The sun climbed high over the horizon as the airship soared gracefully above the desert sands of Silex. Beneath them, vast golden dunes stretched endlessly, rippling like a frozen sea under the relentless sun. Here and there, small oases shimmered like green jewels, their life-giving water barely more than specks against the immense emptiness. From the bridge of the airship, the view was mesmerizing, a breathtaking expanse of nature’s beauty and harshness intertwined.

  Leonard, freshly cleaned from his bath, stood alongside Nathan and Leyra at the bridge, gazing out over the shifting sands. Finn and Sahra were at the ship’s helm, expertly guiding the vessel as it began its descent toward a shimmering pool near the desert’s edge. Their goal was clear: resupply with water and food.

  “Doesn’t this place look unreal?” Leonard asked, his eyes wide as he took in the landscape.

  “It does,” Nathan replied. “And I can’t believe we’re actually heading down there.”

  “Better enjoy the view now,” Leyra said with a smirk. “Once we’re out in the heat, you’ll be wishing for a gentle breeze.”

  As the airship landed near the oasis, Hammond appeared, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, folks,” he announced. “We’ve got some work to do. We need food and water, and since I’m an old man in need of a nap, I’m asking for volunteers. Who’s in for a little hunting expedition?”

  Leonard’s hand shot up immediately, followed by Nathan and Sahra, as well as Leyra.

  Sahra grabbed her trusty bolt-slinger, a sleek and compact weapon resembling a crossbow with glowing blue mana crystals embedded in its frame. She handed similar ones to Nathan and Leonard, a mischievous grin on her face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll show you how to use them. It’s simple and, honestly, pretty fun.”

  “Thanks but I won’t need that, Sahra” Leyra smirked as she grabbed the fourth crossbow as well as some bolts and checked the scope, “I already know my way around these things”

  As the ship’s gangway extended to the desert floor, Leonard squinted at the shimmering heat waves rising from the dunes. “Time to roast,” he muttered, stepping out into the blazing sun, the heat rising from the grounds as well as beaming from the sun. “I can’t believe a place like this is that close to a freezing mountainscape.”

  Sahra, however, was practically skipping. “This is going to be great,” she said enthusiastically. “We’ll get some meat and maybe some filterberries!”

  “Filterberries?” Nathan asked, his brow furrowed.

  Leyra nodded. “They’re fascinating plants. They grow in sand, and their bushes produce two types of berries—one sweet, healthy, and delicious, the other sour, bitter, and slightly toxic. You can usually tell by their color—red for good, yellow for bad.”

  As Leyra explained, Leonard plucked a yellow berry from a nearby bush and popped it into his mouth without hesitation. A moment later, his face twisted in disgust, and his lips began to swell.

  “Leonard!” Leyra gasped, trying to hold back laughter. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? Yellow ones are the bad ones!”

  Sahra burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “You’ve got to listen, Leo! Here, try this one.” Leyra said as she handed him a bright red berry, and he cautiously took a bite. His expression shifted immediately.

  “Wow, that’s actually really good,” he admitted, his voice slightly muffled from his swollen lips.

  “Learn your lesson?” Leyra teased, handing him another berry.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Leonard muttered, chewing. “How do you know so much about desert plants anyway?”

  Leyra’s expression softened. “My master, Zaldimar, taught me a lot about potioncrafting. It’s not just about spells—you need to understand the materials you work with. Knowing the difference between a healing herb and a poisonous one can save your life.”

  “Sounds like you learned a lot,” Leonard said, his tone genuinely impressed. “You’re way ahead of me. I didn’t even know how magic worked properly until a couple of years ago. It’s all still kind of new and exciting to me.”

  Nathan, standing a few steps ahead, cleared his throat. “Maybe we should focus on gathering supplies instead of chatting?” He gestured toward the oasis, where shadows of animals moved near the water.

  Sahra leaned close to Nathan, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Relax, let them have their moment. It’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”

  Nathan blinked, confused at first, but then a faint understanding dawned. “Oh,” he said. “Riiight, got it.”

  Sahra winked at him. “Very good, you’re catching on.”

  The hunting expedition proved to be a unique challenge. Under Sahra’s guidance, Nathan learned to use his bolt-slingers to take down desert creatures, while Leyra taught Leonard as they kept chatting. The oasis was teeming with life—crocodile-like beasts with fruits growing from their backs, tube-like mammals that slithered through the sand, and fish with sharp, blade-like fins cutting through the water.

  Nathan quickly got the hang of the weapon, striking one of the slithering mammals with precision and putting it into a wagon Sahra had him bring along for the meat. Meanwhile, Leyra patiently guided Leonard, helping him steady his aim.

  “Hold it like this,” Leyra instructed, adjusting Leonard’s grip. “Aim for the fish’s head—its fins are tougher than they look.”

