Chapter 55 – The Weight of Power
The desert burned gold at the edges of the horizon.
Wind dragged loose sand in slow, whispering waves as the party moved across the open plain. The dunes stretched wide and pale, bleeding light like a dying fire. Their footprints trailed behind in a long, uneven ribbon—six people and one silver-furred beast threading through the silence of the City of Sands' outer reach.
John walked near the center of the line, cloak brushing the ground, boots crunching softly. Tamara and Blake walked ahead, their silhouettes thin against the slope. Lysa scouted the flank, eyes sharp under her hood, and Sera hummed to herself—soft, steady, the rhythm of a Light Healer keeping her pulse calm. Ember padded at John's heel, tail swaying like a pendulum.
Mara, the shieldbearer, kept pace beside him. Her armor caught the sunlight in dull flashes, her expression quiet and thoughtful.
After a time, John broke the silence.
"Can I ask you something, Mara?"
She glanced over, steady as always. "Of course."
He adjusted the strap of his satchel, eyes on the shifting horizon. "You've been here longer than any of us. You've seen how this city moves—how it breathes. I need to understand who really holds the power here. Not just names or ranks, but… how things work."
A faint smile touched her lips. "Trying to learn how to rule before the throne's built?"
"Trying not to get us all killed," John said evenly. "If I'm going to lead, I need to know the ground I'm walking on."
Mara nodded once. "Fair enough."
They walked a few more steps before she began.
"In the City of Sands," she said, "everything bends around three pillars. The Alchemist Association, the Mercenary Association, and the Merchant Association. Together, they're called the Association Guild—the foundation of this city and half the world beyond it."
She shifted her shield on her back. "The alchemists are the brains. The mercenaries are the fists. The merchants are the veins that make the other two breathe."
John listened carefully. "And they work together?"
"They have to," she replied. "Alchemists need cores to make their potions. They can grow stronger through their craft—every tier they climb refines their body and spirit—but most can't fight worth a damn. If one dies, it's like killing a library of power. People fear that kind of loss."
John nodded, recalling the cauldron fires in the Association halls, the smell of burnt mana, and Vulgrat's hands trembling with precision.
"So," Mara continued, "the alchemists rely on the Mercenary Association to bring them what they need—cores, rare beasts, materials from places no sane person walks. In turn, the mercenaries depend on the merchants to fund their hunts, sell their loot, and keep the economy spinning. The merchants? They depend on alchemists to give them something worth selling."
Her voice held a faint trace of bitterness. "It's a perfect cycle. Break one, the others fall."
John exhaled through his nose. "Sounds stable."
"Stable," Mara said, "doesn't mean safe. It means every mistake costs blood instead of coin."
He didn't argue.
The Faces Behind the Guild
They crested a dune. Below, the faint glimmer of the city's outer wall shimmered in the heat—pale sandstone broken by banners and watchtowers.
Mara pointed toward the far end of the skyline. "Each branch has its own ruler. You've met one already."
"Dokabas," John said.
She smiled faintly. "You noticed him. Not everyone lives long enough to say that."
Mara's eyes followed the shimmer of the city walls. "Dokabas is Step Nine, E-Rank. The Merchant Association's guardian. He's the kind of man people stop talking about rather than lie about. No one knows what his ability truly is. Just that he's old—and that nothing he chooses to protect ever breaks."
John remembered the man's gaze, still and deep as a well. "I believe it."
"The Alchemist Association," Mara continued, "has Elder Seraphine Vel. Tier 3 Alchemist, Step Nine. The only alchemist in this city whose potions are sealed before they're sold—because no one else can handle them safely."
John looked over sharply. "Seraphine? She's the one who gave me my badge."
"Then you've already met a legend," Mara said. "They say she can turn sunlight into metal and souls into fire. If you ever see her angry, run."
John smirked faintly. "I'll keep that in mind."
Mara's tone grew graver. "And then there's the Mercenary Association. They have two Step Nines. One's the Branch Leader—never leaves his office, but his orders echo through the city like scripture. The other…"
Her gaze darkened. "The other is Kevin. The strongest active mercenary in the city. Leader of the Brutalists—the number one team."
Mara's voice carried like a teacher's, deliberate and measured.
"Kevin's a monster of a man," she said. "Earth Affinity. Fights barehanded. Every punch hits like a falling mountain. He's loud, direct, and righteous to the bone—but if you ever cross him, you disappear. Not because he's cruel. Because the world bends to his sense of justice. People fear him, but they trust him."
John could almost picture him—massive frame, calm eyes that had seen too much war.
"Second place," Mara went on, "belongs to Victor, leader of the Dark Surveyors. Step Eight. He's everything Kevin isn't—quiet, cold, untouchable. They say his shadow moves before he does. People whisper he's tied to the Dark Masters, but no one's ever proven it. Most don't dare try."
"Fitting name," John muttered.
