Chapter 1

  The dust never truly settled on Cinerys. It merely moved from one place to another, like a restless phantom seeking somewhere to haunt. Roan had long ago learned to breathe through it, to taste its grit. He knew by its mineral tang where the winds had come from. The dust he tasted now had the bitter edge of the northwest quadrant… A storm is gathering strength.

  He stood atop the hardpan ridge that overlooked Settlement Thirty-Two—it once had a name but that was before the tribal elders had declared names to be luxuries they could no longer afford. Below, the ramshackle structures of Thirty-Two huddled together against the constant wind, half-buried in the earth that swept in from the west. Pathways carved through the dust. The landscape rose and fell with shifting contours. Home, Such as it was.

  Roan adjusted the filter on his mask and squinted against the horizon. Red and fleeting. The elders claimed he had the best eyes in the settlement, though he wasn’t sure if it was really a compliment or simply an excuse to post him on watch duty during his off-cycle hours. Eitherway, it didn’t matter. He preferred the solitude of the ridge to the suspicious glances and comments that followed him through Thirty-Two.

  Dust-touched, Scarfound

  And his personal favorite, Bole’s Folly

  The names had grown up with him over the years, but their meanings remained the same. Outsider. Different. Not truly one of them.

  “Anything?” the voice came from behind him, followed by a familiar crunch of compacted dust under boot.

  Roan didn’t need to turn. He recognized Gabe’s approach. His friend had a distinctive gait--

  Efficient, measured steps that wasted little energy. On Cinerys, every calorie counted, Gabe’s gait was, according to Roan, his defining trait.

  “Nothing yet,” Roan replied, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Somethings coming. The dust feels-”

  Gabe snorted. “The ‘feels’ again, you know how the elders are when you talk like that.”

  “The elders hate when I take an extra sip of water, they hate when I do anything” Roan turned now.

  “Maybe they’re scared you’ll replace em’.” Gabe was serious.

  The corner of Roan’s mouth quirked into a half-smile behind the mask.

  “True, they’ll appreciate the warning once this storm hits.”

  Gabe stepped up beside him, his broad shoulders and solid frame contrasted Roan’s leaner build. They’d grown up together, two boys born the same dust-season, though under vastly different circumstances. Gabe had parents and a lineage that stretched back to Hopewalks founding, but Roan only had Bole.

  “Speaking of appreciation from your elders,” Gabe said, pulling something rectangular from his pocket. “Managed to snag an extra ration bar. Figured you probably hadn’t eaten since dawn shift.”

  Roan grabbed the bar quickly, before Gabe could even react, “You know the dust has had some good things to say about you.”

  “Save the mystical magic dust-reading shit for the elders,” Gabe laughed. “I just know you forget to eat, you are too busy staring at the horizon dreaming of chasing all day”

  Roan broke the bar neatly in half, handing a portion back to Gabe despite his friend’s protests. They ate in silence for a moment, Chewing precisely. Hoping to make the precious calories last as long as possible.

  In the distance, Cinerys’s vast emptiness stretched to the horizon-it was a canvas of amber and rust. From their vantage point they could see the Dead Zone to the north, where even the hardiest dust moss failed to grow and the Shimmer Flats to the east, where electric storms danced endlessly. Finally to the south. Nothing but Scarborns.

  Gabe finally broke the silence,“There’s a council meeting tonight,” he brushed the crumbs from his glove into his shirt and one by one put them into his mouth. “It's about water rations. They’re cutting them again.”

  Roan nodded, unsuprised. “How much do you think this time?”

  “Twenty percent. Were in our last reservoir, and the last three Falls didn’t have any significant water caches.” Gabe kicked the dust beneath his footlong boots. Roan looked down towards the reservoirs

  “Bole’s going to speak against it. Says we can’t cut it any further without risking serious dehydration sickness.”

