Chapter 32 – The Desert City
The fire cracked softly against the endless desert night.
Flecks of orange light flickered across four faces — one shadowed, one calm, one thoughtful, and one glowing faint gold.
John sat cross-legged, staring into the flames, a worn piece of metal in his hand — the remains of a Revenak spear tip. Beside him, Tamara poked at the fire with a branch, her pale hair catching every flicker like moonlight on water. Ember sprawled nearby, his fur dimming and flaring with lazy rhythm, while Blake sharpened his dagger with the comfort of routine.
For a long time, no one spoke. The dunes whispered in their place.
Finally, Tamara broke the silence.
"We need to pick a direction by sunrise."
Her voice was quiet but certain. The kind that carried authority she didn't want to claim.
John didn't look up. "You said you recognized this desert?"
She nodded slowly, gaze on the horizon. "The Lost Land Desert. We're deep in it."
Blake snorted. "Figures. The name's accurate."
Tamara's lips tightened. "To the west lies the Kingdom of Rina."
Both men looked toward her — Blake more than John.
There was a tension in the air now, sharp and personal.
"Can we go there?" John asked simply.
Tamara hesitated. "No."
Her eyes dropped to the sand. "It's… not a place I can return to."
She didn't elaborate, and John didn't ask. His new calm was unnerving even to himself — emotions smoothed over by the weight of everything he'd lost.
"Then west is out," he said at last.
Blake nodded. "Good. Wouldn't want to deal with Rina's politics anyway."
Tamara's expression softened, faint relief hidden under the shadow of her hood.
Weighing the Paths
"What about north?" Blake asked.
Tamara shook her head. "That's worse. The northern kingdom has been at war with Rina for decades. Their borders are sealed. Anyone crossing will be treated as a spy — or a corpse."
John's eyes flicked toward the distant stars. "Then what's left?"
"East?" Blake offered.
Tamara's tone turned grave. "East is death. Beyond the Lost Lands, no one returns. The monsters there are ancient — things that feed on light itself."
The fire popped. For a while, no one said anything.
Then she spoke again, slower this time, almost hopeful.
"South. There's a city — hidden beneath a colossal rock that blocks the sun. Half of it carved into the stone, half built beneath its shade. The air there is cool, the sand fertile. It's ruled by no king, only three Associations."
Blake raised a brow. "Associations?"
"The Merchant Association, the Alchemist Association, and the Mercenary Association," she said. "They control trade, resources, and power across the desert. They stay neutral — neither kingdom dares to touch them."
John leaned forward, the fire reflecting in his eyes.
"A city untouched by war… and run by people who profit off strength."
Tamara nodded. "It's the safest place in the Lost Lands. If we're going to survive, or grow, that's where we start."
A Silent Agreement
Blake tossed another stick into the fire. "Sounds better than starving out here."
John nodded once. "South it is."
Tamara smiled faintly. Ember gave a low rumble of approval, his mane flashing brighter for a heartbeat.
For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
When the camp fell quiet again, the world dimmed to the hum of fire and the slow hiss of wind through sand. John's eyes closed halfway.
"Boy."
The voice was softer this time — no longer the bark of a command, but something steadier.
"It's time we talk properly."
A pause, then a warmth spread through his chest — not heat, but recognition.
"My name is Alaric Silverwing. I once walked the higher realms as a cultivator of flame and light. The Revenakians worshiped my heart — not me — because my body had long perished when I sealed myself there. I created that realm to survive a poison that no healer could cure."
John stayed silent, listening.
"My rival, a master of shadow, used a Poison Sage against me. The toxin devoured my spirit, forcing me to bind my soul within my own heart before it reached oblivion."
The voice softened, almost wistful.
"When you found the heart, our fates intertwined. I cannot leave you — nor would I wish to. I will guide you, boy… if you'll let me."
John opened his eyes, the firelight catching the faint gold in his pupils.
"Guide me?"
"In time, you'll learn to forge paths no mortal has touched. Alchemy, cultivation, Light itself — I'll teach you as my disciple. You'll carry what I could not finish. Together, we'll reclaim what was lost… and destroy what deserves to fall."
There was weight in those words — a vow carried through centuries.
John bowed his head slightly.
"Then… I'll accept you as my Master."
The voice chuckled, a deep, distant echo.
"Good. Let's make you into something the Dark Masters will fear."
By the time the sun rose, the decision was made.
Rin met them at the temple steps. His robes fluttered in the morning wind, and behind him the Revenak survivors worked quietly, rebuilding what they could.
"You're leaving," Rin said simply.
John nodded. "You'll stay here. Make this place your home."
"That's what I was thinking as well?"
John's looked at Rin and said."we need to make a safe place for the revenakians. This place should work just fine. I'll go and get supplies for you".
Rin clasped his hand, firm and steady. "May the Light find you, boy."
"Always does," John replied.
He turned to Tamara and Blake, who were already mounting Ember. The bear's glow shimmered faint gold under the early light.
The dunes stretched endlessly before them — a horizon of fire and promise.
Tamara: "South, then?"
John: "South."
And with that, they left the temple behind — its banners fluttering like ghosts in the wind — and began their long walk toward the city beneath the sun.