The morning sun stretched long golden fingers across the stone halls of Sunvein, casting deep shadows over the desert below. Kaelen stood at the edge of the village, the vast expanse of shifting dunes stretching before him, shimmering under the already fierce light. The air tasted clean, sharp, carrying the promise of heat and distance.

  It should have felt daunting. The end of familiarity. The beginning of the unknown, a path forbidden by the elders, leading towards dangers whispered only in legends.

  But Kaelen? Kaelen grinned, the fire stirring restless and eager in his chest. This was it. Freedom. Purpose. A chance to prove them all wrong.

  “Just yesterday, I was prepping archive reports,” Seyva muttered behind him, her voice dry as desert sand. She adjusted the unfamiliar weight of a waterskin slung over her shoulder. “Now I’m an outlaw. Fantastic.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Asarek said, settling the familiar weight of his war hammer across his broad back. His steady presence was a comforting anchor, even if Kaelen would never admit it.

  “We don’t have time to get used to anything.” Kaelen announced, already turning, starting down the path leading away from the temple city. He felt the pull of the journey, the thrill of defiance. “Legends don’t wait for slowpokes. Come on, we have a kingdom to save.”

  “Correction,” Asarek said, easily falling into step beside Kaelen, his longer stride matching Kaelen’s eager pace. “If this works, we won’t be the ones saving our kingdom. It’ll be the Wolf King.”

  “True,” Kaelen conceded with a wave of his hand, the grin not leaving his face. “But imagine the stories they’ll tell! The legendary warrior Kaelen Emberfang and his band of heroes, traversing the mystical forest, breaking the ancient spell, taming one of the mightiest Kings to ever live!”

  “Wait,” Asarek frowned slightly. “How come you get to be the legendary hero and we are just ‘heroes’?”

  “Yeah, I feel like we deserve more credit than that,” Seyva chimed in, catching up, her usual scholar’s stride surprisingly quick.

  Kaelen threw his arms wide, basking in the morning sun. “Woah, guys, we can all be legendary! It’s just that I’ll be the one who persuades or defeats the Wolf King, and I was the one with the master plan, which means this whole trip wouldn’t be possible without me.”

  “Fair,” Asarek interjected, though a hint of amusement touched his eyes. “But I think if we really start to think about it, Seyva is the key to whether we can actually free the Wolf King. If anything, she might be the true legend here.”

  “Asarek, what an astute observation!” Seyva declared, puffing up slightly with mock importance. “I agree completely. Maybe the bards should sing of Seyva the Legend and her two heroic sidekicks.”

  Kaelen jumped back in, refusing to yield the spotlight. “Alright, fine! How about this instead: ‘The Legend of the Exiled Trio that Marched Through Eldergloom and Conquered a Kingdom’?”

  “Now that’s a better story,” Asarek said, unable to suppress a grin.

  “The title could use some work,” Seyva admitted, adjusting her pack. “But I think you might finally be onto something.”

  Kaelen smirked, satisfied. “Then it’s settled. The Exiled Trio is on its way to becoming legends.”

  The road stretched before them, endless and open under the vast desert sky. Their journey had begun, fueled by defiance and Kaelen’s unwavering confidence.

  Three hours later, the initial excitement had evaporated under the relentless assault of the sun.

  High and merciless, it beat down on their backs, turning the air into a shimmering furnace. Seyva had long since stopped trying to wipe the sweat from her brow, letting the desert win that particular battle. Her face was flushed, her steps dragging slightly.

  “Are we sure this was a good idea?” she asked, her voice raspy.

  “No,” Asarek said flatly.

  “Yes!” Kaelen insisted at the exact same moment, ignoring the pointed look Asarek shot him. The heat was getting to him too, prickling under his tunic, but admitting it felt like weakness. “You know, I was just about to say I know a shortcut.” He pointed towards a narrow, sloping path that dipped down into a dried-out riverbed snaking between low mesas.

