The clash of steel rang loud, cutting through the desert wind like a siren’s scream. Kaira pressed her back against the ancient sandstone pillar, her breath fast and shallow, grains of sand clinging to her sweat-glazed skin. The two moons hung low in the purplish dusk sky, casting elongated shadows over the crumbling ruins of what was once thought to be the greatest city of the Second Era. The city skyline was jagged now, its towers reduced to skeletal remains, forgotten in the march of eons. Somewhere in the violent halo of blazing plasma sabers and glinting steel, her assassin was waiting to finish the job.
Kaira’s outfit clung to her like a second skin, designed for movement and survival in the shifting desert environments of the 31st century’s Outworld colonies. The top was black, a high-cut sleeveless shirt reinforced with synthesized fiber mesh, laced up in the back like an archaic throwback to the centuries when Earth’s artisans still handwove garments. Her cropped shirt left her toned midriff exposed, a gamble she had to take in the brutal heat of the desert expanse. Her light gray trousers were armored with nanoweave technology, high-waisted and fitted to her slender frame, offering protection without restricting her agility. Around her waist hung a belt of energy cartridges, marked with luminescent lines of red and gold glyphs from an alien script that her pursuers would never decipher.
The whine of a plasma blade snapping back to life jolted her back to the present. Her chest burned as she tried to regulate her breathing. She couldn’t afford to be careless now, not after everything. Not after what she’d stolen.
The object in her hand pulsed faintly with its own life, an orb of translucent azure crystal etched with golden veins. It radiated a gentle warmth, at odds with the cold bloodlust of the hunters trailing her. The key, the artifact, whatever they called it—she didn’t care. What mattered was that it didn’t fall into Syndicate hands. What mattered was that she survived long enough to deliver it to the Resistance.
Behind her, footsteps crunched on sand, deliberate and slow. Her pursuer had stopped stalking and was ready to strike.
“Kaira,” the voice crooned, smooth and confident but lined with danger. “You’ve run long enough. Hand over the artifact, and I’ll make your death quick.”
She didn’t respond, only tightened her grip around the orb. As she fingered the hilt of the twin daggers holstered at her thighs, her mind flipped unbidden to an image of her younger brother, Aedon. His wide, curious eyes staring up at her as she left their hidden colony for what she hoped wouldn’t be a final mission.
“Please, Kaira,” Aedon had said that day, barely past his twelfth cycle but already heavy with responsibility. “Just come back. That’s all I ask.”
She had kissed the top of his unruly hair, promising herself she’d make it back or die trying. The tears in his eyes had been her final image before she turned away—and that memory was her fuel now as she stepped out from the shadow of the pillar.
The assassin was tall and lean, his shoulders wrapped in a shimmering cloak that camouflaged against the desert hues behind him. His face was obscured by a dark breathing apparatus, the glowing green slits of his visor scanning her every move. In one hand, he held a plasma saber, its blade humming with deadly energy. In the other, a compact energy pistol pointed directly at her chest.
“You’ve given me a good chase,” he said, his voice distorted through his mask. “But it ends here.”
“It ends when I say it ends,” she shot back, her tone as sharp as her daggers. “Come and see if you can take it.”
The assassin moved fast—faster than she anticipated. But she was no amateur. Kaira dodged his initial strike as the blade arced toward her, the heat of plasma missing her skin by a hair’s breadth. She rolled and drew both of her daggers mid-motion, the sleek obsidian blades barely visible under the dim moons’ light. As the assassin aimed his pistol for a second shot, she flung herself forward, knowing she wouldn’t get another chance.
The first dagger struck true, sinking into his forearm with a sickening crunch. He howled but twisted, wrestling her to the ground. The orb slipped from her fingers, rolling away across the sand. Its faint glow became a beacon for the ensuing battle.
Blades clashed. Sparks lit the air as Kaira parried again and again, the assassin’s strikes relentless. Her arm screamed in pain as his saber grazed her elbow, but she managed to hold her ground. When she finally saw her opening—a single stumble as he overextended—she drove her remaining dagger into his side.
The assassin groaned and dropped to one knee, his visor cracked and sparking. Kaira, gasping now, staggered to her feet. She aimed one final kick to his chest, sending him collapsing into the sand. He didn’t rise again.
Kaira limped to retrieve the orb, clutching it tightly against her chest. She took a moment to glance back toward the horizon. In the distance, she spotted the faint lights of her rendezvous point—farther away than she’d wanted, but within reach. The Resistance would be waiting. Aedon would be waiting.
With the horizon stretching before her and the assassin’s body fading into the shadows of the past, Kaira pressed onward into the night, clutching hope in her hands and despair at her back.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Black Crop Top and High-Waisted Gray Pants: Casual Chic City Glam with Minimalist Modern Style
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