1217-09-08
The endless sands stretch as far as the eye can see—a palace of desolation and despair. Many who cross these dunes cling to their sanity, remaining stagnant, unmoving. But I am not like them. I am one of the insane, driven to embrace the chaos.
At the heart of these sands lies Shars, the capital of Sha'tar. Nestled beside a winding river, it thrives amidst the arid wilderness, drawing life from the waters. This same river winds southward, feeding smaller villages like Grimsund—a coastal settlement on the central sea. It faces the UIK to the east, a distant yet ever-present neighbor.
Grimsund is my home. It's where I store everything I need, where I rest between journeys. My travels through these sands would be impossible without the sand dragons. Unlike their larger, winged cousins, these dragons glide effortlessly through the dunes, their movements like ripples in water. They're the fastest way to navigate Sha'tar's unforgiving terrain.
These dragons are sold by the Tar Trading Company, a business more interested in profits than prying into their customers' affairs. As long as they're paid, they don't ask questions—something I appreciate.
Grimsund finally came into view as the rolling sands gave way to green, lush terrain. The stark contrast always feels like a breath of fresh air, a reminder that even in Sha'tar, life finds a way to flourish.
The sand dragon I rode shifted gracefully through the dunes, twisting and turning as if the sand itself guided it. Leading the way was a professional rider, clad in blue and white leather gear. His outfit gleamed under the sun, pockets bulging with extra water supplies. Unlike the soldiers of Sha'tar, this man was an expert at navigating the sands.
"We're almost there," he called back to me.
"Thanks for the ride," I replied.
"How much var do I owe you?"
"From Shar to Grimsund? That'll be 1,000 var."
"That's cheaper than usual," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"Consider it a special discount," he answered with a grin.
"Take this," he said, handing me a card.
I couldn't help but smile back. Grimsund was closer now, and with it, a sense of peace.
The dragon's pace slowed to a stop as we approached the gates of Grimsund. The town was small but notorious for its trade. Its sandstone walls, though shorter than the towering defenses of Shars, stood as a testament to its resilience.
People lived within the walls, their homes carved into the stone itself. Beyond the gate, the Central Sea stretched wide, its cool breeze cutting through the relentless heat of Sha'tar. The town was greener than most of the desert, thanks to its scattering of trees and shrubs fed by the nearby river.
At the docks, a handful of boats bobbed gently in the water. One stood out—a small, worn vessel with a peculiar flag. The red-and-black pattern was unfamiliar, a white tree emblazoned across its center. The boat itself was in poor condition, with a crack on its left side clumsily covered by a white cloth. It looked like it could barely fit two people.
Anyone who'd ride that is crazier than I am, I thought, shaking my head.
Outside the gate stood a figure who immediately caught my eye. His dark blue, almost black clothing was a stark contrast to the lighter, breathable fabrics worn by most in Sha'tar. The oppressive heat didn't seem to bother him.
I handed the dragon rider the 1,000 var I owed, grabbed my bag, and dismounted. The dragon turned, slithering back toward the sands, its movements smooth as water.
I glanced again at the stranger, his hood shadowing most of his face. Yet, one detail stood out: his red eyes, glowing faintly beneath the dark fabric.
"You're late," he yelled.
"I'm sorry," I replied, adjusting the strap on my bag. "I ran into some trouble in Shar."
He looked me up and down, his piercing gaze unsettling. Finally, he muttered, "Do you have any idea how treacherous my journey was? Don't be late again. This will likely be my final order of ance."
"Who will you sell to now?" I asked, trying to mask my curiosity.
"I've heard other merchants from the UIK are in need," he said curtly. "I've earned enough for what I need."
Grimsund is a merchant town, bustling with trade. Surely someone else would want what he had. Still, I nodded silently and handed over the bag. He inspected its contents carefully, pulling out each gem to examine it under the sunlight. Satisfied, he handed me four small bags, each filled to the brim with var.
"Will this be enough?" he asked, his tone clipped.
"Only 40,000 var?" I frowned. "It's less than last time."
"Yes, because there's less this time," he snapped.
"You're right," I said quickly, bowing slightly. "I apologize."
He turned toward the town, and I followed a few steps behind, careful not to draw attention. His dark attire already stood out like a shadow against the bright sands, making subtlety nearly impossible.
I walked through the city with a clear goal in mind. Grimsund was quieter than Shar—less crowded, less chaotic. Its slower pace and fewer people made it the perfect place to lay low.
As I wove through the streets, trading and bartering surrounded me, the voices rising and falling like waves. Then, a small, familiar house came into view. It was modest and weathered, its exterior coated in a fine layer of dust from the ever-present sands.
The door creaked open, and two figures stepped out—my mother and father. My chest tightened as I saw them, and I ran to embrace them both.
"How've you been?" my father asked, his voice warm despite the weariness in his eyes.
My father is an older man, his once-dark hair now a soft white. His light brown skin was weathered, his hands rough and calloused from years of carpentry. Despite his exhaustion, there was an enduring kindness in his expression.
"I've been good," I said, forcing a smile as I handed him one of the bags of var.
"Thank you, son," he said, his voice tinged with gratitude. "How's work been for you?"
"It's been great, Dad," I lied. My smile didn't falter.
They believed I worked under the queen. It hurt to deceive them, but it was necessary. They thought every piece of money I brought home went toward taxes, rent, or our landlord—eventually making its way back to the crown in some form.
That lie protected them. "I work in secret service," I had told them. "Don't tell anyone."
"How's Neith?" I asked, glancing between my parents.
My mother's face fell. "Her condition hasn't improved," she said softly, opening a door to a small, dimly lit room.
Inside, a frail cry echoed. A crib sat in the corner, and I approached it slowly. Neith, my baby sister, lay there, her tiny body covered in scales that shimmered faintly like molten bronze. They spread across her face and back, twisting her skin into welts. She whimpered, her cries weak but filled with pain.
Blight. The word tasted bitter in my mind. No one knew why the illness plagued some children born in Sha'tar. Some blamed the dragons, but there was no proof—no cure, only treatments to ease the pain.
I picked her up gently, cradling her close. Her small body radiated heat, fierce and unrelenting, like the midday sun.
The nearly empty bottle of medicine caught my eye on a nearby table. I uncorked it and carefully fed her what remained, her cries easing slightly as she swallowed.
"I'm sorry, Neith," I whispered, my voice cracking as I held her closer. "I'm so sorry they can't heal you."