The night had been bitterly dark, which was unusual for the camp. The constant storms that raged overhead, high above the dome, usually lit up the area with glorious flashes. For once, however, things were calm.

  Sunlight crept through the dome, lighting up the area and revealing the purple energy above, which ebbed and flowed. Welsh rose from his slumber, stood up, and wiped away the dirt that had now dried across his back. He took a moment to take in the purple spectacle above. It was a sight he didn’t get to see very often due to the perpetual storming overhead.

  The only audible noise rustling through the area was the sound of the slaves who had begun to wake and obediently rise to their feet. Welsh hadn’t asked them to, and Soralees was nowhere in sight. No, they did it due to a lifetime of conditioning.

  As he watched the slaves come to their senses, the memory of the injured slave and his curious companion came to mind. The previous day had been long and arduous. He was convinced that Soralees’s target would now be so sore he might be unable to move at all.

  He turned his attention to the back of the line where the injured slave had spent the night, and to his surprise, the man was not only on his feet but showed little to no sign of injury whatsoever. He stood facing forward in line with his hatchet held loosely in his right hand, just like the other slaves.

  He had seen some slaves heal quickly before, but never within one night. Just one day prior, this man could barely walk, and a gentle stream of blood had trickled from his ears. And now? Now he stood stoically.

  No grimacing, no groaning, no limp.

  Welsh was confused and amazed, but above all else, he was amused. Soralees, whenever he returned from wherever he had crept off to, would be beyond mad—he would be furious. There were creatures in the world who could get away with killing and eating perfectly fit slaves, but he wasn’t one of them.

  Looks like he would have to settle for a rat.

  “Poor Soralees,” Welsh thought with a chuckle.

  Lonnek had also risen from his slumber and waddled over to Welsh’s side.

  “Look,” Welsh said, nodding toward the slave, “Did you notice him yesterday?”

  Through sleepy eyes, Lonnek squinted toward the slave. “Yes… I did. He was being groomed by Soralees.”

  Welsh nodded. “And he was in pretty rough shape, right?”

  “Yeah… he was… how is that…” Lonnek began.

  “Possible? No idea,” Welsh muttered, still glaring at the slave, who had now noticed he was being watched and was focusing intently on avoiding their gaze.

  Lonnek jerked suddenly, placing both hands across his stomach. “Someone is coming.”

  Welsh looked in all directions, fearing a Korvis attack. “How many?”

  Lonnek closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his abdomen. “It’s only one. It must be Soralees.”

  Welsh exhaled in relief. “Damn you, Lonnek.”

  “Sorry, Welsh! Sometimes it takes a minute to figure it out.”

  It wasn’t long before Soralees made his way back to the group. Welsh had no idea where he had been, and he felt no need to ask.

  Soralees looked at the line from front to back and nodded. “Ready to begin?” he whispered. He had no idea that his morning was about to be ruined.

  “Yes,” Welsh said, pointing in the direction they would continue. “The Ruined Fields aren’t far. We will need to be fast. The Korvis have been seen on those grounds. Once across the fields, we will only need to enter the edge of the Orchard to harvest the deadrot.”

  Soralees waved his hand dismissively toward Welsh. “I don’t need the lecture. I know where we are going,” he said, “besides… I have more… entertaining business to attend to.”

  Step by step, he sauntered his way to the back of the line. Lonnek and Welsh could feel his eagerness. He stopped by the formerly injured slave and, for the first time, made his intentions clear.

  “How’s… that leg of yours?” he said, looking up and into the eyes of the man. Welsh wasn’t sure if the slave was a mute—many were—but if he wasn’t, he chose to remain silent and kept his gaze forward.

  Soralees then cocked his head sideways and leaned down. He inched his face forward, getting mere inches away from the slave’s leg. It was then that he noticed what had happened. The slave was no longer injured.

  He jerked his face back and stared in bewilderment. “What’s happening here?” he screamed. The sudden pop of his insanely loud voice forced the entire line to cover their ears. “How is this possible?”

  The other slaves were too preoccupied with their own hearing to care about what he was talking about. A savage, primal rage spread across Soralees’s face, and his razor-sharp claws popped loose from the tips of his hands. A few drops of saliva had gathered at the corners of his mouth and dropped toward the ground. He had no intention of changing his dinner reservations.

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  The slave stood frozen in front of him, still staring forward. He was slightly shaking, and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

  For a moment, Welsh considered intervening, but he knew that interrupting Soralees would cause a host of problems, potentially even jeopardizing the mission.

  He waited for the attack that was sure to come. He knew that, at any moment, Soralees would be atop his target, ripping and tearing.

  But it didn’t come. Soralees looked in Welsh’s direction and, assuming Welsh would tell the overseer that he had eaten a healthy slave, came to his senses and retracted his claws.

  He let out one last squeal of frustration, which caused the line to jump, before walking away.

  Welsh laughed silently to himself before motioning to the slaves to get moving. His interest soon changed, however, as he noticed the previously curious slave walking with a slight, very familiar limp. Welsh wasn’t sure how the curious slave and his previously injured companion were connected, but clearly, something had happened during the night.

  Welsh just wasn’t sure what that was.

  Together, he and Lonnek led the group onward, stepping through the last row of small deadrot trees and into the Ruined Fields.

