The Iron Howl rumbled across the shifting sands like an ancient beast on the hunt.
Ryker stood at the helm, eyes narrowed against the desert winds. The engine roared beneath him—a chorus of grinding gears and pulsing energy. The landship’s massive wheels churned up the dunes as it surged forward, its silhouette stretching across the dying light of the day.
Kess leaned against the back railing, scanning the horizon with her customary smirk.
“How long till we hit the Red Dune’s Edge?” she asked.
Ryker paused, considering the map scrawled on the parchment in front of him, then glanced at the horizon. The Red Dune was an unforgiving desert, a sea of cracked earth and lifeless sand, home to raiders and wild beasts alike. Beyond it lay The Scarlet Verge, a lawless region known for its dangerous inhabitants and even more dangerous ruins.
“Couple more hours. Then we’ll start seeing the edge of it,” Ryker said. He adjusted the throttle. “Keep an eye out for any Dominion patrols. Once we hit the Ghost Flats, the Dust Hounds won’t be far behind.”
Kess’s grin faded for a moment, replaced with a cold determination. The Dust Hounds were the Dominion’s elite bounty hunters, equipped with the fastest sand-skimmers and known for their ruthlessness. Getting caught by them would be a death sentence—or worse.
“Don’t worry,” Kess said, her voice sharp as the edge of a blade. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
---
Night fell, and the Iron Howl trudged onward, its lights flickering against the vast darkness of the desert. Kaen Rook, the Chain Dog, stood watch atop the main mast, his black-clad figure outlined by the dim glow. Below, Ryker and Kess sat by a low-burning campfire, exchanging stories about their pasts, trying to piece together the ragged pieces of their lives.
“I’ve never seen a crew like yours,” Kess said, her eyes flickering toward the map in Ryker’s hands. “Most people are out here for riches. Or power. But you? You’re after something else.”
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Ryker didn’t answer immediately. The fire crackled, and the night wind howled over the dunes.
“I’m after freedom,” he said finally. “The Golden Grant isn’t just about wealth. It’s about changing the world. The Dominion’s had its hands in this land for centuries. They’ve kept us all in chains.”
“And you think you’re going to bring that down?” Kess asked with a raised eyebrow. “A kid with a sand-boat and a dream?”
Ryker met her gaze, his eyes hard as stone. “I don’t need to do it alone.”
---
Hours later, as the Iron Howl crested a towering dune, the horizon changed.
The Red Dune’s Edge was a jagged line of black rock that stretched out into the night, like a great scar on the earth. Beyond it, the Scarlet Verge lay—shrouded in mystery, lawless and untamed.
As they descended into the edge of the dunes, a pulse of warning shot through Ryker’s chest. He felt it—something was wrong.
“Eyes up!” Ryker barked. “We’ve got company!”
Before Kess could react, a sandstorm erupted around them, blinding and deafening in its fury. The wind carried with it a cacophony of sounds—shouting voices, the clinking of chains, the snarl of beasts. The storm was no natural phenomenon.
“We’re being hunted!” Kaen shouted from above.
Ryker gritted his teeth. The Dust Hounds had found them.
---
Through the storm, a shadow moved. A figure in a long cloak, its outline barely visible against the swirling dust. The figure moved quickly, too quickly—like something out of a nightmare. Ryker’s hand instinctively reached for his blade, but Kaen beat him to it.
The Chain Dog dropped to the ground with the speed of a predator, his chains snapping forward like whips, catching the figure in a flash. The cloaked figure staggered, then collapsed, revealing itself to be a man—young, but with the look of someone who’d spent too long in the desert’s unforgiving grasp. His face was bruised, his clothes torn. He had the marks of a captive.
“A Dust Hound,” Kess muttered.
“No,” Ryker said. “This one’s a slave. Not one of them.”
The man groaned, trying to rise, but collapsed under the weight of his chains. He looked up at them, his eyes wild with fear.
“Help me…” he whispered.
---
The storm raged on, but Ryker and his crew didn’t have time to waste.
Kaen approached the man cautiously, the chains on his own arms rattling as he kneeled down.
“You’re safe now. Who did this to you?”
The man’s eyes flickered with recognition, then fear.
“The Scourge Riders,” he gasped. “They’re coming for you. They won’t stop until you’re all dead.”
“Who are the Scourge Riders?” Kess asked, frowning. “A new name for the Dust Hounds?”
The man shook his head violently, trying to sit up but failing. His voice was panicked.
“No! They’re worse… they’re worse! They hunt you for sport. For blood!”
Ryker’s gaze darkened.
“Where can we find them?”
---
The storm died as quickly as it had arrived, leaving them in an eerie, still silence. The desert was vast and empty again, but Ryker knew they weren’t alone. The Scourge Riders were closing in.
---
By morning, the Iron Howl was on the move again, pushed forward by a new sense of urgency. The mystery of the Scourge Riders hung over them, and the man they’d saved—still weak, still clutching at his chains—had told them enough. They had to get to The Scarlet Verge—but first, they had to survive the dangers of the Red Dune’s Edge.
And as Ryker stared out into the distance, he could feel it. The beginning of something larger, something that would change the land forever.
