The descent was a controlled fall into hell. Grit-laden wind screamed past Roewi’s face, the abrasive dust forcing him to squint even through the protective goggles Myra had procured. The grav-chute whined in protest, fighting the unpredictable, searing thermals that rose from the sun-baked rock below. Myra was a tense presence beside him, her body rigid as she fought her own chute’s controls.
[Impact in 10 seconds. Kinetic dispersion recommended.]
Roewi braced, willing a cushion of distorted energy beneath them. They hit the ground not with a bone-jarring crash, but with a heavy, dissipated thud that still sent shocks up his legs. The silence that followed was immediate and absolute, broken only by the mournful sigh of the wind over the canyon walls. The roar of the Iron Serpent was alr
