The journey on foot was far more arduous than either of them had imagined. The riverlands gave way to rolling hills and dry scrubland, and soon they found themselves standing at the edge of a vast desert. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, and the sand shifted beneath their boots like a restless sea.
"What kind of weapon would someone hide out here?" Aria asked as they trudged forward, each step heavier than the last.
"The kind they don't want anyone to find," Cassius replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "Or the kind that's too dangerous to use."
They pressed on, the sun sinking lower in the sky but offering no relief from the heat. Every mile felt longer than the one before, and soon the desert stretched endlessly in all directions—a labyrinth of dunes and cracked earth.
By the second day, exhaustion had begun to take its toll. They rationed what little water they had brought, but it was not enough. Aria's lips cracked from dryness, and her limbs felt like they were weighed down with stone. Yet, Cassius's presence gave her the strength to push forward. His jokes, though increasingly strained, kept her from succumbing to despair.
But on the third day, disaster struck.
As they climbed the side of a towering dune, Aria stumbled and fell. Cassius rushed to her side, but she was pale and trembling, her breath shallow.
"I… I think I've been poisoned," Aria whispered, her voice barely audible. She pulled back the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a dark welt spreading across her arm—likely from a bite she hadn't even noticed in the chaos of their trek.
Cassius's heart raced. There was no antidote, no healer in sight. All they had was the unforgiving desert and each other.
"We'll get through this," Cassius whispered fiercely, pulling her into his arms. "I'm not letting you go."
Aria smiled weakly, but her eyelids drooped, and soon she slipped into unconsciousness. Cassius's heart ached as he laid her gently on the sand, her face pale under the moonlight.
For three days and nights, Cassius stayed by Aria's side. He gave her the last of their water, hoping it would stave off the worst of the poison's effects. But as her fever worsened, he realized that water alone would not save her.
In desperation, Cassius knelt beside her and began to pray—not to any god he had known, but to the spirits of the desert, the unseen forces that lurked beneath the sands. His voice was low and hoarse, but his words carried a strange reverence, as though the desert itself were listening.
"Oh spirits of the sand and sky," he whispered, "guardians of the dunes, I ask for your mercy. Do not take her from me. Let her wake with the strength of the wind and the fire of the sun. Let her live, and I will offer whatever you ask in return."
The wind picked up as if in response, swirling sand around them in a spiraling dance. The stars above flickered, their distant light dimming as if they, too, bore witness to Cassius's plea. His hands shook, but his voice grew steadier, more resolute.
"I give you my word," he continued,
"O spiritus deserti, Custodes arenae et ventorum, Audite preces meas in hac hora desperata.
Non permittas ut lux vitae eius exstinguatur, Ne ipsam ab hoc mundo auferatis. Protege eam a venenis et morbo, Et da ei vires ut se erigat iterum.
In nomine omnium animarum amissarum, Obsecro vos, parcite illi, Et vitam suam ad lumen revocate.
Promitto vobis devotionem, Et sacramentum meum offero in gratia vestra. Nolite me relinquere sine spe, Et redite eam ad meam custodiam."
Translation:
"O spirits of the desert,
Guardians of the sand and winds,
Hear my prayers in this desperate hour.
Do not let the light of her life be extinguished,
Do not take her from this world.
Protect her from poisons and sickness,
And grant her the strength to rise again.
In the name of all lost souls,
I beseech you, spare her,
And bring her life back to the light.
I promise you my devotion,
And I offer my sacrifice in your grace.
Do not leave me without hope,
And return her to my care."