The desert night swallowed us whole.
We walked south from Dubai along the empty coastal highway, four burned silhouettes against the glow of a city that would never sleep again. No one spoke for the first ten kilometers. The wind carried the smell of scorched metal and ozone from the Burj Khalifa, still visible behind us like a frozen torch against the stars.
My skin was raw, blistered in patches where Sol’s heat had kissed too deep. Oni limped, one horn cracked from the fall. Rei’s golden scars had dulled to bruised bronze, flickering only when he clenched his fists. Djinn kept glancing back, eyes haunted, as if expecting the sky itself to ignite again.
Kholod walked apart from the rest, barefoot on burning asphalt that should have seared flesh. Frost trailed from his steps, leaving a