  Even without the Korvis threat, the Ruined Fields were a danger in and of themselves. The constant storms that raged overhead were, for whatever reason, much worse in this area. The Seekers, reptilian intellectuals who worked for the Overseers, had so far been unable to determine why the lightning was able to penetrate the shields in this section.

  This barrage of lightning was what gave the fields their name. Unlike the vast majority of Camp Keldarn, the fields were stripped of all deadrot, including young or small trees. The ground was not covered in deep black soil like the surrounding area. Instead, the fields consisted of several miles of hardened earth, blotted with the scars of lightning strikes.

  For the most part, the fields were avoided as much as possible; even the strongest among the Rotundra would not be able to survive a direct hit from the unforgiving storms. Unfortunately, the fields offered the only path toward the Orchard, and crossing them was necessary.

  Welsh took his first step past a single, small deadrot and found himself standing on hardened dirt.

  He had taken his first steps onto the Ruined Fields.

  Luckily for the group, the storms that were normally raging overhead were relatively tame. On typical days, deep red lightning bolts would streak across the sky, and ground-shaking thunder would reverberate across the area, but Welsh was happy to see that only faint flashes of heat lightning currently occupied the airspace.

  Lonnek looked enthusiastically up at the sky. “The fields are tame today,” he said.

  “We are in luck,” Welsh responded. “We won’t need to run, but we will need to make haste. Who knows when the storms will regain their strength?”

  Lonnek nodded. “I’ll stay vigilant.”

  “Please. The Korvis may be more active in this calm weather.”

  As the duo spoke about their situation, the slaves waited behind them. Soralees, however, was not as patient. He came walking from the back, intentionally bumping into a few slaves along the way and knocking them off balance.

  “Let’s move!” he said in the loudest “whisper” he could muster. “What’s the holdup?”

  “Relax,” Welsh said. “We are just preparing ourselves for the crossing.”

  A growl made its way from the bottom of Soralees’s gut. “There’s nothing to prepare for. Get moving,” he said, turning and walking back to the end of the line. He seemed to like lingering in the back; it was clear he hoped one of the slaves would overexert themselves.

  Welsh rolled his eyes. “You ready?”

  Lonnek grudgingly nodded, and together, they began walking across the fields.

  The first few steps across were always tense. The fields themselves weren’t actually that large, but the absolute lack of any recognizable structure or vegetation made them incredibly desolate. In some ways, walking across the fields felt like walking on the surface of another planet.

  Looking across, a faint haze in the distance signaled the beginning of the Orchard, but it was a very long trek. It would take them a couple of hours if they walked with haste. Everyone in the party, aside from Soralees—who seemingly cared for nothing aside from finding his next meal—hoped the storms would hold off until they had managed to cross.

  “Any movement?” Welsh asked, looking down at Lonnek.

  He shook his head. “Don’t you think I would have told you?”

  Welsh just glowered downward at his friend.

  Lonnek noticed his stare boring through him and threw his arms out to the side. “What? Obviously, if I feel something, I’m going to…”

  He stopped mid-sentence, halting his walking in its tracks. Welsh only took a few more steps before stopping as well.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Welsh asked.

  Lonnek pointed into the distance. Something, or someone, was visible a few hundred feet from where they stood. “What… is that?

  It took only a moment for Welsh to spot it as well. He turned and held up his palm as a way of telling the slaves to stay put. Without saying a word to Soralees, he and Lonnek walked in the direction of the figure.

  As they got closer, the truth began to come to light. What had previously been a hazy figure was now clearly a Rotundran of some sort, lying out in the open.

  “It’s a Rotundran…” Lonnek muttered. “Why is he out here?”

  Welsh remained quiet, unsure of the answer.

  When they finally made it to him, it was clear the reptilian had been dead for some time. His green flesh was pale, and his eyes were glazed over. Welsh leaned down, looking at him closer. He didn’t recognize him.

  This Rotundran was likely not originally from Camp Keldarn. He was rather large—over seven feet tall—with long, slender, webbed hands and feet. His head was thin, and he had an elongated snout. Most interesting, though, was the manner in which he died.

  “These morons come from other camps, and they underestimate the lightning,” a voice whispered behind them. They turned to see Soralees standing with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dead Rotundran.

  Welsh began examining the body once more. It wasn’t common for lightning to kill reptilians on the fields, but it had been known to happen. The earth would always be blackened by the strike, and the victim was always left with evidence. The soles of their feet were often the most obvious sign, having often been melted from the current leaving the target’s body. Their fingers and the tips of their tails, if they had them, would also be scorched. This creature had none of these signs.

  “I don’t think so…” Welsh said, pointing to the Rotundran’s torso. “I’ve never seen wounds like this before.”

  Soralees and Lonnek both stepped closer to get a better look. The Rotundran had gashes, almost as if he had been slashed by a blade, seared and burnt across his body. Additionally, his throat had been cut, which had likely been the fatal blow.

  “Korvis?” Lonnek asked.

  “No. They would have taken the body,” Welsh replied.

  He then noticed something interesting: a black piece of stitched cloth clutched in the hand of the Rotundran. Welsh leaned down and picked it up. It was stretchy, but the material itself was incredibly durable. He didn’t want to rip it, but actually questioned whether or not he could.

  Something was off. “We need to get to the Orchard and get this over with,” Welsh said, aggressively turning and walking toward the waiting slaves.

  They left the fallen Rotundran lying in the fields.

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