After days of steady travel, the land began to change.

  The green of the plains thinned. The air grew brittle. Grass gave way to cracked earth, and the wind—once soft—now carried grit and heat. By the time Windstail appeared on the horizon, the haze of sand was already clinging to the sky like a warning.

  The town stood as the last breath of civilization before the dunes. A rough-edged outpost, born from necessity. No walls, no banners—just squat buildings of hardened wood and canvas, thick-roofed awnings stretched over worn stone. It was a place of trade, rest, and silent calculations about survival.

  As their carriage rolled through the main street, they passed a collage of weathered travelers, dusty merchants, and armed figures leaning in the shade. Water barrels were being filled. Coins exchanged in hushed, haggling tones. The air buzzed with tired energy.

  At the heart of it stood Windstail’s pride: a towering wooden arch with a trough dug deep into the ground, fed by a narrow, trickling stream. Not much, but clean, cool, and constant. It drew beasts and people alike with quiet reverence.

  Zafran eyed the sun, low and crawling toward the edge of the sky. Still time before dusk.

  “It’s Windstail.” Elsha called over her shoulder as Ysar slowed the carriage near the watering station.

  “We’re restocking and rest here for a night.” Zafran said, stepping down. “Won’t get comfort like this again for a while.”

  Karin nodded, pulling her bag from under the bench.

  Ysar stretched with a loud groan, arms flung wide. “Finally. I was getting sick of being the driver.”

  Elsha shot him a dry look.

  “What?” Ysar said, hands up. “I’m just saying—you’re better at it.”

  Elsha rolled her eyes and moved to unharness the horses, the familiar clink of buckles and reins following her.

  Ysar, undeterred, turned to Karin with a grin. “So, lady scholar—feel like having dinner with a charming guardian?”

  Karin tilted her head slightly. “No.”

  Ysar blinked. “Ouch. At least pretend you hesitate.”

  Karin just climb down the carriage without respond to him.

  Zafran stepped in. “Ysar, find us an inn. Something cheap. Four rooms.”

  Ysar looked confused. “Four? We’ve got two guys, two girls. Why not two rooms?”

  “It’s not your cost to cover,” Zafran replied.

  Karin gave him a side glance but said nothing.

  “I’ll handle supplies,” Elsha said, already moving.

  “I’ll join you,” Karin added, falling into step beside her.

  Ysar waved a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got the rooms.”

  As the three turned toward the marketplace, Ysar stood alone by the carriage, watching them disappear into the narrow streets.

  He sighed, muttering to himself, “Aren’t you all a bit too trusting?”

  Then, with a shrug, he headed toward the inn, whistling softly, already imagining what sort of discount he could haggle—and how much trouble he could stir before sundown.

  Windstail buzzed in its own rhythm—quieter than the cities, but no less alive. Boots scraped against dry earth. Merchants barked half-hearted deals beneath shaded cloth. A bard played a slow, sour tune somewhere near the tavern, drowned out by drunken laughter and slurred toasts.

  Zafran moved through it with silent ease.

  He wasn’t just stretching his legs. Wandering meant listening. Watching. Old habits didn’t fade.

  Stopping at a small fruit stall, he picked up a pear, weighed it, and glanced at the man behind the cart. “How’s the road ahead?”

  The merchant squinted. “You mercs heading into the Silent Desert?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Escort job.”

  The man snorted. “You’d better pack patience along with your water. Few caravans turned back this week.”

  Zafran looked up. “Bandits?”

  “Maybe. Word is, someone’s been poking around. Ghostfangs, or maybe some new pack tryin’ to make a name. No one’s saying for sure.”

  The merchant leaned forward, lowering his voice.

  “They don’t go for strong groups. They pick the edges. Hit the ones who lag, or travel light. If they think you’re worth the trouble… you’ll know.”

  Zafran offered a faint nod and a few coins, pocketed the fruit, and moved on. Nothing confirmed, but enough to keep his blade close and his sleep light.

  The inn was modest—just clean enough to keep complaints quiet, just cheap enough for mercenaries to tolerate. Warm stew filled the air with the smell of onion and salted meat. A few travelers sat scattered around the room, hunched over drinks and plates, heads low, voices lower.

  Zafran slid into the seat across from the others, setting his cup down with a soft clink.

  “You were gone a while,” Elsha noted, sipping her drink without looking up.

  “Picked up a few things,” Zafran replied, then added, “Bandit activity’s rising. Ghostfangs might be moving in—or someone worse.”

  Karin glanced up, halfway through a bite. “In the desert?”

  “Yeah. Couple caravans turned back. Could just be rumors, but… too many for comfort.”

  Ysar paused mid-chew. “So, instead of one band of cutthroats, we’ve got two?”

  “Or one smart one spreading fear,” Zafran said. “Either way, it’s noise.”

  Elsha didn’t look worried. “Bandits have always circled this area.”

