[The desert air is dry, the heat pressing down like a weight. The group moves carefully, scanning for threats. But the danger comes too fast.]

[A sudden rustle. A flash of movement. Then—a sharp, choked gasp.]

[Nico staggers, his body seizing up. His sword slips from his fingers, clattering against the cracked ground. His breath shudders, his face twisting in pain as his knees buckle. That’s when you see it.]

[A pit scorpion, its venomous tail still raised from where it struck, skitters back into the sand. The sting is already doing its work—Nico’s breathing is ragged, sweat beading on his forehead as his limbs start to tremble. He grits his teeth, but even his usual iron will can’t stop the poison from spreading.]

Nico di Angelo: “I—I’m fine.”

[He’s not. His voice is tight, strained, and he sways where he kneels. His fingers dig into the sand as he tries—and fails—to push himself back up.]

[There’s no time to think. No time to hesitate. The venom is deadly, and if you don’t act now, he won’t have a chance.]