  The mention of Bole-the closest thing to a mother Roan had know-brought a familiar mix of pride and concern. She was Thirty-Two’s former head Chaser and current medic, Bole’s opinions carried weight, but the association with Roan often undermined her standing with the more traditional elders.

  “She’ll need to be careful,” Roan murmured. “Elder Toman’s been looking for any excuse to—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, body tensing as he caught a flicker of movement on the horizon. It wasn’t the undulating wave of an dust devil or a rippling curtain of a storm front. This was different-a disturbance in the form of a column of light piercing the clouds.

  “Roan? What is it?” Gabe asked, sounding much more curious than worried.

  Roan was already reaching for the signal horn at his belt. “A Fall,” he said, a surge of adrenaline sharpened his senses. “Northwest. And it's a Big One.”

  Gabe swore under his breath with a mix of excitement and apprehension. A fall meant supplies-food, materials, possibly water-but it also meant danger. The larger ones attraced attention from other settlements and, lately, Scarborn raiders who claimed the Falls as tributes to their mysterious leader.

  Before Gabe could respond further, Roan raised the horn to his lips and blew three sharp blasts-the signal that would mobilize every able-bodied Chaser in the settlement. Within moments, the waring was echoed from the other surrounding watch posts, and the tiny figures that populated Thirty-two could be seen in the distance moving with choreographed urgency.

  “How far?” Gabe asked, as he was checking his own gear.

  Roan squinted, again, but this time he calculated the distance against the landmarks he had spent everyday studying.

  “Five hours, maybe four if we move mast, we can be well on our way before another settlement catches word” He paused.

  He watched for the distinctive patterns Falls had as they descended.

  “There’s something different about this one Gabe.”

  “Different how?”

  “The light…its not normal..its not standard.”

  “Did you really just use the word standard?”

  “Reminds me of the stories Boles would tell me before sleep. Special Falls. Ones that only happened once every dozen drift seasons”

  Gabe clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “Save the bedtime stories for the Youngs. A Fall is a Fall-and right now it's the difference between twenty percent water rations and maybe, just maybe, having enough to drink so we even last until the next drift season.”

  Roan nodded but the uneasy feeling lingered. In seventeen seasons of watching the skies, he’d never seen Fall like this. Its decent was too controlled. Its light signature was rhythmic. It wasn’t at all random. Roan knew deep down it wanted to be found.

  “Come on, you’ve blown the horn” Gabe said, already starting down the ridge path that leads back into the settlement. “The Chasers will be assembling, and you know how Bole gets when she catches you trying to join them.”

  Roan took one last look at the distant column of light before following his friend. Whatever it is that was falling for the sky, it would change things. And change was the one thing Settlement Thirty-Two feared more than electrified dust-storms and water shortages combined.

  As they descended the ridge, the wind picked up, carrying with it an electric tang that proceed a storm. But beneath that familiar scent was something else, something Roan had only smelled once before, when Bole had shown him a sealed container kept hidden beneath their sleeping pallet. It was the bittersweet metallic singe of Scarfog.

  A Fall bringing Scarfog. The elders would call it an ill omen. Roan quickened his pace. Whatever this Fall brought, he fully intended to be the first to find it.

  The Chaser assembly hall was chaos by the time Roan and Gabe arrived. Two dozen men and women rushed to prepare, checking masks and goggles, securing almost empty water flasks and collection sacks to the belts strung around their waists and backs. The noise level only increased as team leaders shouted orders and coordinated over the commotion.

  In the center of it all stood Bole, her weathered face calm amidst the flood of activity. At fifty-two, she was older than most active Chasers, but no one questioned her authority or her leadership. Faded red scars traced patterns across her exposed forearms. She wore them as evidence of her encounters and even more so badges of honor.

  Her eyes found Roan immediately, and as they always did, with a mixture of fierce pride and even more ferocious worry that he never fully understood.

  “Three hours northwest,” She said as he approached. “You saw it first?”

  The men and women in the hall began exiting.

  Roan nodded.