  Leonard took a deep breath, focused, and fired. The bolt sailed through the air, striking a fish squarely in its shimmering scales.

  “Nice shot!” Leyra said, smiling.

  Leonard beamed. “Thanks! Did you learn how to use these from your master too?”

  Leyra shook her head. “No, Zaldimar never used weapons like this. He was all about artifacts and magic. I picked this up when I joined the resistance. Darmas taught me.” Her expression grew somber. “I joined them and tried to free our town from Kazzorak. We got caught and ended up in that prison tower.”

  Leonard paused, his enthusiasm dimming while putting one of his hands on the other, slowly spinning the circle attached to his wrist. “That’s rough. What was your training with Zaldimar like? I’m curious how it compares to Hammond’s. He had Nathan and me carrying firewood up and down Prin Peak for weeks before we even got to cast spells.”

  Leyra laughed. “That sounds brutal! Zaldimar was more focused on theory. He had me reading ancient texts and practicing meditation to cultivate my mana. He used to say, ‘A true master is an eternal student.’”

  “Sounds like a wise man,” Leonard said. “I’d love to meet him!”

  “He was,” Leyra replied softly. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon. “When Principium was first attacked, my mother told me to run while she was trapped under rubble. I fled, and Zaldimar found me. He taught me everything I know. But years later, Kazzorak came looking for Arcanists. Someone must have tipped them off about us. Zaldimar saw the airships coming and told me to run. I didn’t want to lose another person I cared about, but he was right. I fled, and he…” Her voice faltered.

  Leonard placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Leyra. But you’re right—he might still be out there. If he is, we’ll find him. I promise.”

  Nathan and Sahra approached, dragging a cart piled high with their catches. Nathan grinned. “Hey, you two! We’ve been doing all the work while you’ve been chatting. Got anything good?”

  Leonard and Leyra looked sheepishly at the single fish they’d managed to catch.

  “I told you to let them talk,” Sahra said, smirking at Nathan. “But I didn’t expect them to be this unproductive.”

  Nathan laughed. “I overheard some of that, and I agree with Leonard. We’ll find him, Leyra.”

  Leyra’s face turned red as she stammered, “Were you eavesdropping?”

  Sahra shook her head, grinning. “Not intentionally, but you two weren’t exactly quiet. Especially you, purple hair.”

  Leonard chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, fair enough.”

  As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the group returned to the airship, their cart brimming with food and their spirits slightly lighter.

  The air was dry and suffocating, with no sound but the rattling of the chains that were encasing Zeke. He sat in his dim cell aboard the airship, sunlight leaking through the bars on his window and casting a dull orange glow across the floor. He had been trapped in silence for hours, replaying his failures over and over. He clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as he wrestled with his emotions.

  As the day crawled on, a strange clarity washed over him. His mana pulsed faintly within, growing stronger as frustration bubbled to the surface. His thoughts drifted to Leonard and Nathan, how he’d seen them channel raw bursts of power without the use of artifacts. They had done it without hesitation, and though he’d mocked them for their recklessness, he had to admit they had guts.

  Zeke smirked. “Guess I owe you two loudmouths a ‘thank you for the idea. Raw mana expelling, huh...’”

  He closed his eyes, summoning the mana buried deep within him. It roared to life like a storm, coursing through his veins, building until his entire body felt like it might explode. With a sharp cry, Zeke unleashed it. A raw burst of energy shot forward, slamming into the bars and shattering them like brittle wood. The loud crack might have been audible throughout the airship, but Zeke didn’t waste a second thinking about that. He bolted from the cell, ducking into the shadows of the narrow corridors.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The magitechnicians were busy with their tasks, oblivious to the escaped prisoner. Zeke moved like a shadow, silent and calculated, his heart pounding in his chest. Passing the bridge, he froze as Finn strode into view, scanning the area. For a terrifying moment, Finn’s gaze hovered near Zeke’s hiding spot. But as luck would have it, Finn was distracted by Darmas’ call from the upper deck to help him check out something regarding the magical crystal. Zeke took the opportunity to slip past him, his breath shallow and hurried.

  He found his way to the crew’s quarters and slipped into Hammond’s room. There, resting on a wooden stand, was Imprisoned, his chain artifact. Relief washed over him as he grabbed it, its cold weight familiar in his hands. He turned to leave but stopped short. Hammond was slumped in his chair, a book covering his face as he dozed. Zeke paused, guilt surfacing briefly. As he stepped toward the door, he glanced back and could have sworn he saw Hammond’s eyes ever so slightly open, watching him. The old man however said nothing, only offering a faint smile as Zeke left the room, wondering if he just imagined him being spotted.

  With a bag of food and water slung over his shoulder, Zeke fled the ship and disappeared into the Silex Desert.

