The Banu Qadir moved west across the sands with the practiced efficiency of a people whose survival depended on constant motion. Tents were struck before dawn, belongings packed onto camels, and the day's march begun while the desert air remained cool. Karim al-Sayed walked near the head of the column, his gaze sweeping the horizon not just for physical landmarks but for the subtle shifts in energy that his expanding blood sense could now detect.
Two days had passed since his encounter with the stranger who had spoken of nexus points and awakening magic. The vial the man had left—the supposed catalyst—remained secured in Karim's private chest, unused but not forgotten. He had shared nothing of the encounter with the tribal elders, deciding that verification must precede revelation. Hashim and the council already faced enough uncertainty guiding the tribe toward contested territory; adding tales of mysterious figures and ancient magical concepts would only complicate their decisions.
Yet the stranger's words echoed in his thoughts, aligning disturbingly well with his own experiences. His blood visions had indeed grown stronger, clearer, extending further than traditional teachings suggested was possible. And the disturbance he sensed emanating from the western territories felt precisely like the disruption of a natural energy flow, just as the stranger had described.
"You seem troubled, Blood Sage," Nasira observed, falling into step beside him. Her keen eyes missed little, especially when it concerned her cousin's well-being. "More so than usual, even with the tribe moving toward unknown lands."
Karim considered how much to share. Nasira was pragmatic and open-minded, less bound by tradition than the elders, but revealing the full extent of his encounter carried risks even with her.
"The blood shows complications ahead," he said finally, choosing a partial truth. "The northern mining operation we discussed—its influence extends further than I initially perceived. It affects the water patterns not just locally but across a wider region."
Nasira frowned. "How? Their pumps can only draw water from the immediate vicinity."
"It's more than just water extraction," Karim tried to explain, struggling to articulate concepts that lacked established vocabulary in their language. "Their activities disturb something deeper, some underlying energy that connects water sources across the desert. Like pulling one thread in a tapestry causes ripples across the entire pattern."
His cousin absorbed this information, her expression thoughtful rather than dismissive. "The elders speak of ley lines, ancient paths of power that crisscross the land, though most consider such talk mere legend now. Could this be related?"
The term was familiar, though usually relegated to folklore rather than practical blood magic. Yet it resonated with the stranger's mention of nexus points and concentrated energy. "Perhaps," Karim conceded. "Whatever the cause, the effect is real. The water seam we seek appears stable for now, but the broader disruption worries me."
"And worries you enough to keep you awake scanning the horizon when you should be conserving strength," Nasira finished, her tone softening with concern. "You push yourself too hard, Karim. Even a blood sage needs rest."
Before he could reply, a shout came from the scouts positioned ahead of the main column. Karim and Nasira exchanged glances before hurrying forward, joining Hashim and the other elders who were already moving toward the source of the commotion.
The scouts had gathered around something on the ground—a patch of sand darker than its surroundings, glistening strangely in the morning sun. As Karim drew closer, he recognized the substance: not water, but oil. A thick, black residue seeped from a fissure in the rock beneath the sand, pooling in a shallow depression.
"What is this?" Hashim demanded, prodding the edge of the pool with his staff. "I have never seen such substance in these lands."
"Oil," Nasira identified immediately. "The northerners use it in their machines and lamps. Sometimes traders bring small quantities south, but finding it seeping from the ground here... this is unnatural."
Karim knelt beside the pool, extending his senses without touching the viscous liquid. The energy signature was faint but distinct—a residue of the same disruption he had sensed emanating from the western mining operation. It felt like the land itself was bleeding this dark substance in response to the disturbance further west.
"It's connected to the northern activities," he said quietly, confirming his suspicion. "Their deep digging has fractured underlying rock formations, allowing substances normally trapped far below to reach the surface."
The implications were deeply troubling. If the mining operation could cause such effects miles away from their actual site, the potential for widespread environmental damage was far greater than previously imagined. This wasn't just about water depletion; it was about fundamentally altering the desert's geology and potentially poisoning the few resources that remained.
"We cannot camp near this," Hashim declared, his expression grim. "The fumes alone may be harmful, and who knows what effect it might have on groundwater if it seeps deeper."