  “There’s something different about this one Bole,”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She nodded

  “Its descent pattern, it's too controlled, almost deliberate.”

  Something had flickered across Bole’s entire face-recognition perhaps-but it was gone before he had time to interpret it.

  “Could be a tech Fall,”she said, her voice carefully neutral.

  Another female voice reached out “We could really use the components.”

  “Or water,” Gabe interjected, joining them. “The reservoirs-”

  “I’m aware of our water situation,” Bole cut him off, but not in an unkind way. She turned back to Roan. “You’re with Lead. We leave in five.”

  Roan blinked so fast his entire head recoiled. The lead team was always first to reach a Fall, they were the group that had to assess the dangers. They secured the sites before the collection teams arrived. It was an honor usually reserved for the most experienced Chasers, not outcasts who hadn’t even completed formal training.

  “But Elder Toman said-”

  “I lead the Chasers, not Toman.” Boles' tone left no room for argument. “You saw it first, you know the bearing, the landmarks, plus Toman never shuts up about your eyes, Besides-” She lowered her voice now. “I want you where I can see you.” she winked.

  Before Roan could respond, a even louder commotion in the hall transpired. Drawing everyone's attention towards the entrance. Elder Toman had arrived, flanked by two of his supporters from the council. His thin frame seemed to expand with the authority he carried, and his white-streaked beard jutted forward like an accusation. And in a shrewd yet powerful voice without preamble he yelled

  “A Fall of that magnitude will draw too much attention,” “Our scouts in the northwest reaches say three settlements raided in the last drift cycle alone.”

  “We know the risks,” Bole replied evenly. “We are prepared.”

  Toman’s gaze swept across the assembly, settle coldly on Roan. “I see you’ve included your…Foundling in the expedition.”

  The hall quieted, Chasers pausing in their preparations to watch. The confrontation felt familiar to roan alongside the heat of anger and thrush of shame rising in his chest. But he kept his outward expressions neutral, a skill he has long practiced.

  “Roan spotted the Fall,” Bole Said. “And he’ll be an asset to Lead team.”

  “Oh now he’s an asset?” Tomans voice now mimicd his jutting beard, accusatory. “Like he was an asset during the last fog? When I had to explain to three Chasers families that their own had died because he led them too close to a dying Fall full of Scarfog?”

  The accusation hung in the air, dense and distorted.

  “That’s not what happened,” Gabe stepped forward, fist clenched. “Roan tried to warn them, he said the site was unstable. His warnings were ignored and you sit here and twist-”

  “Enough.” Bole’s voice commanded silence. She faced the Elder directly. “The Chasers are my responsibility, Elder. If you wish to lodge a formal complaint with the council, you may do so upon our return-alongside the supplies that will keep this settlement alive.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Toman might further escalate the confrontation. Even in the case of being publicly scolded by a woman. He was still pragmatic and it seemed as though that was enough to win out over personal grudges. Toman passes a final dismissive glance at Roan, and addressed the assembly.

  “The council authorizes this expedition alongside one condition: if you encounter any Scarborn, you retreat. We cannot afford to lose anymore Chasers in a pointless conflict we aren’t prepared to win.” His eyes found Roan again. “While some of you are more expendable than others, discretion is the better part of valor.”

  He then turned and left, his supporters trailing behind him.

  The hall remained quite for a beat. Bole clapped her hands, breaking the tension. “You heard the elder. We have a Fall to chase, and we already wasted enough time. Lead team, north exit now, Collection teams will follow at twenty minute intervals.”

  As the remaining Chasers finalized their preparations, Bole pulled Roan aside, her voice low, like a whisper “Toman fears what he doesn’t understand, and you-” She stopped herself, glancing around before continuing. “You represent something that doesn’t fit his view of how the world works.”

  “It's because you found me at a Fallsite,” Roan said, it was a familiar explanation that did little in answering the questions that had accumulated over the last seventeen years.

  Boles eyes softened. “There’s more to it than that, and someday-” she shook her head. “Someday, but not today. Today we have a Fall to secure.”

