Dusk stopped moving.
The sand responded immediately.
The slow circling beneath the carcass tightened, the ripples compressing into a narrower path. Whatever moved below had felt him shift. Not seen. Felt. The vibration of bone grinding under his boots, the faint scrape of weight redistribution.
He froze again.
The pain didn't stop. It never did. It just waited for attention.
His left arm was gone. Torn free at the shoulder, ripped out with enough force to leave the joint open and ruined. Blood streamed down his side in uneven pulses, soaking into the carcass beneath him. The sand drank it in greedily.
Dusk pressed his right hand against the wound. The pressure bought him seconds. Not relief.
His breathing stayed shallow. Controlled. Any deeper and his chest would rise too sharply. Any sharper and the vibration would carry.
The sandworm moved again.
A wide arc beneath the surface, heavy and patient. It didn't rush. It didn't strike. It listened.
Dusk's jaw tightened.
Something shifted against his ribs.
Not physically.
Inside.
A sudden pressure bloomed behind his eyes, invasive and precise, like something pressing directly against the inside of his skull. His vision smeared for a heartbeat, his jaw locking on instinct, and an echo resonated through his mind that did not belong to him.
You are losing blood faster than you realize.
Dusk didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He focused on the sensation instead. The pressure wasn't pain. It was intrusion. Deliberate. Targeted.
His eyes flicked downward.
The skull was tucked inside his torn clothing, pressed against his side, hidden beneath fabric darkened with blood. It hadn't moved.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "You can do that."
The sandworm slowed beneath him.
The tightening circle paused, recalibrating to the change in vibration.
The pressure in Dusk's head returned, firmer this time.
Yes, the skull replied.
Dusk let out a thin breath through his nose. Almost a laugh. No sound.
"You could have used that," he said. "And you still chose noise."
The skull did not answer immediately.
Dusk continued, eyes never leaving it. "Good thing you figured it out now. You were about a second away from being thrown down there."
The sand shifted closer. The carcass creaked faintly as the worm passed beneath it again.
That would not have improved your chances, the skull said.
"Maybe not," Dusk replied. "But it would've been satisfying."
His right hand twitched near his waist. The canine tooth was there. Hollowed. Rough. He knew exactly how much force it took to make sound sharp enough to carry.
The sandworm's path tightened again, responding to the faint movement.
Dusk went still.
You have minutes, the skull said. Less if you continue to lose pressure.
Dusk swallowed. His throat was dry. His vision had begun to narrow, the edges darkening in slow pulses that matched his heartbeat.
"Talk faster," he muttered. "Quietly."
The skull obliged.
The creature beneath you carries a dense core.
That was it.
No explanation. No guidance.
Dusk's eyes flicked briefly to the sand. Then back to the skull.
"And?"
If you destroy it and reach the core, the skull said, your body may stabilize .
"May," Dusk repeated.
Or you die here, the skull replied.
The sandworm surged closer.
The carcass beneath Dusk shuddered as the worm brushed directly beneath it, its bulk passing so close that the bones vibrated under his boots.
Dusk felt it in his teeth.
He adjusted his stance by a fraction.
The sand erupted.
Not fully. Not yet. Just a violent ripple, a warning strike that burst upward before sinking back down. The worm had confirmed his position.
Dusk froze again, heart hammering.
He looked down at his wound. At the blood loss he could feel now, the creeping cold spreading from his chest outward. His fingers tingled. His legs felt heavy.
Running would kill him.
Waiting would kill him.
He looked at the skull.
"You're leaving something out."
The skull didn't deny it.
Time, it said.
That was enough.
Dusk closed his eyes for a single second. Long enough to steady himself. Not long enough to sway.
When he opened them, his gaze hardened.
He shifted his weight deliberately this time.
The sand exploded.
The carcass lurched as the sandworm surged upward, its massive body tearing through the surface in a violent spiral. The sound was deafening, a grinding roar of sand and flesh and bone.
Dusk moved.
Not back.
Not down.
He drove his weight into the carcass beneath him, stomping hard, snapping brittle ribs and collapsing bone with a sharp, echoing crack. The vibration ripped through the sand like a signal flare. The worm answered instantly. The sand surged toward the noise, the carcass shuddering violently as the creature lunged for the source.
Dusk didn't wait. He twisted, lunged, and hurled himself toward another carcass, landing hard as bones groaned beneath his boots. The sound behind him grew louder, closer—too close.
The sand shifted beneath both carcasses, vibrations tearing in opposite directions for a heartbeat before correcting.
Dusk felt the pull under his feet immediately. Not confusion. Decision. The wrong kind of movement, the kind that meant the worm had recalibrated faster than he'd planned.
His vision tunneled. His knees threatened to fold.
One misstep. One breath too deep.
And the sand would choose.
=======================
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