The desert wind greeted them first.

  Not hot, but dry—brushing past as they stepped out from the mouth of the ruins into the open. The sky was a deepening gold, the sun dipping low on the horizon, throwing long shadows across the dunes. No clouds. Just light. Endless, fading light.

  No one spoke at first.

  They moved down the narrow ridge path, boots crunching on stone and sand. The broken temple loomed behind them, half-buried in time, its jagged spires still catching the fire-tinged sky.

  Karin walked in silence, eyes forward, her face unreadable.

  Ysar was the first to break the quiet. “That place sucked.”

  Elsha gave him a tired glance. “Very profound.”

  “I’m just saying. First time I’ve fought monsters wearing armor harder than castle gates.” He paused, then added with a faint grin, “Also, got slammed into a wall. Twice.”

  Elsha sighed but didn’t argue. “You’re lucky that’s all.”

  Zafran, walking at the front, said nothing.

  The group made their way along the slope until it flattened again into open sand. Their pace slowed, the weariness in their steps more obvious now. The ruins had taken more than effort—they had taken expectation.

  A long silence stretched out again.

  Then Elsha pulled out a worn leather notebook from her belt. She flicked it open, scanning pages and notes drawn in tight script.

  “Based on how long we’ve been out…” she murmured, “the Azure Wind should be heading toward the Ocean Tide lowlands by now.”

  Zafran nodded. “How long to reach them?”

  “Three weeks on foot.”

  “We’ll stop at Windstail—maybe get more horses for the carriage,” Zafran said. He still had enough coin for one or two more mounts.

  Karin didn’t look up. She just kept walking.

  Ysar glanced toward her, hesitating. But he didn’t say anything. Trying to lighten her mood might only make things worse.

  “So… tonight, we rest nearby,” Zafran said.

  “Nearby? We were just ambushed by monsters, and you think it’s a good idea to linger around?” Ysar asked.

  “Not here,” Zafran replied. “We move out—to the outer edge of the settlement.”

  “They likely don’t roam far from the temple,” Elsha added.

  “Then let’s go,” Zafran said. And again, they walked.

  The sky shifted—from gold to amber, from amber to deep indigo. Stars blinked into place, one by one. The first chill of night rolled in.

  They made camp beyond the broken settlement, where the dunes dipped into a shallow basin of soft sand and scattered stone. No claw marks. No movement. Only the hush of desert wind.

  Zafran picked the spot carefully—elevated enough to see, shielded enough to sleep.

  No fire tonight.

  They moved without words, heavy with fatigue. Every motion deliberate. The kind of tired that weighed beyond muscle.

  They ate in silence—dried meat, flatbread, water from the last oasis. No one complained.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Karin said nothing. Elsha sat a few paces from her, eyes lost in the dark horizon. Ysar half-dozed against a stone, legs stretched, gaze flicking open now and then.

  Only Zafran stayed upright, posted just ahead of the others, sword across his knees—what was left of it. The blade was snapped clean near the hilt. Jagged. Dull. Caught in the starlight like a splinter of regret.

  None of them slept quickly.

  They would rest here until the next afternoon—not because it was safe, but because they had nothing left to give tonight.

  The bedrolls formed a loose arc beneath the curve of broken stone. Elsha leaned back, pulling her cloak tighter. Ysar was already half asleep.

  Zafran lay down without a word, staring up at the stars.

  But from the corner of his eye, he saw her—Karin—still awake, curled near the ledge, arms folded beneath her head, back turned to them all.

  She didn’t move. Not even to blink.

  Time passed in stillness.

  Then Zafran rose quietly.

  His boots whispered across the sand. No one stirred. Or maybe they just pretended not to.

  He walked a short distance, then sat on a flat stone, gazing up at the stars.

  A minute later, soft footsteps behind him.

  Karin.

  She didn’t ask. She just sat beside him, arms around her knees.

  They sat in silence, shoulders inches apart.

  Then Zafran spoke, his voice low. “Can’t sleep?”

