Godforsaken Land. The Sea of Sand.
In the endless expanse of the desert, an oasis is a miracle.
Amidst the whipping wind and stinging grit, the patch of vibrant green stood defiant—an emerald set in an endless sea of gold.
Suddenly, in the southeastern quadrant of the Sea of Sand, the shimmering heat waves were broken by the arrival of a strange procession. It was a squad of shamans, their robes adorned with foreign sigils, materializing out of thin air.
"This is the world our ancestor claimed," one of them rasped, checking a glowing compass. "The coordinates match perfectly."
"The records were right," another muttered, squinting against the glare. "It really is a sea of sand."
"Cut the chatter. Set up the perimeter ward. Mask our signatures. Now."
These weren't random wanderers. They were operatives sent by Grand Magus Faraday.
