The wind howled like something alive, raking its claws along the craft’s hull. Rain hammered the windows in sheets so thick the world outside became a grey blur, broken only by the violent white strobe of lightning. Each strike lit the cramped cabin for a heartbeat, sharp shadows, glinting metal, Cid’s grin caught like a flash of teeth, then darkness again, and the low groan of the ship fighting to stay steady.

  Cid lounged in the pilot’s chair like he owned the storm. Risk had always felt like a game to him.

  Feet on the console. Hands laced behind his head. The kind of posture that dared the sky to do its worst.

  “Are we there yet?” he sighed, mostly to himself.

  Lightning cracked again, closer this time, filling the cabin with white light. Thunder chased it a split-second later, rattling the panels. Cid laughed out loud.

  “Jeez, this is cool.”

  Another strike forked down somewhere beyond the window, the flash so bright it turned the cabin into a photograph. Cid leaned forward, eyes wide, like a kid watching fireworks.

  “Actually…” he chuckled, glancing out the window again. “I might sit up here a little longer. This is fun.”

  Then something hit the top of the craft.

  Not a near miss. Not a distant rumble.

  A hard, metallic THUNK that shook the cabin and dropped the ship a half-breath through the air.

  Cid’s stomach dropped with it. For the first time, his confidence didn’t land fast enough to catch him.

  His feet snapped off the console to the floor. He stood fast, bracing himself, and stared through the rain-streaked window. The storm was all around him—winds battering the craft, thunder rolling like boulders in the distance, lightning striking the ground in jagged flashes that cracked across the mountainsides.

  “Okay,” Cid muttered, swallowing. “You know what… kind of had enough of this.”

  Another strike hit. Then another.

  The console began to beep, sharp, urgent, wrong.

  Cid leaned over it, face lit by flickering warning lights. “Well this doesn’t sound good.”

  The cabin lights blinked.

  “Warning! Warning!” the console announced, its voice tinny and automated, as if it couldn’t quite believe what it was saying.

  The craft stalled midair. There was nothing to outrun.

  For a breath it hung there, suspended in the storm. The lights inside flickered on and off, on, off, on, then the console went dark entirely, leaving only the roar of rain and the groaning hull.

  Cid froze, listening.

  The craft gave a low hum, like it was dragging power back into itself. Lights sputtered, steadied. The console blinked on again.

  Cid let out a shaky breath. “Okay… okay. We’re good.”

  And then the ship fell.

  Not a gentle dip, an abrupt, brutal drop like the sky had let go of it.

  Cid was flung upward, slammed against the ceiling as the craft spun. The cabin became a blur: window, floor, console, ceiling, window again, ground, sky, ground, sky, white flashes of lightning slicing through it all.

  Cid’s face went pale-green.

  “Oh gods,” he shouted, clinging on as the world rotated. “I think I’m going to be sick!”

  The craft spiralled faster, hurtling toward the earth. He caught glimpses through the window between the rain and the spin, mud, rock, distant slopes, then sky again. A final violent twist, a last awful lurch...

  THUD.

  The ship hit the ground with enough force to rattle Cid’s bones. He collapsed over the seat, breathless, feeling like his insides had been shaken loose and put back wrong.

  Cid lifted his head slowly, eyes unfocused. “I’m glad that’s over,” he croaked, looking genuinely unwell.

  The console crackled back to life, still unfazed by almost killing him.

  “Emergency programme in operation.”

  Cid stared at it, blinking. “You think?” he muttered sarcastically.

  With a hiss and a shudder, the door slid open. Cold air and rain rushed in. Cid pushed himself up, legs still unsteady, and stepped out of the craft into a world that smelled of wet earth and storm.

  He had no idea where he was.

  He turned and looked over the wreck. The front glass was smashed, spiderwebbed with cracks. Wires dangled from the side, fizzing and sparking in the rain. The hull bore deep dents, as if the storm had grabbed it and thrown it like a toy.

  Cid dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t even know where to go,” he said, voice flat with disbelief.

  Rain lashed down across the mostly mountainous terrain, the slopes blurred by mist. There was no obvious road, no clear sign of civilisation, only mud and rock and wind. The world didn’t care how fast he was.

  Cid stood there for a moment, listening to the storm.

  Then he inhaled, forcing his thoughts to stop spinning like the craft had.

  “Water,” he decided. “That’s what I need to find first.”

  He looked around, mapping the land in his head. “I have great speed, but that’s no use if I don’t know where I’m going.” He pointed vaguely toward the slopes, more to give himself direction than because he was sure.

