"Impossible. The branches are useless. Could the root system be the radiation shield?" Rex's anxiety spiked. He sprinted back, dagger already digging, praying for a solution.

  His eyebrows and hair yellowed. His skin would blister next. Turquoise Ring was paradise compared to this. The blade struck roots—same texture as the branches. Won't work. Need to uproot the entire plant. Find the anomaly.

  He excavated for hours. Then he froze, disbelieving. He lifted green fragments from the soil. Not rock. Eggshell. Animal eggshell.

  His only chance. Rex clutched the fragments. Relief flooded through him. His vision cleared. It works.

  He scrambled up the cliff face, found another shrub, dug again. He returned filthy, victorious—but the new fragment was tiny.

  Rex studied the surrounding ecology. Insight struck. Healthier growth means larger fragments?

  He located three clustered shrubs and excavated systematically. Better yield this time. He held half an intact green eggshell, turning it in his hands. Hard as ceramic. Faint mineral scent. Whatever hatched from this possessed formidable strength.

  Rex inhaled the scorching air. Easier now. Water loss had slowed significantly.

  The discovery should have elated him. Instead, dread coiled in his gut. Life born in radiation environments evolved extreme traits. Aggressive traits. These weren't Turquoise Ring's sand rats or scorpions. An encounter meant near-certain death.

  He shook off the thought. Secured the eggshells. Moved on.

  Thirty kilometers. No one. The survivors were capable—digging eggshells had cost him time.

  He oriented himself, leaped from the rock face—

  "Boss! Boss, help!"

  Rex turned. Peacock-Face sprawled on the ground, ruined. Most of his hair gone. His facial tattoos ulcerated. Leg apparently broken. Terror and desperate hope warred in his eyes.

  "You're injured. Attacked?"

  "Yeah. Bad luck follows the unlucky. Remember that red-haired brat from Pure Water? Ambushed me while I drank. Stole my waterskin. Dehydration kills fast here—whoever's strongest survives. Half an hour I've waited. No one stopped. Please. Take me with you."

  Rex handed him a green fragment. "This helps. If your leg were intact, perhaps. But carrying you is dangerous. If our positions were reversed?"

  Peacock-Face took the fragment mechanically. His chest heaved—rage, fear, despair mixing into hysteria. "Why us? Why not you? I won't accept this! I won't!"

  Rex looked away. He'd witnessed death enough to harden, but not enough to become stone. True indifference remained beyond him.

  Peacock-Face dragged himself upright, weeping. "You're right. I wouldn't carry dead weight either. Death waits ahead at every step. Pirates breed demons—demons will destroy them. I curse them. Curse Red Storm to hell. Survive. Avenge me."

  "Sorry, Peacock-Face. I can't do more." Rex set down a waterskin. He owed this boy nothing. Yet no one had ever called him boss. The word carried strange weight.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Wait." Peacock-Face's voice steadied. "Something entrusted to you. Our oasis's ancestral talisman. Ancient secret within. May it bring fortune."

  He threw abeautiful pendant—peacock with wings spread, crafted from unknown metal. Rex had never seen a living peacock. Only holograms from the local AI. An ornamental bird from humanity's homeworld. Precious.

  "Thanks. I'm likely the last you'll see. Final words?"

  Peacock-Face nodded. "Don't know your name. But you're strong. Finding this radiation shield wasn't luck. Giving it away shows you have more. Take the waterskin. You need hydration more than I."

  "Rex. From Shipwreck Village. Keep the water. Unlike our fathers, we left Turquoise Ring. They'd be proud, Peacock-Face."

  "Haha. Yes!" The dying boy laughed. "So many desperate to escape. I succeeded. The road is long. Every second precious. Thanks for staying. Even my clan abandoned me. You've done enough. Go."

  Rex exhaled, suppressing the urge to stay. Too weak. Powerless against this arithmetic.

  Two hundred meters later, the explosion shook the ground. Rex sprinted back.

  Blood painted the stone. The waterskin lay distant, intact.

  He stood motionless. The peacock talisman bit into his palm. The detonation echoed in his skull. He couldn't process it.

  The boy from Peacock Oasis had rejected charity at life's end. Or perhaps he'd calculated—more resources for the survivor. He'd triggered his anklet's explosive. A brutal exit.

  Pirates. What are you building? One in ten survival? One in hundred would be miraculous. Someday. Someday I'll answer for Peacock-Face's suffering. For every Turquoise Ring child.

  Red Storm. You've shown me the universe's law—predator and prey. Then let me grow strong. Strong enough to end you.

  Fire ignited in Rex's eyes. Five years of relentless self-improvement had forged iron will. Adversity only sharpened his edge.

  The air around him seemed to warp. Instruments measuring neural intensity would have registered catastrophic transformation. Physiological metrics climbed in parallel.

  Human evolution produced anomalies. Gene-tweaking amplified them. Rex had crossed a threshold.

  Whoosh.

  He seized the waterskin. His legs pistoned. Dust plumed behind him. He vanished around the bend in heartbeats.

  Who witnessed anything beneath that sun?

  Three days westward passed quietly. On the fourth, a behemoth erupted from the river. It slaughtered a group of traveling youths in moments.

  Complacency had set in during the calm. They learned too late. The tuition was death.

  Rex wasn't alone in discovering the radiation countermeasure. Youths from major oases had received formal education. The tree connection was obvious. But even with eggshells, bodily degradation continued. Water—used to cleanse the skin—helped significantly.

  Brutal. The native hunts from underwater. Fifty gone.

  He'd seen clearly. Flat as a small house. Back armored with terrible spines. Hooked beak. Eyes like searchlights.

  Avoid the riverbank. Reduce risk.

  He ran, bypassing the ambush site, driving forward.

  Time. Running out. Ten segments on the mental map. Covered three and half. Behind schedule.

  He calculated coldly: Speed solves lateness. But radiation damage accumulates. Worse—map sectors blur in memory. Critical vulnerability. Wrong turn means backtracking. Catastrophic difficulty.

  The rift valley's complexity swallowed them. Wide enough that dispersal rendered encounters rare.

  He crossed a depression. Dense buzzing filled his ears. Rex's gut tightened. Anomalies meant problems.

  A swarm of bizarre long-snouted insects approached. Behind them—massive spotted predator.

  Run.

  Maximum velocity. Humans fear the unknown. Rex was human.

  Two legs lost to wings. The insects surrounded him, furry wings vibrating. Human flesh didn't interest them. But the predator remained.

  ROAR.

  The beast opened its maw. Rex's sprint halted violently. He flew backward.

  Mother of—mouth? More like industrial vacuum.

  He grabbed rock, dangling, swinging. The insects vanished into the gullet. None escaped.

  The suction lasted seconds. His reaction speed saved him—white-knuckled grip on stone. Otherwise, insect company in that stomach.

  The predator seemed dissatisfied with its snack. Neck vents expelled debris. The maw prepared to open again.

  Rex inhaled, launched himself toward the river. Please. Let that aquatic nightmare still patrol. Territorial. Two monsters fighting means one chance.