He ordered the tribe to alter their course slightly, bypassing the oil seep while maintaining their westward direction. The discovery cast a pall over the morning's march, replacing the usual quiet determination with an undercurrent of anxiety. Oil seeps were unheard of in these territories, another sign that the familiar patterns of the desert were indeed changing in unpredictable and potentially dangerous ways.
As they continued their journey, Karim found his thoughts returning to the vial the stranger had given him. The catalyst, supposedly capable of stabilizing his expanding visions. If his abilities were truly evolving in response to these widespread disruptions, perhaps understanding and controlling that evolution was now essential not just for his personal development but for the tribe's survival.
The stranger had claimed the catalyst would allow clearer perception without the instability caused by animal blood mixtures. Such clarity might be crucial in assessing the full extent of the threat posed by the northern mining operation and its environmental consequences.
That evening, after the tribe had made camp and the familiar routines of setting guards and preparing the meal were underway, Karim retreated to the privacy of his tent. He retrieved the vial from its hiding place, examining the dark red liquid within. It pulsed with a faint internal light, suggesting contained energy far exceeding that of ordinary blood.
Traditional teachings screamed caution. Accepting magical substances from unknown sources, particularly those potentially linked to groups like the Crimson Path, violated every principle his mentor had instilled in him. Yet the situation felt increasingly desperate. The oil seep confirmed that the environmental disruption was real and spreading. His own blood visions, while powerful, remained difficult to control and interpret fully.
Could this catalyst provide the clarity needed to navigate the challenges ahead? Or would using it merely draw him deeper into the stranger's influence and whatever agenda the man represented?
He uncorked the vial, inhaling cautiously. The scent was metallic and slightly sweet, unlike any blood he had encountered before. There was no hint of decay or corruption, but an underlying intensity that spoke of concentrated power.
Remembering the stranger's advice about refinement, Karim decided on a limited test. He wouldn't consume the substance or use it in a major working, but merely apply a single drop to his focusing bowl along with his own blood, attempting a simple divination regarding their immediate path.
He prepared the bowl, adding three drops of his own blood as usual. Then, with deliberate care, he allowed a single drop of the catalyst liquid to fall into the bowl. The reaction was immediate and startling. The catalyst didn't merely mix with his blood; it seemed to consume it, the entire mixture transforming into a swirling vortex of deep crimson light that pulsed in rhythm with his own heartbeat.
The energy radiating from the bowl was palpable, far stronger than any working he had performed before. Hesitantly, Karim extended his hand, passing it over the bowl while focusing on their westward path.
The vision struck with blinding intensity, bypassing the usual gradual expansion of his consciousness. He was instantly soaring above the desert again, seeing their route laid out with impossible clarity. The water seam glowed beneath the sand like a living river. Beyond it, the northern mining camp pulsed with the discordant energy of the disrupted nexus point.
But this time, he saw more. He saw the network of underground water channels connecting the seam to the larger reservoir the northerners tapped. He saw how the excessive extraction was causing pressure changes that forced oil and other deep substances toward the surface miles away. He saw hairline fractures spreading through the bedrock around the mining site, threatening wider collapse.
And he saw figures moving within the mining camp—not just the northern workers operating machinery, but others dressed in robes that seemed to absorb the light, their movements furtive as they conducted rituals near the central pit. These figures radiated an energy signature that felt chillingly familiar—the same focused, manipulative power he associated with the stranger who had visited him.
The Crimson Path. They weren't just observing; they were actively involved, perhaps guiding the northerners' activities or exploiting the disrupted nexus energy for their own purposes.
The vision expanded further, showing him glimpses of other regions—a healer in a distant town surrounded by an aura of light as he worked, a woman in a port city tracing patterns of blood on an obsidian disk, a warrior in snowy mountains feeling the echo of ancient power in her veins. He saw the connections between them, threads of light linking individuals across vast distances, all unknowingly responding to the energy released from disturbed nexus points.
The sheer volume of information threatened to overwhelm him. Karim struggled to maintain focus, to pull back from the flood of perceptions and return to his physical body. It required conscious effort, like swimming against a powerful current. When he finally succeeded, he found himself gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool night air.
The bowl before him was empty, the blood mixture having completely evaporated during the vision, leaving behind only a faint reddish stain and the lingering scent of ozone.
Karim sat back, shaken by the intensity and clarity of what he had witnessed. The catalyst had worked exactly as the stranger promised, providing insight far beyond his previous capabilities. But the knowledge gained was terrifying.
