Page 81 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

That night, after the others sleep, I retreat to the ledge outside the fuel station. The wind is fierce. The sandstorms from beyond silhouette against the horizon—red and black convulsing like living nightmares. I hear the generator’s hum and distant snoring, but mostly silence.

She joins me beside me, cloak wrapped tight. We stare at that wild sky—two broken people under indifferent stars.

“How far do we go?” I ask quietly.

She glances at me, wind teasing her hair across her face. “As far as it takes.”

I nod, swallow. “You’ll return with me?”

Her eyes flick. She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t confirm. She just says, “I’ll survive this.”

I want more. I want her voice to sayand with you. But I don’t push.

We sit there together, the stormlight dancing behind us, the weight of the unknown heavy on our backs.

In that silence, I feel what the nameKeldraws in my chest—a tension I don’t understand, but I know it’s real.

And in the hush before the world wakes, I wonder how much more will break before this night ends.

CHAPTER 23

JAELA

The Glass Teeth crest the horizon long before we arrive—towering obsidian spires jagged against a bruised sky, black glass walls rising like blades. They catch moonlight in diseased glints, fractured reflections in every shard. The air tastes like metal and ozone and something dead.

Kyldak’s convoy halts at the base. Screech of treads, hiss of hydraulics, the creak of armor plates shifting. His men spread out, flashlights and scanners piercing the darkness.

I follow close behind, heart hammering so loud it rims my ears. This is it. The ruins. The tech. The possibility.

He doesn’t say much. Watches me. His war-eye flicks past me, down the obsidian walls, through the deep shadows. Already he’s king of this blasted terrain, but tonight we’re both supplicants.

We set up excavation scaffolding, rig winches and tensile cables, and erect scanning masts. The ghost clocks on my scanner flicker. Radiation hum. Residual energy. Tech echo.

I lead a scan sweep down a cracked corridor under the Teeth—tunnel drifting under glass wall, base of the cliffs. My boots crunch over broken ceramic, rusted conduit, shards of ancientwiring. The walls hum with static. My skin pricks, like tiny needles.

I wave the scanner over a recessed nook. The display shudders. Heat signature. Below. Behind. Under. And overlaid on it—a harmonic pulse, like a nanosecond heartbeat.

My breath dies. I kneel.

“Kyldak,” I whisper into my comm. “It’s here. The generator’s real.”

He’s steps behind. He crouches beside me. His hand hovers near mine. The glow of my scanner falls on his face—softened by shock.

He exhales, voice low: “You were right.”

I don’t smile. I steady the scanner. “And you still don’t know why I came.”

His lips tighten. He grips my shoulder. “We’ll get there.”

I chew my bottom lip. “I’m not so sure.”

We push deeper. Granite fractures, old wiring up ahead. Doors half-buried. Panels flickering. A vault hidden behind a collapsed archway. The harmonic pulse stronger now, like the hum of a waiting engine.

Kyldak signals his men to back—they stay at the threshold. He and I step forward, scanning. My breath hitches at the scent—the stale tang of ionized metal, old circuitry, dead energy.

He stares. I study him. The ruin opens before us like a wounded skull.

“Stay close,” I whisper.