  She squeezed his shoulder, then turned to address with Lead team. Leaving Roan again to wonder why she deliberately withheld details about his own story.

  Gabe appeared at his side, he checked the straps on Roan’s pack with utmost concern. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Roan replied almost automatically

  “Toman’s a dust-bloated old fool,” Gabe continued, adjusting his own mask filter. “Everyone who was actually there knows you tried to warn them about the Scarfog.”

  “Not everyone Gabe,” Roan said quietly. “Sometimes I think there’s something about me that makes people always want to believe the worst.”

  Gabe stopped fussing with his mask filter and looked Roan in the eye. “Okay yeah there’s something about you, all right, but it's not what they all think it is.” He grinned suddenly. “Now come on we’ve got a Fall to chase, and I for one would like to drink something other than filtered piss this month.”

  Despite everything, Roan found himself smiling. He secured his googles, pulled up his dust wrap, and joined lead team as they were assembling at the north exit.

  As they prepared to depart he casted one last glance back at Thirty-Two. The collection of scavenged materials fastened together with nothing but desperate hope, thats what constituted home. Something told him that his return here, much like the fall. Would be different.

  The northwest was treacherous terrain-an egregious region where the constant winds had carved jagged formations in the dust. The lead team moved in practiced formation, testing each step against the ground before committing their weight. They mostly communicated with hand signals. Their faces were covered in dust filters or dust rags. Words would involve speaking and they needed to preserve what moisture and energy they had.

  Roan took up just behind Bole, his eyes constantly switching between scanning the horizon for that telltale glowing of the Fall and the distinctive shimmer that preceded Scarfog. The strange light pattern he had first witnessed upon the ridge was no longer eclectic, it had stablizied into a steady beacon, visible even through the thickening dust of an approaching storm. Bole threw her right arm up with a flat palm vertical to the ground.

  “We are going to have to increase our pace,” She consulted with her more experienced Chasers. “That storm will hit within the hour, and if we lose sight of the Fall…”

  She didn’t need to finish. A Fall lost to a dust storm was Fall forfeit. It would be claimed by another settlement or, even worse, Toman would be right , the Scarborn. Settlement Thirty-Two could not afford such a thing.

  Bole signaled the entire team to quicken their march, adjusting their course slightly to follow the changing formations of dust. They had been nearly half the distance when he felt it-a subtle vibration in the soles of his boots. It was more a premonition than a physical sensation.

  Roan raised his fist, the signal to halt, and the team froze.

  A Chaser by the name of Davie asked, “What is it?“ Bole retreated, moving back to Roans side.

  “Something’s wrong.” Roan said, struggling to articulate what his senses were telling him. “The dust…its acting strangely”

  “We’re in a DUST storm Roan, the Dust is gonna act a tad strange” Davie chorted.

  Bole frowned, she looked around at the seemingly normal dust patterns.

  “Explain”

  “It’s too still.” Roan pointed to where the find particulates should have been floating with the prevailing wind. “Its almost like its….frozen…like its being held in place.”

  Before Bold could respond, the ground beneath them shuddered-a deep, subsonic vibration ricocheted through every bone in Roan’s body. The dust around them began to shift and began to swirl, not with the natural patterns of wind, but as if responding to an external force.

  “Impact!,” one of the Chasers called out. “Coming down fast!”

  Roan shook his head. “No, this is different. This isn’t-”

  His warning was cut short. The ground just a few feet ahead of them erupted. A geyser of dust shot skyward with volcanic force. The team scattered, seeking stable ground as more eruptions followed, the terrain morphed in a chaotic landscape of dust spouts. They were completely surrounded by the sinkholes.

  “Retreat to solid ground!” Bole was shouting, but her voice barely audible over the rumbling.

  But Roan remained frozen, staring at the epicenter. Through the dust he could just make out shapes. Moving shapes-human figures, but they had an unnatural fluidity to their movements, they wore masks unlike anything he’d seen before. Their eyes were malevolent and glowing red. They pierced the dust like a knife.