  Asarek stopped walking, planting his feet firmly. “No.”

  “It’ll save hours off our trip!” Kaelen argued, already heading towards it.

  “It’ll probably also kill us,” Asarek retorted, his arms crossed. “Shortcuts in the wastes usually involve things trying to eat you.”

  Seyva adjusted the strap of her bag, squinting towards the potential shade offered by the mesas. “Honestly? I’m too hot to care. If it gets us to shade faster, I’m in.”

  Asarek exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound of profound resignation. “Fine. But if we die, I’m coming back to haunt you both.”

  Kaelen grinned triumphantly and led the way down the slope—confident, self-assured, a leader taking charge.

  And then he immediately sank knee-deep into soft, treacherous sand hidden beneath a thin crust of baked earth.

  Silence descended, broken only by the faint whisper of wind.

  Kaelen struggled, flailing slightly, which only made him sink deeper, the fine sand filling his boots, warm and suffocating. Heat rushed to his face, embarrassment warring with annoyance.

  Seyva sighed dramatically, pulled out a worn leather-bound book, and sat down primly on a nearby rock, flipping it open as if settling in for a long wait. Asarek leaned heavily on his hammer, arms crossed, watching Kaelen’s predicament with an expression of mild, weary amusement.

  “Well?” Kaelen growled, trying to find purchase and failing.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Seyva said without looking up, turning a page with exaggerated care. “I’ll just wait here while you learn how to walk again.”

  “Not. A. Word.” Kaelen gritted out, feeling the sand creep higher up his shins.

  “You know,” Asarek mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. “When I studied the epics, I don’t recall this particular incident being part of any legendary hero's journey. Do you think we should write this one down, Seyva? For posterity?”

  “Now that you mention it,” Seyva said, reaching into her bag with mock seriousness. “I think it would be a shame if we didn’t record key moments in our journey that were crucial to our survival. And I think I know just what the starting point is.”

  They both started laughing, the sound echoing slightly in the dry air.

  Kaelen couldn’t help but crack a smile despite himself. “Ha ha, very funny. Are you two going to help, or am I blowing up half the desert to get out of here?” His threat lacked its usual heat; he knew using his fire now would just drain him unnecessarily.

  “Well, hang on,” Asarek said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “How do we know that this isn’t part of the shortcut? Maybe we both need to be stuck?”

  “You know what? I completely forgot,” Kaelen retorted, a wicked glint in his eye. “The most important part about this shortcut. It takes two to activate it.”

  Before Asarek could react, Kaelen flicked his wrist. A thin string of fire lashed out, wrapping around Asarek’s ankle with pinpoint accuracy. With a quick, sharp pull, Kaelen yanked. Asarek yelped in surprise as the crust broke beneath him, sending him stumbling knee-deep into the sand trap beside Kaelen.

  Asarek reached out instinctively, grabbing Kaelen by the shoulders to stabilize himself, sputtering indignantly. Kaelen was laughing too hard to pay attention to whatever Asarek was saying.

  Seyva chuckled, finally looking up from her book. “Fantastic. This’ll make an excellent final entry.”

  The moment they found shade under a rocky overhang, all three collapsed like drought-stricken plants finally finding water.

  Kaelen stretched out, arms behind his head, pointedly acting as though he wasn’t still shaking fine sand out of every fold in his clothes. Asarek took slow, measured sips from his waterskin, his usual stoicism firmly back in place. Seyva just leaned against her pack, flipping open her book again, pointedly ignoring both of them.

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  It was peaceful. Quiet. The oppressive heat lessened slightly in the shade.

  Kaelen, naturally, ruined it immediately.

  “You know,” he announced to the stone ceiling above them, “if we do run into trouble, I’ll be the one carrying this team.”

  Asarek nearly choked on his water. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Kaelen grinned, turning his head towards them. “Come on, let’s be honest. I’m the only one with real offensive magic. That automatically makes me the strongest fighter here.”

