He stepped outside, the wind brushing his silver hair with the softness of goodbye. Ahead, past the ridges and outposts, beyond even Kirigaar's cold gates, lay the border—uncharted land. A new country. A new chance.
"Scarragon was my proving ground," Grahilo said under his breath. "But what waits beyond is mine to conquer."
He wrapped the dagger in worn cloth, tucked it behind his back, and started walking. The sun rose behind him like a witness. His footsteps didn't falter.
Grahilo had barely walked a dozen miles beyond the last ridge when he spotted it: a shape crawling across the horizon like a glitch in reality.
Correction—shapes.
"What the fuck is that?" Grahilo gasped, gaping at the thing he saw.
The group approached slowly, surrounded by dust and the occasional what-is-that-noise vibration. At the center was a massive beast, easily the size of three beetle machines stacked end to end. Its body looked part reptile, part crab, part fever dream—six legs, two tails, and glowing sacs that pulsed like jellyfish on steroids. Strapped across its back was a multi-tiered platform, half camp, half fortress, with ropes, crates, dangling hammocks, and flags that waved even when there was no wind.
Riding it were travelers—about seven of them—and leading the group was a guy who had apparently lost a fashion battle with seven different cultures. He wore shimmering feathers, golden hoops, fingerless gloves, a jacket made of stitched-together maps, and boots that squeaked when he walked. His beard was braided. His eyebrows looked sentient.
Grahilo approached slowly, dagger hidden, gamma energy low. "Nice ride," he called out. "Looks like it eats other rides for breakfast."
The fashion enigma turned. "She's a Trumbulon. Genetically engineered desert transport, personality of a moody opera singer, appetite of a vacuum. You need a ride?"
"Actually, yeah," Grahilo said, pointing ahead. "I'm heading to the next country. Hoping to avoid any more dramatic desert injuries."
The man squinted. "You armed?"
Grahilo blinked. His green eyes flickered once. "...Responsibly."
The man grinned, tossed him a rope ladder made of woven vines and questionable stitching. "Climb up, Silver hair- Boy. We've got stew, sarcasm, and absolutely no rules."
Grahilo hauled himself up, settled between two travelers sharing ghost stories, and looked out over the sands that tried to swallow him.
Now he rode on top of a moving tank-beast with strangers who dressed like prophecies.
As the Trumbulon trudged across the uneven dunes with all the elegance of a rhino wearing high heels, Grahilo settled into the wobbling hammock between two travelers—a lanky guy with copper goggles and a woman polishing what looked suspiciously like a sword made from glass and... hummingbird feathers?
"So," Grahilo said, casually wedging his void dagger a little deeper behind him. "What's your deal? I mean—besides riding mutant crustaceans across borders for fun."
The guy with the goggles snorted. "We're Echoers. Sometimes called Drifters, sometimes called Lunatics. Depends on who's shouting."
Grahilo raised an eyebrow. "Echoers?"
"We travel," said the woman without looking up. Her voice was sharp, clipped. "Across borders, between countries, sometimes into places that aren't... technically places. We transport supplies. Intel. People who've been forgotten or erased."
The man grinned. "Our beast's named Rubblethump. She's cranky, mildly telepathic, and allergic to sarcasm."
Rubblethump emitted a low groan.
Grahilo blinked. "So you're like a resistance movement... with creature upgrades and questionable fashion sense?"
"Basically," the woman said, now feeding her sword something green from a pouch. It chewed.
"And you?" the goggled man asked, tilting his head. "Your eyes flicker like green stars, you smell like scorched prophecy, and you climbed aboard like your backstory has mood swings."
Grahilo leaned back, green light flashing briefly in his irises.
"Long story short? I swallowed a cosmic orb, got dumped by a glowing city, can punch things into particles, and I'm starting fresh in a new country. Thought joining the defense force would help. Also—don't touch my dagger. It bites."
The travelers nodded slowly.
"Yeah," said the woman. "You'll fit in."
"Good to know." Grahilo grinned.
He patted Rubblethump who gave outva soft groan and then he turned to the fashion freak.
"So what's the name of the neighbouring country?"
"Nharos"
Grahilo laughed. "Strange name. What's it like?"
The goggled guy grinned. "Nharos is noisy, moody, and constantly overheating—but she's got the best tech west of the border and defense forces that eat lightning for breakfast."
Grahilo nodded slowly. "Exactly what I was hoping for."
They were halfway to Nharos when the sand decided it was done pretending to be normal.
Rubblethump, their cranky mega-beast, suddenly froze mid-step—six legs stiff, snout twitching like someone had lit a firework under her saddle. Grahilo, halfway through eating something questionable from a travel pouch, blinked.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked the guy with goggles.
"She's not a fan of giant underground death monsters," he said calmly, pulling out a slingshot and a piece of raw crystal. "You might wanna brace."
Too late.
The sand behind them exploded.
Like, actual explosion. One moment: dunes. Next moment: a skyscraper-sized creature bursting upward like it missed breakfast and planned to eat everyone here as a snack. It had six mandibles, a carapace like molten glass, and eyes that looked like they owed someone money.
"Oh cool," Grahilo said, standing up in the wobbling saddle. "Surprise kaiju. Just what I wanted."
The Echoers scrambled. One fired lightning arrows. Another threw a screaming potion that insulted the beast in seven languages. Rubblethump roared like a sentient dump truck and bolted sideways across the desert, rocking the whole caravan like a theme park ride run by chaos.
Grahilo narrowed his eyes. The dagger pulsed at his side.
Gamma energy sparked through his veins like a wake-up call from an angry sun.
"Okay, time to earn my stay," he muttered. Then he jumped.
Off the saddle. Into midair. Dagger in hand. Eyes glowing so bright the sand beast paused mid-roar like whoa who invited laser boy?
Grahilo crashed down on its nearest leg, dagger slashing, gamma flaring, and somewhere in the chaos someone shouted: "THAT GUY JUST PUNCHED A MONSTER WITH LIGHTNING!"
Yep.
Welcome to Grahilo's origin story part two.