Before Kay stretched a massive white gash—like the sky and earth had been split open by a giant's blade. This, he realized, must be the spatial rift his mentor had spoken of.
Around the rift, he spotted rows of familiar alchemical equipment—most from his mentor's lab. He'd touched, even helped craft, several of those devices himself.
Yet Moses was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any other Dark Mages he recognized—only a bald man in a white robe standing before the rift.
Dark Mages of Menzoberranzan favored black robes or somber hues. Even Senior Brother Zorro, with his metallic yellow robe, was an oddity. But this bald man? An oddity among oddities.
Still, Kay and the other intermediate apprentices froze at the sight of him. The pressure radiating from his body was overwhelming—a gap in power far wider than even Vice-Dean Darlon's.
"I am Vice-Dean Martin," the man said, his voice calm but commanding. "You will enter the rift one by one. The red orbs in front of you are critical mission tools. Once on the other plane, gather as many of your peers as possible and hand these Elemental Orbs to the strongest apprentice in your group."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the trembling apprentices. "If this exploration succeeds, beyond the spoils of the plane, each of you will earn 300 Academy Points and 3,000 Black Gold—if you survive. Now go."
With a wave of Martin's left hand, an irresistible force pushed the front-row apprentices toward the rift.
Kay, near the back, didn't share their panic. He studied the thumb-sized red orb in his hand, curiosity piqued. Elemental Orb? What does it do?
Before he could ponder further, Moses' voice echoed in his mind again: "Collect as many of these orbs as you can, Kay. They may save you."
No sooner had the words faded than Martin's force slammed into Kay. He stumbled forward, tumbling into the rift—and vanished.
Agony.
It lanced through every inch of Kay's body—sharp as a blade, heavy as a hammer to his skull. His consciousness blacked out almost instantly, leaving only that searing pain etched into his memory.
In his last fragmented moments, he glimpsed a narrow, triangular tunnel—barely wide enough for one person—and a bright yellow circle of light. The tunnel reminded him of a tiny Underdark crevice he'd hidden in years ago during an Academy mission: cramped, suffocating, endless.
When he passed through the yellow light, a wave of vertigo hit him—worse than the altar's vortex. It felt like a fish dragged from water: airless, alien, every fiber of his body screaming that he didn't belong.
Scorching sunlight blistered Kay's skin. The sand beneath him was so hot it felt like molten metal. When he finally woke, half his body was buried in the dunes.
His constitution was strong for an apprentice, and his intermediate-level mental power gave him more resilience than most. Now he understood why the Academy had sent apprentices first, pinning their hopes on high-level apprentices and quasi-mages. A low-level apprentice—or a ordinary human—would have died from the rift's pain or this harsh environment alone.
A tingling itch on his shoulder made him crane his neck. Dense, scabbed gashes covered his skin. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.
Thin, dry air left him dizzy. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his upper body and summoned a low-grade healing potion from his spatial ring. His wounds were mostly superficial, and his weakness came from the rift's impact and the harsh environment—not severe injury. He hesitated, then tucked the potion away; he only had three mid-grade potions left, but over a dozen low-grade ones. He'd save the stronger ones for emergencies.
Luck was on his side: the sand wasn't quicksand. Once he'd regained some strength, he squirmed free, then cast a Featherlight spell to ease his movements.
When they'd entered the rift, forty-odd apprentices had filed in one after another. Now, as Kay scanned the endless dunes, there was no sign of anyone else.
Unlike the Underdark's eternal darkness, this world blazed with light—so bright he dared not look up, his eyes stinging from the glare. Maybe once he'd adapted, he could glance at the sky and see if it matched the faint memories of his childhood.
He stumbled forward, his legs unsteady. The air was thinner here, and the gravity felt lighter—he could jump higher than usual. But his weakness and the burning sand killed any urge to test it.
"Where is everyone?" he muttered, walking until the dunes blurred into one endless expanse.
By the third day, Kay fully grasped the truth: this was not his world. The air, gravity, environment, even elemental density—nothing felt familiar. He'd only tracked the days using a crystal ball; the sand world never darkened. It was eternal day.
Curiosity got the better of him. He pulled on a pale mask to shield his eyes and glanced skyward. The light made him dizzy—but what shocked him was the sight of three suns hanging overhead.
It felt surreal. The Academy wouldn't scatter us on purpose if they wanted us to place the coordinate generator, he thought, huddled in a self-dug hollow in the sand. We must have been split up when we entered the plane. Some might have landed together… but not me.
Mages were called wise for a reason: they used their wits to survive, even in hellish environments. Kay had never seen a desert before, but in days, he'd learned to dig shaded hollows, conserve energy, and ration supplies.
He pulled out the red Elemental Orb. When he walked in one direction, it grew warmer; in others, it cooled. It's a beacon, he realized. To gather us. That's why Martin told lower-level apprentices to hand theirs to stronger ones.
He uncorked a homemade nutrient potion and sipped a third of it. Who knew how long he'd be stuck here? He couldn't waste a drop.
Nine days had passed, and he hadn't seen a single living thing—human or otherwise. He was lucky: his spatial ring held potions and supplies. But what about the others? Not every apprentice had an alchemist mentor, or a spatial ring—a luxury even most high-level apprentices lacked.
No food, no water, no creatures to hunt… A few days, maybe, but a week? Two? Kay regretted not learning a Water Sphere spell. He was surviving on the tiny amount of moisture in nutrient potions—but how long would that last? If the other intermediate apprentices couldn't find the high-level group soon, they were doomed.
Now he understood Moses' warning: nine chances out of ten you'll die. This wasn't an apprentice's fight. Only official mages—with their vast knowledge and powerful spells—could hope to survive a plane this brutal.
On the ninth day, Kay saw something other than sand: a tattered black robe, half-buried in the dunes, stark against the yellow.
Hope surged. He ran toward it, his steps lighter thanks to the low gravity. Reaching the robe, he ignored the burning sand and pulled a tool from his ring to dig.
His excitement faded into shock, then despair.
Beneath the robe lay a mummified corpse—skin shrunken, moisture completely evaporated. The black robe marked him as a Menzoberranzan apprentice, likely from Kay's group. But in nine days, how had he turned to dust?
Kay leaned closer. The corpse was male, but his features were unrecognizable. As an apprentice who'd dissected countless bodies—even earning praise from Master Coroslon—Kay's mind raced. He wasn't here for just nine days. Even in this environment, a mage's body wouldn't dry out this fast unless he'd been dead far longer.
A chill ran down his spine. Did he arrive earlier? Or does the order we entered the rift affect when we land here? He'd been among the last to enter. If his hunch was right, this apprentice had arrived days before him.
No supplies, no water, no way to make water… Kay sighed. He didn't linger on the corpse. Instead, he knelt and searched the sand for anything useful— a potion vial, a spellbook, anything that might help him survive a little longer.