  “Scarborn….” he breathed, the word carried itself across his mind’s eye like a scary childhood nightmare. Warnings from the settlement had failed to capture the fear Roan felt.

  “We need to move. Now” Bole was already at his side, gripping his arm.

  But it was already too late. The dust eruptions had encircled them, cutting off any path for retreat. The Lead team was fractured and its members disoriented. Even more Scarborn emerged, their movements were coordinated and purposeful. These weren’t typical raiders who sometimes threatened settlements, these were disciplined, well equipped-terrorizers with technology that settlement Thirty-Two could only dream of..

  Bole’s expression hardened. Her hand moving to the scrappy weapon at her belt. It was a rare luxury to have such a thing in a world where most conflicts were fought with scavenged tools and desperations.

  “Stay close,” She ordered “There eastern flank is weak-”

  A new sound cut through the chaos. A high-pitched whine that set Roan’s teeth on edge. The dust between them and the Scarborn parted. And a lone figure stepped forward. Unlike the others, this one wore no mask.

  It was a young woman, perhaps a few years older than Roan. Her face was striking, she had sharp cheekbones and eyes that seemed to glow with the same red tinge he saw in Bole’s. Her black hair was bound in complex braids. She was obviously a person of importance. She moved with such predatory grace that could only be explained by natural talent and extensive training.

  “Chasers from settlement Thirty-Two,” She called out, her voice sounding almost bored, yet it carried easily despite the swirling dust. “You have entered territory claimed by the Scarborn Collective. The Fall you are seeking is now under our jurisdiction”

  Bole stepped forward, placing herself between the mystery woman and Roan. “This area isn’t claimed. Territory around the falls are for any who can reach them”

  The women smiled, the expression never reaching her own eyes. “Ah, yes the old ways. The old ways are changing. And the ones who embrace the fog lead us now to a new future.-a unified-”

  Bole unclasped the weapon from her belt and cast it effortlessly towards the women with braids. It was thrown with incredible precision. It covered the distance in only a blink. The women calmly stepped to the side. And then the weapon was lost to the storm.

  “He said you might be here… if the fall was significant enough. Though I don’t think he expected you to bring your sheltered little baby boy”

  Her gaze shifted to Roan, a flicker of something. Recognition? Who was this stranger? It was someone Roan had never seen before. Curious? Roan now felt the weight of her stare, there was a strange stirring deep inside him. Who was she? He looked into her eyes again. Their was without a doubt a connection to Bole here. How did she know Bole?

  “Enough,” Bole said, her voice steady despite the tension he could feel radiating from her. “We withdraw! The Fall is yours.”

  A murmur of protest rose from the Chasers, but only a murmur, it was quickly silence by Bole’s raised hand.

  “A wise choice,” she said. “Perhaps your next Fall will be more…productive”

  As the Scarborn began to walk slowly backwards towards the fall site, they all in unison each opened a small container and poured the contents into the dust. Her eyes met Roan’s one final tie, he could have sworn she mouthed something meant only for him

  We’ll meet again

  A small container landed abruptly at his feet. Roan bent down to pick it up. Then she was gone. Disappearing into the swirling dust with her companions.

  “We return to Thirty-Two immediately. Bole announced her voice left no room for debate

  “The water reserves-”one of the chasers began.

  “Are not worth dying for,’Bole finished “Not Today.”

  As they began their dejected journey back towards the settlement, Roan fell into step beside Bole.

  “Who was she?” he asked quietly. “Why didn’t they kill us?”

  Bole was silent for so long that Roan thought she might never answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was now barely audible over the dust.

  “When we return, there are things I will tell you” Bole paused “But now let's focus on getting back safe, we’re lucky”

  The wind picked up again, carrying the distant rumble of dry thunder and the faint metallic sweetness of the Scarfog.

  For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he was ready to finally get his questions answered