  “If I can find water, I’ll find a village. Or at least… something.”

  He paused, then smirked as if he’d just solved a puzzle no one else could.

  “Mountains,” he said, nodding at himself. “And water runs downhill. So there has to be a spring somewhere nearby. Then I’ll find a river.”

  He let out a satisfied breath.

  “Gods, I’m good.”

  He started toward higher ground, boots squelching immediately into thick mud. The wind sliced between the rocks, cold and biting, and rain soaked his cloak until it clung to him like a second skin. His white armour along his legs was quickly splattered brown with mud and streaked with wet grass.

  “Keep on keeping on,” he whispered, as if saying it made the mud less deep.

  Then he noticed it.

  In the muck: footprints. Wheel tracks. A line pressed into the earth, imperfect but obvious even beneath the rain.

  Cid’s expression brightened. Something about the spacing felt wrong. “Tracks! If I follow them I’ll find a village. I hope…”

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  He moved alongside them carefully, refusing to step directly in the ruts in case he lost them in the mess. But the deeper he went, the worse the ground became, mud thickening, rain unrelenting, his boots sinking almost to the ankle with every step.

  The squelch became constant.

  Cid huffed a laugh, half amused, half irritated. “I’m a speedster and I can’t even get through this mud.”

  Lightning struck the ground nearby, crackling across wet grass in branching white veins. Thunder rolled immediately after. Cid flinched, then kept walking anyway, jaw set.

  The tracks led onward.

  And then, through the haze and rain, a village appeared in the distance.

  Cid stopped dead, relief flooding him so hard it made him lightheaded.

  “Thank the gods,” he breathed. “Civilisation.”

  He started forward, then glanced down again, really looked this time. Looked at the shape of the footprints. The depth. The spacing.

  His stomach tightened.

  “These aren’t human tracks…” he whispered.

  Realisation hit like a punch.

  “These are Shoven.”

  Cid’s heart thudded. He stared at the village again, suddenly seeing it differently—small, clustered huts, low shapes against the rain. No banners. No shining armour. Just a settlement huddled against the weather.

  “Is this a Shoven village?” he said aloud, voice thin with panic.

  For a moment he didn’t move.

  “I don’t want to face that,” he admitted quietly. “But also… I need to know where I am.”

  The rain eased, as if the sky itself was pausing to see what he would do. The torrent softened into a drizzle.

  Cid swallowed.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  He started walking again, slower now, senses sharp, every muscle ready.

  The village was smaller up close, rudimentary huts of brick and mud, the market square no more than a flattened patch of ground with crude stalls. The air smelled of wet stone, smoke, and something earthy. When Cid stepped into the square, the entire village seemed to freeze.

  Trading stopped.

  Shoven turned.

  Towering figures, seven-foot walls of muscle, stared at the lone human standing in their mud.

  Cid tried not to look nervous.

  He failed.

  One Shoven approached. Not armored like the soldiers. No gleaming plates. No weapons held ready. Just a massive figure with a strange calmness in the way he moved.

  “Welcome to our village,” the Shoven said. “My name is Gronk.”

  Cid blinked. “Umm… hi. My name is Cid.” The words came out with a stutter that annoyed him immediately.

  “Please don’t be nervous,” Gronk said. And then, somehow, he smiled.

  It wasn’t like a human smile. It was wide, blunt, almost unsettling. But it wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t hungry.

  Cid let out a weak chuckle. “I’ve just… never been greeted by Shoven. Or felt welcomed by Shoven. I don’t know what to say…”

  “I understand,” Gronk replied. “You look tired. Would you like some food and drink?”

  Cid hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I would.”

  “Of course. Follow me to the food hall. We can talk there.”

  Cid followed, walking through a corridor of staring giants. Shoven watched him from stalls and doorways, their eyes unreadable. Some looked curious. Some looked amused. None moved to attack.

  Gronk pushed open a door and gestured him inside.

  Warmth hit Cid immediately, thick air, dim light, the low murmur of conversation. The food hall was crowded with Shoven eating, drinking, talking in deep voices. A few paused to look at Cid, then returned to their meals as if he were simply… unusual, not unwelcome.

  Cid sat at a table. Gronk sat opposite.

  “Two cups and two plates,” Gronk called to a Shoven clearing tables. The worker nodded and headed toward the kitchen.

  Gronk leaned forward slightly. “So. Cid, is it?”

  Cid nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “What brings you to our village today?”

