Page 7 of Scorched By Fate

Kaiya’s anxious nod and Vega’s sharp grunt of acknowledgment were quick—exactly what I needed. They moved, figures cutting through the flickering light of the caverns. Rachel hunched over Mysha, her hand hovering over the elder’s still form before quickly moving to assess her vitals.

The head healer hadn’t stirred in hours.

I crouched beside a young Drakarn who had collapsed earlier, inspecting the inflamed sores spreading along his throat. My gloved fingers pressed near the edge of one on his neck. The swollen lump gave slightly beneath the pressure, and a thin trail of yellowish fluid leaked out. It was wrong.

It didn’t behave like anything I’d seen before, but it also reminded me of far too many things. This was an alien disease on an alien planet. I wished for a computer, a research book,anythingthat might give me a clue to what we were dealing with.

"We need to keep them hydrated," I said quietly, the words more for myself than anyone else. I turned to Rachel. "This isn’t just lethargy. None of them have shown a real thirst response, even now."

"We’re handling fluids," Rachel replied steadily, but the tightness around her mouth betrayed her apprehension.

In another area of the hall, Orla was trying to rig brighter lighting using salvaged human tech. Her muttered curses reached me even from here. Every single human on Scalvaris, all ten of us, as if that was anything, was involved in trying tokeep the healers alive. I didn’t want this disease spreading to the Drakarn in the city. So far, us humans seemed immune.

Movement from the perimeter caught my attention. Vega pushed back a Drakarn warrior who had ventured too close, her hand planted firmly against his chest. I stood just as her voice rose, clear and firm.

"Stay back," she snapped, her posture rigid. "We don’t know what’s causing this yet or how it spreads. Do you want to risk carrying it through the city?"

The warrior growled something low, his tail flicking in agitation, but he didn’t argue when Vega jabbed a gloved finger toward a nearby guard post. He backed away with a sharp lash of annoyance.

"Good," I called out tersely. "Keep it that way."

Vega glanced at me over her shoulder, and I could see the tension in her. She trusted exactly no one right now, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. But aggression wouldn’t help, either. I walked toward her as I pulled off my gloves to swap them for a fresh pair from the kit at my belt.

"Don't be too hard on them," I muttered as I passed her. "We’ll get better cooperation if you’re not threatening to shank anyone who breathes near us."

She crossed her arms. "Cooperation isn’t going to help if this spreads."

I paused but only for a moment. "Noted."

Kaiya was carrying a tray of cleaned medical tools repurposed from both Drakarn and human supplies. The hybrid assortment made my stomach twist. Most of these were improvised; none of them were right for what we needed there. I examined the tray, my movements brisk, but the frustration gnawed at me.

Too clunky. Too wide. Scalpel edges dulled. Forceps too large for precise work. The designs of their tools weren’t suited forthe nuanced procedures we needed to treat a condition like this. They were weapons repurposed for healing, without the finesse required for something this delicate. My hands hovered over the instruments, imagining the strain of trying to use these on something like infected glands or necrotic tissue. I forced down a sharp exhale.

What we had wasn’t enough, and what we needed … Damn it.

"I'll be back," I told Kaiya before stalking towards the decontamination station and out of the caverns.

The forge wasn’t far. Its heat seeped into the tunnels leading there, wrapping around me with the oppressive weight of the magma that flowed through the heart of Volcaryth. I was practically running, Drakarn dodging out of my way as I took corners too fast and nearly flung myself into a wall in my haste.

We needed better tools to stand a chance against whatever this thing was.

A disease? Poison? Parasite?

When I stepped into the forge’s main chamber, the world tilted. The air was thicker there, throbbing with the energy of molten metal and the clanging of hammer on steel. Forge masters worked in silence, their movements fluid. But it wasn’t them that drew my focus.

It was him.

Vyne stood at the far end of the forge, his back to me. Broad shoulders framed by wings flexed as he adjusted the angle of his anvil.

He worked with a focused intensity, his clawed hands guiding a thin blade under the precise heat of a Drakarn forge light. Shadows flickered across the lines of his emerald scales, giving them a deeper shine that caught coppery hues buried beneath the green. I didn't have time to notice, but my body didn’t care what my brain was trying to do.

His scent hit me like a caress—subtle, warm, and irritatingly familiar even though we barely knew each other. But now, in the thick heat of the forge, it surrounded him like a second skin.

My tongue tingled, and I swallowed hard, pushing the feeling away, even as my body burned from more than the heat of the forge. My fingers ached to reach out for him. Clearly, exhaustion and stress were getting to me.

This wasn’t the time or place.

"Vyne," I called out, keeping my voice steady as I stepped into the sweltering forge chamber.

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