The Crimson Path was involved at the mining site. The environmental damage was spreading rapidly. And the changes affecting blood magic practitioners were part of a global phenomenon connecting individuals across all cultures and traditions.
He now faced an impossible choice. Sharing this vision with the elders would reveal his use of the forbidden catalyst and potentially undermine their trust in his judgment. Yet withholding information of this magnitude felt like a betrayal of his duty as blood sage, especially given the direct threat posed by the mining operation to their immediate survival.
As he wrestled with this dilemma, a commotion arose from the edge of camp—shouts, the clang of metal, the panicked bleating of goats. Karim grabbed his ritual knife and hurried out of his tent, joining other tribe members converging on the source of the disturbance.
They found the night guards engaged in a desperate struggle with shadowy figures who had somehow bypassed their perimeter. These intruders moved with unnatural speed and coordination, their attacks focused on disabling the guards and reaching the tribe's water supplies.
Karim recognized their energy signature immediately—the same manipulative power he had sensed from the robed figures in his vision. These were agents of the Crimson Path, or individuals using similar techniques.
Without hesitation, Karim drew upon the residual power from his recent working, focusing his will not outward in vision but inward, enhancing his own senses and reflexes. The world seemed to slow slightly, allowing him to perceive the attackers' movements with greater clarity.
He saw weaknesses in their coordination, moments where their enhanced speed faltered. He shouted instructions to the guards, guiding their defense based on his heightened perception, calling out vulnerabilities just before they appeared.
One of the intruders broke through the guard line, heading directly for the central water cistern. Karim intercepted him, his ritual knife flashing in the dim light. The attacker moved with blinding speed, but Karim anticipated the strike, deflecting it with an agility that surprised even himself.
They exchanged several blows, Karim relying on prediction and precise timing to counter the attacker's enhanced strength. He managed to score a shallow cut on the man's arm, noting with grim confirmation that the blood beaded strangely, resisting flow just as Leif Thorsson had described the Grimhall raiders' wounds.
Seeing his attack failing, the intruder abruptly disengaged and retreated back toward the perimeter, joining the other shadowy figures who were already withdrawing under the coordinated defense Karim had directed.
Within moments, they had vanished back into the desert night as silently as they had appeared, leaving behind two wounded guards and a tribe shaken but resolute.
As Nasira and others tended to the injured, Hashim approached Karim, his expression a mixture of relief and suspicion. "Your eyes, Blood Sage... they shone with inner light during the fight. And your movements... faster than I have ever seen from you."
Karim met the sheikh's gaze, knowing that evasion was no longer possible. The catalyst's effects, combined with his own evolving abilities, had manifested too clearly to deny.
"The patterns are changing, Sheikh Hashim," Karim said, his voice carrying conviction born from both vision and direct experience. "Within me, and within the world. We face threats beyond raiding tribes or natural drought. Forces are moving that seek to exploit ancient powers, and they know of our tribe, of our path."
He gestured toward the empty bowl inside his tent. "I used methods beyond tradition tonight to see the danger clearly. The choice was necessary, though the path forward remains uncertain."
Hashim studied him for a long moment, the weight of leadership evident in his gaze. "Tell me what you saw," he commanded finally. "Tell me everything. The time for secrets between blood sage and sheikh is past. Survival demands truth, however difficult it may be to hear."
Karim nodded, accepting the necessity. He began to speak, sharing the full extent of his visions—the nexus point, the Crimson Path's involvement, the spreading environmental damage, and the interconnectedness of blood magic changes across distant lands. He spoke of the stranger's visit and the catalyst vial, acknowledging his decision to test its power despite traditional prohibitions.
As he spoke, he felt a subtle shift within himself—not just the fading remnants of the catalyst's enhancement, but a deeper alignment of his own evolving abilities with the responsibilities he carried. The awakening tide the stranger had spoken of was not just an external phenomenon; it was occurring within him as well.
Whether that awakening would ultimately lead to salvation or destruction remained unknown. But as the Banu Qadir prepared to face the dangers ahead, Karim knew one thing with certainty: the old ways alone would no longer be sufficient. Adaptation, innovation, and perhaps even embracing forbidden knowledge might be the only path to survival in a world where the very blood that sustained life was whispering secrets of transformation and upheaval.