  The heat of the day was relentless as Zeke trudged across the dunes. The horizon shimmered, distorting the landscape. His backpack gave out after a short while during a sandstorm, spreading the food and water he brought across the ground. He ate and drank what he could, meaning a sandy loaf of bread and a few red filterberries but outside of a waterskin, he couldn’t keep anything else as it was quickly buried by the sand. After hours of walking, he reached the end of the sandstorm and came to more hilly as well as rocky terrain. A lone tree stood against the backdrop of endless yellow. Beneath it, a man cooked meat over an open flame. Zeke felt the pang of hunger gnawing at him, his mouth watering at the sight of the food. He gripped his bag tightly, torn between survival and morality.

  Suddenly, a young boy emerged from behind the tree as he laughed, tossing a stick toward the fire. The man ruffled his son’s hair, the two sharing a moment of peace that Zeke hadn’t felt in years. He sighed, stepping back into the shadow of the rocks. Without a further thought, he turned away, leaving them undisturbed.

  By evening, Zeke reached a small village nestled against the cliffs. The streets were quiet save for the occasional murmur of villagers or the clatter of armor from Baharor guards stationed around. Zeke kept his head low, blending in as best he could.

  A sudden commotion broke the stillness. An egg flew from behind a wall, smacking one of the guards square in the helmet. The soldier cursed, glaring around. “Who did that?” he barked, grabbing his axe. Zeke caught a glimpse of a boy ducking behind the wall, his hands trembling as he crouched.

  Zeke stepped forward, his face calm. “That was me,” he said, his voice steady.

  The soldier turned, eyeing Zeke with suspicion. “You’ve got a death wish, stranger?”

  Zeke shrugged. “Figured it might distract you from this heat. Consider it a gift. Make an omelet out of it.”

  The soldier narrowed his eyes, his grip on the axe tightening. But when he noticed the chain artifact coiled at Zeke’s hip, he hesitated. With a grunt, he backed off.

  After the guards moved on, the boy peeked out from behind the wall. “Thanks, mister,” he whispered.

  “Don’t mention it,” Zeke replied.

  The boy introduced himself as Simon and led Zeke to his family’s farm on the outskirts of the village. Grateful for his help, Simon’s mother offered him a meal and a place to rest for the night. Zeke accepted, sitting at their modest table and listening as they spoke of their struggles under Kazzorak’s rule.

  “But even with all that, the local soldiers of Baharor aren’t much help either” Simon’s mother said, “They are supposed to help us but ever since Kazzorak took over all they do is laze around and abuse their power. They keep asking for more and more food, and while our farm is doing fine…”

  Simon held his mother’s hand as his father spoke up. “It’ll be fine, our new friend here will surely help us with some farm work, isn’t that right?”

  “I’m not exactly here to—” Zeke said, being interrupted by his growling stomach.

  “You’d not work for free, you’d get a warm meal out of it of course!”

  Zeke nodded, frowning to fruitlessly hide his expression.

  During the work on one of the fences, Zeke’s thoughts wandered. The scent of the firewood from inside the building, the laughter of a family working together… It all brought him back to a time before he became an Explorer.

  His father had been a warlord, a man of unshakable conviction who led the conquest of Principium with ruthless precision. But he had always told Zeke to follow his morals and believe in what was right. “Strength isn’t just for conquering, Zeke,” he’d said once, kneeling to look his son in the eyes. “It’s for protecting what you believe in.”

  Back then, Zeke thought his father’s conquest was just, believing he had fought for a better world. But when his father pressed further into Baharor and fell in battle, Zeke’s path diverged. Apollyon took his place as warlord, and Zeke, unsure of his own strength, chose the life of an adventurer instead. At first, it felt liberating, but the seeds of doubt grew over time. Could he ever live up to his father’s legacy?

  And then there was Alicia.

  Zeke muttered her name under his breath, his hand tightening around his cup. “Alicia… I just don’t understand where it all went wrong.”

  She had been his light on the borderlands, always advocating for kindness and love over power. Whenever he came home from an adventure, he would hurry to her just so he could spend time with her. He had admired not her beautiful smile, her blonde locks of hair or her green eyes, dazzling more than emeralds ever could, no. It was her compassion that led him back to her each and every time he could. But that day…

  As he struck another fence post into the ground with a loud smash, he remembered. Baharor’s massive cannons and their sounds, similar to his hammering. He needed cover, and instinctively, he chose the sturdiest structure nearby. Only after the dust settled did he realize Alicia had been inside. The guilt gnawed at him like a vulture. Her words, spoken so many times, echoed in his mind: “Kindness matters more than power, Zeke. Never forget that.”

