlefield. A heartbeat later, the sandworm's gaping maw snapped shut—on empty air. Ash had already vanished, his arms locked around the survivor as he tore through the valley like a phantom. Wind howled in his wake, grains of sand whipping against his face as he pushed his body beyond its limits.
The wasteland stretched ahead. The cracked earth, littered with those he had saved, barely registered in his mind. He barely slowed as he dropped the survivor among them, their body crumpling, gasping for breath. No time to check if they were uninjured.
No time at all.
His gaze flicked across the wasteland. People ran, stumbling over shifting dunes, their silhouettes barely visible in the dust-choked air. Others stood frozen, their eyes hollow, their limbs locked in terror.
A lone figure stood among them.
Mark.
