Page 6 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)

CHAPTER SIX

WATAI

Watai was awestruck by the Kutsiu’s sheer size as it descended, slicing through the puffy clouds and gliding low along the coast. He couldn’t look away from its unnerving, fluid movements. It didn’t flap a single wing or shift its body.

Sunlight caught on its dark skin, making it glisten like the polished mountain stones of home. Its proportions defied reason—torso to wing ratio impossibly wrong for flight. That it could even leave the ground—let alone soar—was absurd. Yet here he was, trailing the sky predator, stunned.

No matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find eyes or a mouth on what he assumed was its head. Only a single large orb dominated the front. One eye? What sky hunter survived with so glaring a weakness?

Nothing about the Kutsiu made sense.

“Drxya wants to know our plan of action,” Iskzo pathed, tilting toward the wing assistant on his right. “He’s wondering if we should call reinforcements.”

“There’s no need.” Watai swept a glance over his wing, meeting each rider’s eyes before locking onto the male at the far end and giving a firm nod. “Tell them to stay high and behind it. Size is its disadvantage. It moves as if nothing hunts it.”

Fists pressed to chests—message received. Watai nodded back, then turned his attention once more to the Kutsiu below.

His brows knit as the predator veered away from life-filled jungles, forests, and plains.

Instead, it skimmed over the Shimmering Sands—the great desert that was too cold for dense vegetation, too warm for snow—heading for the Frozen End, the northernmost point of the land where life could not flourish.

“Any idea why it’s flying this way?” he asked, hoping Iskzo had insight he lacked.

“Maybe it hunts in the rainy season and hibernates nearby, safe from attacks.”

But the hesitant edge in Iskzo’s mental voice betrayed uncertainty. If it did hibernate, the only refuge would be a massive cave among the ridges dividing Shimmering Sands and Frozen End.

The afternoon sun burned against Watai’s back while coastal winds whipped his long hair across his face.

He cursed himself for not spending the time to braid his hair for this long journey.

He’d been too eager—grabbing only essentials, briefing his wing, and doubling back toward Protectors Peak to chase the large sky predator.

Now close enough to observe safely, they eased their pace, studying their quarry—allowing them to gather their thoughts and formulate their strategy.

Hunter, not hunted.

The more Watai watched, the harder it became to tear his gaze away. Something stirred deep inside him—an uneasy awakening he couldn’t name.

Was it nerves? Iskzo’s worry? Or Z’myu trying to give him a sign?

“Could this be our cordmount?” The thought felt wrong the instant it formed. No records spoke of such a creature—not even in song. How could his threadmate bond to this unknown? “Do you feel it too?”

“I feel no connection to the Kutsiu,” Iskzo replied with certainty. “But I sense something coming from you.”

Relief slid through Watai. The Kutsiu wasn’t part of their cord. He would decipher his feelings later—right now, his wing’s safety was his responsibility.

The sky hunter shifted course, descending toward the base of the ridge.

Watai made a fist and signaled his wing to hold—hovering above the wistful clouds, out of sight.

How had the beast landed without moving its wings? Sand billowed around it in a smoky swirl as a deep growl rolled across the desert.

“Think it’s spotted us?”

“It hasn’t indicated as much,” Iskzo answered, his mental tone steady. “Even if it has, it couldn’t take off quickly enough to catch us. As a wing, we could easily overcome it from above.”

“Tell them: if the Kutsiu reacts aggressively, we retreat to the weavetree and regroup.”

“They’ve been informed.”

Watai exhaled, watching the sand settle into concentric rings around the now silent Kutsiu.

Then the dark creature’s mouth yawned open.

His breath snagged as a smaller figure stepped out—a creature unlike any he’d seen. Clad in black and dark blue, it walked unhurriedly from between the Kutsiu’s jaws, then turned.

No horns. No tail.

His gut clenched, instinct recoiling at the absence as if a vital law had been broken. Raising an arm wrapped in white cloth, the figure signaled; the Kutsiu’s mouth closed.

Who exactly was this rider—and why was it traveling inside its threadmount’s mouth?

“The sky hunter is large enough to carry me inside,” Iskzo observed . “Why choose its mouth when its back is free?”

“Only Z’myu would know…” Watai cast a quick glance at his wing—the same confusion mirrored in their eyes.

The newcomer stooped, picked up a stone, and hurled it at the Kutsiu.

The rock struck an invisible barrier and bounced harmlessly to the sand.

Shock flared—first at the insult to a threadmount, then at the revelation of the hidden shield—before rage struck, swift and hot. The sky hunter’s size, its strange movements, none of that mattered anymore.

Only stopping the rider, only ending the blasphemy of abusing a threadmount.

Watai cut sideways through the air, arm jerking down to signal his wing.

“Land and encircle the rider,” he commanded, leaning into Iskzo’s neck, fingers tightening on the straps. “We end this madness before it grows.”