I turn my gaze from the cave entrance to study him more carefully.

Something is not right.

The male’s skin has changed. Before, it was a pale color, almost like the belly of a sand-skimmer. Now there is an unnatural flush spreading across his face. The skin there is hot, the warmth reaching me even from where I crouch at the cave entrance. This is not right. No Drakav would allow their temperature to rise so dangerously unless they were prepared for skin-shedding. And this creature is in no condition to shed anything.

I remain at my post. The shadowmaws are still too close. But my eyes continually stray back to the small being.

He makes a sound—not like his earlier vocalizations, but something raw and pained. The sound brings me to my feet before I can consider whether this is wise. I move silently across the cave, every sense alert for danger, both from without and from the male himself.

Lowering my head, I sniff the air around him. Sweet. A strange sweetness that assaulted my senses as I carried him here. But there is a new scent now. Something sharper. More acrid.

Then I see it.

The moisture.

I lower myself, moving on all fours, slow and careful. My hands and feet find purchase on either side of the male as I hover over him, studying. The color change is alarming, but there’s something else wrong with his skin. There brim tiny droplets of…water?

I lean in closer, nostrils flaring. Yes. Salty like the east sands, but water nonetheless. It’s seeping from his skin, collecting in small beads on his brow and trailing down his neck.

Water. Precious water. Leaking out as if his skin is filled with holes.

The sight is so strange I am transfixed by horror.

Either this male is dying or he is from a place far away, where water flows freely enough to waste from one’s skin.

I growl low in my throat, disturbed by this offense against everything I know to be right. Water is life. Water is sacred. Water is never, ever wasted.

But as I stare at the male, something tells me this is not intentional. The rapid breathing, the flushed skin, the heat radiating from him⁠—

He makes another sound, this one weaker than before, and something tugs at me. Something unfamiliar. A need to…help? Why would I help this creature? Why would I risk myself for a male that does not belong to our lands?

And yet…

I reach out, my hand hovering just above his face. Heat rises from his skin like the air above the dunes when Ain is at her highest. The warmth does not bother me, but then I recall how this male stumbled through the sands, obviously burdened by Ain’s rage.

Before I can think twice, I touch his brow.

The rush of information is immediate, more intense than before. Temperature—far too high, even for a dust-dweller. Texture—so much softer than Drakav skin, with none of the protective layers we possess. Chemical composition—water, yes, salt…but also unfamiliar elements that sing across my senses in strange patterns.

And something else. Something that makes me want to press my palm flat against his skin, to maintain this connection that hums with an energy I have never felt before.

I jerk back, a wave of…something…going through me. What is this? Why does the touch of this male affect me? I have touched many injured Drakav before—my brothers, my tribe mates—and felt nothing like this strange pull.

The male twitches in his sleep, a small whimper escaping his lips. The sound burrows into me, touching some part I did not know existed.

I flex my fingers before lowering myself again, this time pressing my palm flat against his brow. My skin glows brighter without my conscious command, responding to…what? Threat? Danger? No. Something else entirely.

The flood of sensation is stronger this time. The heat beneath my hand is alarming—hotter than the sands at Ain’s highest point, hotter than the stone after a full day beneath Ain’s brutal gaze.

Even our sacred sun does not burn with such intensity.

This creature—this male—is burning from within. The heat is unnatural—a wildfire burning beneath fragile skin. My kind does not suffer such betrayals of the body. We endure. We survive. We do not burn from within.

Fire, when uncontrolled, devours itself.

The male shivers, tremors rattling through his frame, and a sound leaves his lips—soft, needy. Not like any sound I have heard any Drakav make before. My chest tightens. It is the sound of a creature on the brink, the final plea before the void swallows it whole.

My claws extend. Fists clench. I should leave this male to his fate. The weak perish, the strong endure. That is law.

And yet.

I swallow, scowling at the clawing feeling inside me, the way my own body rebels against reason.

This male… He is not completely weak. He survived the dust long before I found him. If I leave him, it will not be because he lacks the will to live—but because I denied him the chance.

A growl rumbles in my chest. Unacceptable.

Water. He needs water to kill the fire. I have none to give. I had already consumed every drop I needed before leaving the tribe.

But…

There is one place. Deep within the cavern network, beyond the tunnels I call safe, there lies an underground spring. But the cave does not belong to us alone.

My jaw tenses. I do not hesitate often. I do not doubt. But this⁠—

The male gasps, a fragile, broken sound. I do not allow myself another moment of thought.

I rise. And I run.

It takes me a short time to get there. A few moments out in the open sands before the caverns swallow me whole once more, darkness pressing against my senses as I navigate by memory and scent. The air thickens, damp with the promise of water, but so too does the scent of something else. Something old. Something that does not belong to us.

I bare my fangs. I have no time for a fight. Moving swiftly, silent like the dark winds, I trace the scent of the underground spring. When the first glimmer of water comes into view, I don’t pause. I search the cave floor, finding what I need—a broad, thick leaf from the rare plants that grow only near the sacred waters. Their waxy surface holds water better than any hide.

I fold the leaf with care, creating a natural vessel. The leaves themselves are sacred—they grow nowhere else in the deep sands, surviving only on the pure waters and the dim light that filters through cracks in the cavern ceiling. This is to save a life. Ain will not punish me for this.

As I fill the makeshift vessel, I sense movement in the darkness behind me. The scent shifts. A presence.

I do not look. I do not falter.

I drink one swift mouthful—taking only what I need to return to my tribe safely—and secure the rest in the folded leaf. Then I am running once more, water sloshing inside the leaf. I steady my hand, not daring to lose a single drop to the dust.

I do not think I was gone for long. But when I return, the male is not where I left him.

I still, nostrils flaring. At first, I believe myself tricked. That the male feigned illness so he could slip away. But then my senses pick up one thing.

There is a scent, and it is everywhere. Saliva swells underneath my tongue as if I have just scented the most delicious meal.

Then I see it.

The male. He has moved to the far corner of the cave, thrashing weakly against the stone. But this is not what freezes my blood.

The coverings—those strange hides—they’ve been torn away, lying in scattered heaps on the cave floor. And the body revealed beneath them…

My breath turns to dust in my lungs. The leaf vessel nearly slips from my claws as my body locks in place. The male writhes on the ground, limbs twisting against the cool stone, seeking relief from the fire within. But all I can see are the curves. The softness. The undeniable shape of something that is not male.