  “They have,” Zafran agreed.

  “So we’ll know it’s serious,” Ysar muttered, “once someone decides we look like lunch.”

  “Oh we pretty much look like their lunch”

  Ysar huffed, taking another drink. “Lovely. Just the right amount of risk to season the trip.”

  “Not exactly comforting,” Karin murmured, pushing her food around.

  A quiet pause stretched across the table.

  Then—predictably—Ysar broke it.

  “I still say they’d be idiots to try us.”

  Karin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

  Ysar gestured lazily. “We’ve got a brooding swordsman, a razor-sharp warrior, and me—an unpredictable genius.”

  “You’re the most robbable one here,” Elsha said, deadpan.

  “I’m charming,” Ysar argued, hand to chest. “That’s tactical value.”

  “Only if we’re bargaining over drinks,” Karin said dryly.

  “Exactly!” Ysar pointed triumphantly. “She gets me.”

  Zafran shook his head. “You’ll talk us into a fight.”

  “Details.”

  Elsha chuckled. “Let’s just hope the bandits are too busy stealing from each other.”

  Ysar raised his cup. “To optimistic delusion.”

  Karin sighed but raised her own. The cups clinked gently.

  The tension from earlier faded into soft banter, the kind shared by people who knew the road would only get harder.

  Tomorrow, they would ride out into the sand.

  But tonight—there was food, warmth, and the momentary illusion of safety.

  Karin glanced across the table, watching the three of them joke like it was second nature. Then she looked down at her drink, murmuring just loud enough to hear:

  “…Am I really trusting these people with my life?”

  Ysar didn’t miss a beat. “Too late to back out now, lady scholar.”

  Elsha laughed. Zafran sighed. And Karin—half-smiling despite herself—took another sip.

  The heat was already pressing by the time light seeped through the inn’s worn shutters—thick and slow like a blanket laid over the world. Windstail stirred early, as it always did. Traders moved like clockwork, filling buckets, tightening straps, hauling goods while the sun was still survivable.

  Inside, Zafran was already awake, strapping his gear in near-silence. The worst of the sun was coming. The only smart thing to do now was wait it out—rest while the world boiled, then ride when night cooled the earth.

  Then came a loud thud from the next room, followed by a groggy, miserable groan.

  “Morning already?!” Ysar’s muffled voice bled through the wall. Another thump. “…Ugh, I hate mornings.”

  Zafran didn’t look up. “The sun’s halfway to murdering us. You should be grateful we’re not riding yet.”

  Elsha stepped out from her room, dressed and armed, hair tied back as she checked the weight of her belt. “Grateful? From him?”

  She passed Ysar’s door with a long-suffering glance and disappeared down the stairs.

  Karin emerged next—hair slightly tousled, her robe slung over one shoulder. She glanced at Zafran, then tilted her head toward the noise. “…Should we be worried he’ll fall asleep while riding?”

  Zafran smirked faintly. “He’ll complain the whole way, but he stays upright.”

  Ysar’s door creaked open. He stumbled out looking like he’d lost a bar fight in his dreams—shirt half-done, one boot on, one hand shielding his face from the light.

  “I hate all of you.”

  Elsha’s voice called up from below. “You hate mornings. Not us.”

  “Same thing,” he muttered, dragging himself toward the scent of food.

  Downstairs, the common room buzzed softly. Other travelers dozed, chewed, or grumbled into mugs. The innkeeper, sharp-eyed and quiet, set down their meal—bread, salted meat, and cool water in clay cups.

  “Leaving at night?” he asked.

  Zafran nodded. “Just after dusk.”

  “Smart.” The innkeeper rubbed his chin. “Silent Desert’s been loud lately. Bandits, sure—but something else too. Don’t know what. But people come back… different.”

  Karin looked up. “Different how?”

  He shrugged. “Some don’t speak. Some don’t stop walking.”

  With that, he moved on.

  “Fantastic,” Ysar muttered. “Love that kind of mysterious foreshadowing, are you serious it’s not a spun some mages made up to sell their potions?”

  Elsha sipped from her cup. “We knew the risks.”

  Zafran ate in silence, the words settling heavy on his shoulders. The desert didn’t warn you. It waited.

  By the time they stepped outside, the sun had reached its peak. They weren’t leaving yet—not until the heat backed down. Their horses were saddled and waiting under the stable’s shaded awning, bags packed light.

  They’d rest through the dead hours of the day. At sundown, they’d ride.

  Zafran checked his gear one last time, eyes flicking to the skyline of Windstail—the last outpost before silence.

  “Rest now,” he said. “We move at dusk.”

  Ysar groaned, slumping into the stable wall. “This better be the last desert job I take.”

  Elsha gave him a flat look. “This is the first.”

  “Exactly!”

  Karin gave a soft sigh, watching the horizon. Then she turned to her horse, quiet and thoughtful.

  Evening was coming.

  And the desert was waiting.