  “Right,” Seyva said flatly, not looking up. “Because magic was so useful against that sand trap earlier.”

  “Or against my hammer,” Asarek added dryly, wiping his mouth.

  Kaelen sat up, indignant. “That was different! I wasn’t trying to win the spar; I was trying to recruit you. And the sand trap was… unexpected terrain.”

  “Right. Just like you weren’t trying in the last three spars you lost to Asarek?” Seyva murmured, turning a page.

  “And what about that silence spell?” Asarek added, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “That was barely two minutes!” Kaelen protested.

  “Five,” Asarek corrected.

  “Ten,” Seyva supplied helpfully.

  “Okay, you’re both exaggerating,” Kaelen grumbled, crossing his arms. This wasn't how he pictured the start of their legendary quest.

  Seyva finally turned a page. “Mmm. Sure.”

  "Plus," Kaelen rallied, sitting up straighter, leaning against the nearby rock wall with feigned nonchalance, "did we all forget that I beat that silence-obsessed jerk and won the whole tournament last year?" He puffed his chest out slightly. “And yes, I may have lost my last few ‘spars’ with Asarek, but when it comes to the annual tribe festival tournament, I’m still undefeated when it actually matters.”

  “Of course,” Asarek chimed in, his tone laced with amusement. “How could we forget? The only tournament that’s hosted in the comfort of a stone arena, with healers standing by, and not out here where real battles happen.”

  “Well naturally,” Seyva added without looking up, “the mighty Kaelen has to win where the most people can see him.”

  Kaelen sighed dramatically, shaking his head with a grin he couldn't quite suppress. “I feel bad for you two. You just don’t understand what it means to be the strongest.”

  “Uh-huh. Whenever you want to settle that tie, I’m right here,” Asarek said, making a show of starting to stand up, flexing his shoulders.

  Seyva closed her book. Loudly. The sharp snap echoed in the quiet space.

  “You both do realize I would probably win, right?”

  Both Kaelen and Asarek stopped, turning to stare at her.

  “Wait, what?” Kaelen squinted. “You? In a fight? Seyva, you carry books into battle.”

  “And yet, somehow,” Seyva said calmly, stretching languidly, clearly enjoying their reactions, “I manage to win my fights. Curious.”

  “You think you could beat me?” Kaelen scoffed, gesturing to himself.

  “I think I could outthink you,” she corrected smoothly. “Which, frankly, wouldn’t be that difficult.”

  Asarek chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

  “Oh, don’t you start,” Kaelen groaned, leaning back against the rock again. “And by the way, that wasn’t just pointed at me. She said ‘you both,’ which includes you too, boulder-brain.”

  Asarek turned towards Seyva, genuinely perplexed. Seyva just smirked, satisfied.

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see when trouble finds us,” she concluded airily.

  Asarek stretched, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Let’s just hope it finds him first.”

  Kaelen threw a pebble at him. It bounced harmlessly off Asarek’s arm.

  The break was over.

  The sun was still merciless, the desert still endless, but at least they had water in their flasks and, Kaelen hoped, no more shortcuts to deal with.

  Kaelen led the way again, stepping with renewed, if slightly forced, confidence. After all, his previous failure had been mostly forgotten.

  Mostly.

  “Alright,” he said, brushing imaginary sand off his clothes. “Now that I’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day, I’d like to remind you both that I’m still the only real magic user here with any offensive capability, and thus I still know the best route there.”

  Seyva didn’t even react, just adjusted her pack.

  Asarek sighed. “We’re doing this again?”

  “No, I'm just stating a fact,” Kaelen insisted. “I have fire. You have rocks and sand. Seyva has… paper cuts? That makes me the most valuable person in this group.”

  Seyva, still walking a few paces ahead, casually muttered a single, sharp word under her breath, a word Kaelen didn't recognize but felt instantly in his bones.

  He froze mid-step, his entire body locking up, completely paralyzed. It felt like being encased in ice, unable to move, unable even to twitch.