  Simon’s father broke his reverie, placing a hand on his shoulder and offering a kind smile. “You’ve had a hard day, haven’t you? Would you like to spend the night to make that part at least more tolerable?”

  Zeke nodded but said nothing.

  That night, unable to sleep, he found Simon throwing weak punches into the air under the moonlight.

  “What’re you doing, kid?” Zeke asked, stepping into the yard.

  Simon turned, startled. “I—I’m practicing. If I’m strong, I can fight back, like my brother tried to.”

  Zeke shook his head, crouching down. “Strength isn’t about fighting. A true warrior only uses his fists to protect what’s important.” He guided Simon through a proper stance, showing him a few basic punches.

  By dawn, Zeke woke to Simon’s mother rapidly opening the door to his room. “They’ve taken him!” she cried.

  Zeke’s blood ran cold as the woman’s cries rang out. He sprinted toward the village square, each step pounding in sync with his racing heart. When he arrived, the sight sent a surge of fury through him.

  Simon was chained to a wooden post, his wrists bound with coarse rope as Baharor guards encircled him. The soldiers mocked and laughed, their voices carrying in the still air.

  “Looks like we’ve got a little rebel,” one of them sneered, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek. “Tried to play hero, didn’t you?”

  Simon squirmed, glaring up at the man. “Let me go!” he shouted, but his voice cracked with fear.

  Another soldier, a wiry man with a wicked grin, jabbed Simon in the ribs with the butt of his spear. “Aw, don’t cry, kid. You’ll toughen up in a Kazzorak prison cell, if you keep doing nonsense, kid.”

  Zeke’s grip tightened around Imprisoned, the chain artifact coiled like a serpent at his side. Memories of his father’s words echoed in his mind: “Strength is for protecting what you believe in.”

  He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the soldiers’ laughter. “Let him go.”

  The guards turned, sizing him up. The scarred man took a step closer, his axe glinting in the sunlight. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

  Zeke’s expression was calm, but his eyes burned with barely restrained fury. “Doesn’t matter who I am, and I won’t repeat myself.”

  The wiry soldier laughed, slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “Hear that? He thinks he’s a hero.”

  The scarred man grinned, lifting his axe. “Or what, stranger?”

  Zeke didn’t answer. He flicked his wrist, and Imprisoned snapped to life, the chain uncoiling and lashing forward like a living weapon. The scarred man barely had time to react before the chain struck his wrist with a resounding crack, forcing him to drop his axe.

  Several guards swarmed him, but Zeke was relentless. Each movement was precise, each strike deliberate. Imprisoned danced through the air, striking with precision as for a moment, Zeke felt as if his father’s voice was guiding him, steadying his hand.

  “Protect what you believe in, Zeke. That’s all that matters.”

  But as the battle wore on, another memory surged forward—Alicia’s voice, gentle and full of hope. “Kindness matters more than power, Zeke. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  His strikes slowed for a heartbeat, her words echoing in his mind. The hesitation cost him— The burly soldier’s axe grazed his shoulder, drawing blood.

  Gritting his teeth, Zeke pushed the memory aside. He couldn’t afford to falter now. With a surge of mana, he swung the chain in a wide arc, surrounding the leader of the guards, hurling him into the air and slamming him onto the ground

  When the dust settled, the square was silent. The guards lay scattered on the ground, groaning in pain or unconscious. Zeke stood in the middle of the village’s square, his chest heaving, blood dripping from the shallow cut on his arm.

  Simon stared at him, his eyes wide with shock. “Who… who are you?” he stammered.

  Zeke knelt, untying the boy’s wrists. “I’m Zeke,” he said quietly. “Just an Explorer. Nothing more.”

  Simon’s gaze fell to the chain artifact at Zeke’s side. Realization dawned on him, and his expression hardened. “An Explorer? You’re from Kazzorak, aren’t you? You’re one of them!” Zeke froze, the boy’s words cutting deeper than any blade.

  Simon shook his head, stepping back. “I don’t need lessons from someone like you. You’re just like those soldiers—taking what you want, hurting whoever gets in your way.”

  Before Zeke could respond, Simon’s father approached, his face pale and his hands trembling. “We’re grateful for what you’ve done,” the man said, his voice strained. “But you should leave. Now.”

  Zeke nodded, the weight of their rejection settling on his shoulders. He turned to leave without looking back but spoke up one last time, clearly addressing Simon.

  “Listen to me, kid,” he said. “Strength isn’t about fighting. It’s about protecting what matters most.”

  Simon didn’t respond, his expression cold. Zeke understood, turning away from the boy and started leaving the village.

  As Zeke walked away, the words of his father and Alicia kept colliding in his mind, a storm of conflicting ideals. The sun dipped below the horizon as Zeke left the village, his silhouette fading into the vast desert. Alone once more, he marched toward the setting sun.