"Third," Mara said, "belongs to Kane—leader of the Merchants. Step Seven. His team's technically part of the Merchant Association itself. They're professionals, organized, funded. Most apart of the merchant association who venture into the field join under his banner. You're one of the few who didn't."
John nodded. "Guess that makes me the exception."
"It does," Mara said. "But it also means eyes will be on you. Kane doesn't like competition."
"Noted."
"Fourth are the Battlehounds," she said, a small smile tugging her lips. "Their leader has a rare Sound Affinity. When he growls, it isn't noise—it's resonance. Cracks aura, bone, and will. He's Step Seven, same as Kane, but his group is smaller, tighter. If you hear the bark…" She paused. "…you're already bleeding."
John chuckled under his breath. "Remind me to stay on his good side."
"And fifth," Mara said quietly, "are the Druids. Twelve of them, all from a hidden realm. Shapeshifters, if the rumors are true. No one's seen their homeland. No one even knows their real faces. They work quietly, efficiently. Like ghosts with loyalty."
Her gaze softened as she added, "The Lion's Pride was Twelfth. Rendall was close to his next Step. We would've climbed soon. But…"
The words died. Only the sand answered.
John didn't interrupt. The desert didn't need noise to understand loss.
Mara broke the silence a moment later, her tone lighter but edged with wear.
"Beyond this city, the world's not much safer. To the west—Rina. The kingdom of frost and light. going to find the true power. That's also where the main branch of the association Make their Home."
Mara smiled faintly and continued, "To the north lies the Kingdom of Valin, small and proud. They train soldiers like machines. Their captains can stop their own hearts to channel their aura. Dangerous people."
John raised an eyebrow. "And the east?"
She looked out toward the wasteland where the dunes broke into jagged black rock. "Don't go east. That's where the monsters never stop growing. Those who walk too far east don't come back the same. If they come back at all."
Mara Paused then spoke " the dark Masters have spread their corruption all throughout the realm you will find seats of their evil everywhere."
John's jaw tightened at the name. "Koro was one of them."
Mara nodded grimly. "He was."
They descended a slope. The sun hung low now, red on the sand like a bleeding eye.
"There's one more group you should know about," Mara said. "The Sun God Worshippers. A church that preaches purity of Light. They're everywhere—cities, markets, even some associations. They look harmless. But Light can blind just as easily as it heals."
She hesitated before adding, "Rumor says they deal in the same relics the Dark Masters crave. Hidden trades, secret rites. Their followers vanish sometimes. Whole temples, gone. The kind of gone that doesn't leave footprints."
John frowned. "If they're that dangerous, why let them stay?"
"Because they're powerful," Mara said simply. "And because no one wants to start a war with a church."
The dunes ahead began to level. The first stars pricked through the dimming sky, faint but sharp.
John exhaled slowly. "That's a lot to remember."
"You'll remember it," Mara said. "You've got that kind of mind."
He smiled faintly. "I appreciate the confidence."
"It's not confidence," she replied. "It's observation."
John glanced over. "You should tell me more—about these groups, the people, how they move. The more I learn, the better I'll lead. I don't want to be the kind of man who stands in front and pretends to know the way."
Mara regarded him for a long moment, her expression softening beneath the steel of her bearing. "Most men in command don't ask to be taught. That's why they die first."
He smiled wryly. "Then I'll make sure I'm the exception again."
She chuckled. "You already are."
"Mind if I steal him for a bit?" Tamara's voice carried down the slope.
Mara looked up to see her approaching, cloak brushing the sand. The faintest smirk ghosted her lips. "He's all yours."
Tamara rolled her eyes at the phrasing but didn't comment. "We should set camp before it gets darker."
John nodded, glancing toward the horizon. The last of the sun bled behind the dunes. "Agreed."
They picked a small basin between two sandstone ridges, where the wind broke and the sand was firm enough for tents. Blake and Lysa unpacked gear while Sera traced runes around the perimeter to repel pests. Ember dug a shallow pit and sneezed in satisfaction when the flame caught.
Mara planted her shield upright near the fire. Its polished surface reflected the orange light like a dull moon.
John stood nearby, watching the group settle. Tamara crouched beside the fire, coaxing the sparks into a steady burn. The light painted soft silver across her hair.
"You're learning," Alaric murmured from within his mind, voice calm as an old echo. "Names. Faces. Power. Every leader starts with the same lesson—knowing who can crush them."
John's gaze followed the flicker of the flame. "And the next lesson?"
"Knowing which ones need to be crushed first."
John didn't answer. He simply looked out at his team—their laughter faint, their faces lined with purpose—and let the silence stretch.
Above, the stars came alive one by one, cold and endless. The City of Sands glimmered faintly in the distance, a jewel half-buried in the desert's throat.
Tomorrow, they would face Arrowhawks.
Tonight, he learned the shape of the world he meant to change.
The fire cracked once. The desert listened.
And somewhere in the wind, the name John whispered like the start of a rumor.