  His mouth opened—but no sound came out. Panic flared briefly, hot and sharp, before being replaced by sheer, sputtering indignation.

  Seyva walked past him without a backward glance, her pace unhurried. “Strange,” she commented to the empty air. “It’s almost like magic can exist outside of setting things on fire.”

  Asarek chuckled as he came alongside Kaelen, nudging his frozen shoulder playfully. “You’ve had this the whole time and we’re just now using it?”

  "It doesn’t last long against someone powerful," Seyva called back over her shoulder, turning slightly. "And knowing Kaelen, he’ll resist it next time. But for now? We get a couple minutes of peace."

  Asarek began the awkward process of trying to heft Kaelen over his shoulder. “Well,” he grunted with the effort. “At least he won’t get us lost again.”

  Kaelen, stuck in silence, let out an outraged, silent scream—his hair sparked briefly with frustrated fire before dying out again as the spell held firm.

  The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows against the rocky outcrop where they had finally set up camp for the night. The flames burned steady but small, their light swallowed quickly by the vast emptiness of the desert night. The temperature had plummeted with the sun, a biting chill replacing the day's oppressive heat.

  The trio sat in a loose circle, the warmth of the fire a welcome, if insufficient, barrier against the cold.

  Kaelen stretched out, arms behind his head, grinning, the paralysis having worn off an hour ago, though his pride was still smarting. "Well," he declared loudly. "I’d say today was a success."

  “If by success you mean getting caught in a sand trap, losing multiple arguments, and being carried like a sack of potatoes, then yes,” Seyva retorted dryly, tossing a small rock into the fire. “I’d say this has been one of your better days.”

  “And getting frozen in place,” Asarek added helpfully, taking a long sip from his waterskin.

  "You’re both just jealous," Kaelen insisted, though without much heat, "because I’m still the best fighter here."

  "Oh yes, how could I ever compare to the legendary warrior who was outmatched by sand?" Seyva smirked, the firelight dancing in her eyes.

  Kaelen groaned dramatically. Asarek chuckled.

  But despite the familiar teasing, the easy camaraderie, something in Kaelen’s expression softened as he looked at his friends across the flickering flames. He liked this. The way they talked to him, the way they didn’t treat him like some untouchable warrior-prodigy destined for greatness.

  To everyone else back at the temple, he was Kaelen Emberfang, the fire-born, the one blessed (or cursed, depending who you asked) with power beyond his years, the reckless youth who chafed against tradition. Expectations clung to him like desert dust.

  But to Seyva and Asarek? He was just Kaelen. Arrogant sometimes, reckless often, but theirs. And that, he realized with a clarity that surprised him, was what he liked the most. That was worth more than any legend.

  The fire crackled, filling the sudden quiet. For a moment, everything was still again.

  Then Seyva looked up, her gaze fixed on the canopy of stars spread across the black velvet sky. She frowned, tilting her head slightly.

  “Something wrong?” Asarek asked, noticing her stillness.

  Seyva didn’t answer right away, her eyes scanning the familiar patterns. Kaelen sat up, following her gaze. The desert sky was usually breathtakingly clear, the stars sharp points of brilliant light.

  “The stars…” Seyva murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “They look dimmer tonight.”

  Kaelen squinted. She was right. They were still there—the Hunter, the Serpent, the Great Dune—but they seemed… distant. Muted. As if viewed through a thin, almost invisible veil.

  “Maybe it’s just dust high up,” Kaelen offered, though the explanation felt thin even to him. The air felt sharp and clear tonight.

  Seyva didn’t respond immediately, her gaze still fixed on the heavens. “Maybe,” she said finally, though her tone lacked conviction.

  No one spoke after that.

  The fire burned low, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts at the edge of their camp.

  And for the first time since their journey began, a thread of genuine unease seemed to weave itself into the familiar pattern of their banter and shared purpose. The desert night felt vast, ancient, and suddenly, not entirely empty.