  Cid glanced down at his soaked cloak, then back up. “My craft crash-landed up in the mountains. I followed some tracks here… before I realised it was a Shoven village. I thought I could find my way from here.”

  Food arrived.

  Cid stared at his plate.

  Large worms, thick, wriggling. Meat that looked… barely cooked. A drink that steamed and bubbled ominously, the smell sharp and unfamiliar.

  Cid forced his face into neutrality.

  He didn’t want to be rude. He also didn’t want to die of food poisoning.

  He picked up a worm, bit down...

  ...and immediately regretted it as the juice burst into the back of his throat. He choked, coughing once into his fist, eyes watering.

  Gronk watched him with a patient, almost amused calm.

  “Well fear not,” Gronk said. “We aren’t your typical Shoven.”

  Cid swallowed, trying the steaming drink. It scalded his mouth instantly. He hissed through his teeth, blinking hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Not all Shoven agreed with everything that happened,” Gronk said. “Some of us left. We wanted a peaceful life. We set up villages and keep to ourselves. Occasionally Shaherens come through, so we try to make them feel welcomed.”

  He snorted, chewing on a worm like it was nothing.

  Cid swallowed again, still tasting the wriggling meal. “Well… it’s the warmest welcome I’ve ever had from the Shoven.”

  Gronk smiled wider. “So you’re passing through. Where are you trying to get to?”

  Cid’s shoulders sagged slightly with relief at a normal question. “I’m trying to meet someone named Keno. But I have no idea where he is.”

  Gronk’s eyes lit with recognition. “Master Keno? He came through here recently. Up into the mountains.” The way Gronk said it carried weight.

  Cid leaned forward so fast his chair creaked. “Wait, you know him?”

  “Of course,” Gronk said. “He comes through often. He mentioned he’d be training one of The Chosen soon.”

  Cid stopped chewing entirely.

  Gronk stared at him harder now, as if the pieces were rearranging in his head. “Wait… you’re Cid? You’re not...”

  He lowered his voice instinctively.

  “You are one of The Chosen?”

  Cid’s mouth went dry. He leaned in too, whispering back. “I am. But… how do you know about The Chosen?”

  Gronk gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. “You really think a prophecy like that wouldn’t reach us? Look… you may see us as the enemy. I understand that. But many of us don’t like our leaders. We don’t like the control. Shoven come here every day, leaving that life behind.”

  He nodded once, firmly. “We can help you.”

  Cid realised how small his world had been. Cid stared at him, unsettled, not by threat, but by the simple fact that he’d never considered this before.

  “Oh,” Cid said cautiously. “I thought you were all… the same. All fight. All destroy humans.” He hated how easy the lie had been to believe.

  Gronk’s smile softened slightly. “I get it. The Shoven race hasn’t given you much faith in who we are. But I promise you, we are not all bad.”

  He gestured toward a group finishing their meal at another table. “Some Shoven are taking supplies up to Master Keno today. You can tag along.”

  Cid’s pulse steadied for the first time since the crash.

  Gronk stood. “I’ll leave you now. Thank you for joining me for food. I wish you luck in your adventure.”

  He gave a polite wave, another strange thing to see from a Shoven, then disappeared out the door.

  Cid rose and walked toward the group. His confidence returned in patches, stitched together with necessity.

  “Uhhh… hey,” he said, trying for casual. “I believe you guys are making a delivery up the mountains today?”

  The group looked him up and down.

  One of them laughed, deep and booming. “Oh, a humey wants to do a delivery with us.”

  They chuckled among themselves.

  “Oh pack it in, Tronka,” another Shoven grunted, stepping forward. “Of course you can.”

  He rose and extended a massive hand.

  “I’m Drongo,” he said. “I’m in charge of this rabble. Please do join us. Your company would be far appreciated compared to this dongas.”

  Cid reached out and shook the hand, his smaller fingers swallowed by Drongo’s grip.

  “My name is Cid,” Cid said, managing a smile. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Well welcome, Cid,” Drongo replied, releasing him. “Welcome to the company.”

  He turned to the others. “Company. We are moving out. Finish up and meet us outside at the caravan.”

  Drongo guided Cid toward the doorway. Outside, a caravan waited in the drizzle, wheels sunk slightly into the mud.

  “It’s a short walk,” Drongo said, nodding up toward the mountain path beyond the village. “But slightly treacherous. We move out shortly.”

  Cid glanced toward the storm-dark slopes, then down at his mud-caked boots.

  He exhaled.

  “Right,” he muttered. “Let’s do this.” For once, he wasn’t sure speed would save him.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner