Chapter 19 - Sand

Chapter 19 - Sand

05:02

The first light of dawn slid over the jagged crown of Mount Sinai, painting its ridgelines in fire. Below, Saint Catherine’s Monastery clung to the stone at its base, its ancient walls still holding the last shadows of night.

Sam’s breath misted in the cold as she poked at the camp stove. The water refused to boil. Her boots dangled over the drop, casual, like the cliff couldn’t touch her. She shifted the binoculars, lean frame balanced easily on the edge. Speed, not bulk – that was her way. When she lowered the lenses, her eyes caught the sunrise: green one moment, amber the next, always restless, always searching.

Seven years in the Accord and still she whined like the rookie Jonesy swore she’d never outgrow. Twenty-four years old, plenty of missions under her belt, and she still dragged his name out across the rocks like a kid calling for attention. “Jonsesyyyy… Jonesyy–” she whined, voice carrying into the morning stillness. “Tell me you brought the jerky.”

Jonesy’s shadow stretched across the rocks before he did. The big man moved with the kind of quiet you didn’t expect from someone built like a fortress – six-three, broad-shouldered, muscle stacked on muscle. Most people assumed steroids. Sam knew better. He dropped a bag of jerky onto her lap without a word and leaned over the camp stove, swiping her tin mug before she could protest. He gave it a lazy stir with a packet of instant coffee, steam curling between them, then set it back down in front of her. “There’s no way all Ascendant-Ones are big babies like you.”

She stuck out her tongue in protest, playful. “Guess that makes you my babysitter, then.”

“You’re gonna get a stomach ache,” he said, the Welsh lilt in his voice flattening the warning into something almost warm.

Sam ignored the advice, already tearing open the jerky. “I don’t have a weak gut like you, big guy.” She smirked Sam bit into the jerky, chewing slow as her eyes caught on Jonesy stretching – arms high, back rolling, the kind of stretch that lasted just a bit too long. Regulars had to stay in peak form in a world full of Capables; falling behind wasn’t an option. Before the moment lingered, she lifted the binoculars again, pressing them to her eyes like the monastery might’ve moved in the last ten seconds.

He let out the kind of low morning groan that only came from years of hard work catching up to muscle and bone. “My stomach isn’t weak,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “That salsa you brought put everyone in a sweat. Nobody can eat spicy like you.”

When he finished, he dug a small communicator from his pack and keyed it on. “Zero-five-thirty. Mission report,” he said, voice even. “We are at target location. Movement observed in the monastery at twenty-three hundred hours last night. Activity ceased after three minutes. No investigation conducted.”

“Mmmm, I could’ve taken all of those guys out ya’know?” Sam inquired after Jonesy packed up the communicator.

“We’re only here to observe, Sam.”

“Lame… Still, though… It feels pointless being here if we’re not gonna grab the relic.”

“We are though. Technically.” Jonesy replied as he grabbed her tin mug. Sipping on hot coffee. “Look on the bright side. If you can ignore the fact that we’re in a black-zone, this view is incredible.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Sam lowered the binos, tilting her head at Jonesy. A coy smile. “Thanks.”

“Hold on… do you see that?” In the distance, towards the northeast. A dark cloud closing in. Unnatural. An Elementalist on the move.

“Uhhh, whatever you’re looking at, Jonesy – never mind. Look at the monastery.”

A heartbeat later, the ruins erupted. Sand blasted skyward in a blinding plume, chased by fire that rolled out in a wave. Pillars of ice and stone tore through the air, slamming into ancient walls with bone-snapping force. Figures stumbled into view, screaming as they burned, collapsing to ash before they could make it ten steps. Through the haze, Division 9 operatives emerged. Some limping, some steady, all of them painted in blood.

Jonesy chimed in. “Division 9’s getting torn apart.”

Inside, the fight still raged. Another wall crumbled, and a plume of dust rolled across the ruins. Through it, shadows peeled away from the chaos, sprinting toward the carved caves at the mountain’s base. “These vampires are smart… Isn’t this a hotbed for dragons?”

“Close enough.” Jonesy replied.

“I’m getting goosebumps. I was starting to think this job would be all jerky and waiting.”

—

Storm clouds gathered over Mount Sinai, drawn to the mountain as if answering him. The armored vehicle rocked over the uneven ground, engine growling beneath the weight of plating and glyph-etched wards. Inside, the air was stale with oil, incense, and ozone.

Volt-3 sat in the dim cabin, helm set aside on the bench beside him. Gauntlets braced against his knees, scarred fingers tapping with a restless crackle of static.

The black-glass screen flickered, his handler’s face sharp in the glow. Division 9 insignia gleamed behind the woman, a reminder of the uniformed order Volt-3 despised. “You’ve never failed a mission,” the handler said evenly. “This isn’t failure. The subject slipped out of pattern. The mission has evolved.”

Volt-3 leaned forward, the light catching on skin pulled tight with old burns. His bald scalp shone faintly, and those unnatural violet eyes burned hotter in the reflection of the feed. A scar twisted as his lips curled. “Slipped?” His voice was raw, like static dragged through gravel. “I had him. In my hand.” Sparks crawled across the runes etched into his armor, violet threads bleeding into the dark. “You bury me under Division 9’s incompetence, make me clean their messes – then tell me I didn’t fail?”

The handler didn’t flinch. Her voice softened, almost coaxing. “You forced him to reveal himself. That puts us ahead.”

Volt-3 leaned closer to the feed, his violet eyes burning brighter in the screen’s glow. “Ahead? While Division 9 bleeds in Sinai? While the Cabal digs deeper?”

“Calm yourself,” the handler said softly. “This is no end. Kane is marked now. He will surface again. And when he does – you’ll finish it.”

Volt-3 sat back slowly, sparks tracing down the scars on his cheek. The handler’s words sickened him, but they were right about one thing. This wasn’t over. Volt-3’s gaze drifted past the screen toward the armored slit window, where the mountain’s ridgeline caught fire in the rising sun. For a moment, the anger in him settled into something colder. Reverent, even. “Mount Sinai,” he murmured, the static in his voice softening. “Where men once believed the heavens touched the earth. Where law was carved into stone.” His scarred lips pulled into the faintest smile. “Fitting, then… that blood is written into it now.”

The screen went dark, leaving only the engine’s growl and the violet glow of his eyes in the cabin. Volt-3 shifted, lowering himself from the bench until both knees touched the plated floor. Sparks crawled across the runes carved into his gauntlets as he pressed them together, helm resting at his side. The scarred man bowed his head, static breaking through his breath like a prayer half-remembered.

“Law carved in stone. Blood carved in flesh.” His violet eyes flared as he opened them, staring at nothing. “Voltage is kingship. I am its heir. Its sovereign. Its sword.”

The engine drummed on like a heartbeat beneath him, carrying the prayer into the mountain.