Chapter 68
The journey had bled the weak.
Five hundred miles through scorched valleys, broken plains, and shifting red dunes. What remained of Kiro's company now marched beneath tattered cloaks, their armor dulled by wind and time.
Kiro stood at the front, cloak torn, his face unreadable beneath the hood.
Behind him, the 600 had dwindled. Only 482 remained.
Some had died in the first week. Others disappeared into the storms. A few turned mad from the whispering wind that blew from the north—where the stars no longer aligned and the bones of old empires jutted from the earth.
Ahead, a silhouette finally broke the dust-choked horizon.
A wall of iron.
Towers built from crashed warships and orbital wreckage.
A city built on the corpse of a battlefield.