  She let out a small exhale—half-laugh, half-sigh. “Uh-huh.”

  He didn’t push further.

  The wind whispered.

  Then she said, “It really sucks.”

  Zafran glanced at her.

  She shook her head slowly. “They finally gave me a chance to prove myself… and I still failed.”

  He didn’t interrupt.

  Her voice was quiet—worn thin. “I know it sounds stupid. But it felt like everything was leading to this.”

  “You were set up to fail,” Zafran said.

  She gave no reply. But the silence between them was enough.

  “It was right there,” she muttered. “Just… taken before we came.”

  Zafran nodded slowly. “Even if you brought it back, they’d find a way to discredit you. Take it. Deny you.”

  Karin closed her eyes. “I just wanted them to see I’m capable. That I’m not just some tag-along Flame-touched.”

  “You are,” he said. “Capable.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You’re not weak.”

  “…You weren’t there when they turned me away. Again and again. Even after everything I trained for. Everything I proved.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” he said. “You could match half the third-tier mages I’ve met. Maybe more.”

  That earned a glance from her. “You’ve met third-tier mages?”

  Zafran gave a tired smile. “I’ve met worse.”

  A longer pause.

  Then he added, “Believe me… you don’t want to be part of that circle. Noble mages, scheming behind robes and old names. Spells they never use. Power they never earn. It’s not magic—it’s politics.”

  She looked at him sideways. “You talk like you know them.”

  Zafran didn’t answer.

  He only looked away.

  Karin blinked at that—half realization, half curiosity—but didn’t press.

  The stars hung quiet above them.

  Then Zafran spoke again, softer. “Don’t let them define your worth.”

  Karin exhaled. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased—not vanished, but lessened.

  “…I’ll try,” she murmured.

  Zafran didn’t smile. But he stayed. Quiet, beside her.

  And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

  The dunes stretched on, but they no longer loomed.

  Each day passed with fewer words, lighter packs, and heavier thoughts.

  Time blurred—sunrises, sunsets, endless golden sands becoming paler each morning. The sky shifted from harsh white to softer blue. The heat, though still present, lost its bite.

  And then—

  Grass.

  Not much at first. Tufts between stones. Then more—clusters of green clinging to the roadside. Wind carried the scent of soil, not dust. A lone tree, then a second, each a promise.

  They were leaving the desert.

  By the time Windstail rose on the horizon, a small hill-town of worn stone and wooden rooftops, the sand was behind them. The road was dirt again. Wagon tracks lined it. And at their feet, wildflowers bloomed, sparse but vivid.

  Karin didn’t say anything—but she slowed, just a little, taking it in.

  Windstail was quiet.

  A merchant’s hub in name only—most traders passed through without stopping. But it had what mattered: water, stables, and shade.

  Their old carriage waited where they’d left it, still covered, still intact—kept safe under the eye of the local stablemaster. But with only one remaining horse, it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Zafran clicked his tongue. “One horse won’t take us far.”

  “I can walk,” Karin offered, flatly.

  “You won’t,” he replied, already striding toward the stablemaster without pause.

  By late afternoon, Zafran returned with two more horses—desert stock, sturdy and weather-worn. Not beautiful, but strong enough to pull.

  It had cost nearly all his remaining coin.

  Elsha inspected the harnesses as he worked. “Three will do. Not fast—but steady.”

  “You sure are rich, you know that?” Ysar muttered, climbing aboard and grabbing the reins. “Better than walking, though.”

  Karin stepped into the carriage and sat beside Zafran, her movements calmer now. Her eyes drifted to the green pastures beyond the town, and then further—to the hazy ridgeline where the road curved east.

  Elsha took the seat in front, beside Ysar, already checking the map again.

  The wheels creaked as they began to roll forward.

  Behind them, Windstail faded into dust and distance.

  Ahead, the road stretched—toward Ocean Tide.

  And beyond that—

  The Azure Wind Caravan.