Our eyes met for a moment that felt far longer than it should have. Then, finally, he broke the silence.
"My name is Adam!" he said, his voice bright and startling against the stillness.
A name. He had a name. Adam. I didn't know what it meant, but it sounded good.
"It's an honour to be saved by you, Sir Knight!" he added, bowing with a grace that felt almost rehearsed.
The gesture caught me off guard; I nearly stumbled over my own composure. He looked up, expectant, waiting for me to speak.
A stretch of silence lingered between us. The faint hiss of distant lightning filled it, soft and electric.
Then I found my voice.
"…A human?" The word cracked in my throat, fragile and disbelieving.
Even if he wasn't, he was someone.
I blinked once, twice, and something in me broke loose. Nostalgia, loss, joy, all collided behind my eyes until I couldn't tell which was which. I was happy. I was sad. I was alive.
"You're— you're human!" I breathed. "I can understand you! She was right!"
Sassafras had told me I would understand the language of the outer world when the time came. She'd been right. Every word he spoke was clear as dawn.
I reached out before I realized what I was doing, my hands gripping his shoulders. Beneath the fabric, I could feel bone—thin, fragile. Malnourished, maybe. Or just… young.
The next instant, I lifted him clean off the ground. He was so light. Too light. His small frame caught the sunlight, glowing against the desert's bleached horizon.
He gasped in surprise as tears began to sting my eyes.
"Look at you," I whispered, the words trembling from my lips. "Warm skin… breath in your chest… eyes that move—" A laugh escaped me, broken and unsure.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both.
"By the gods," I murmured, voice cracking under its own weight. "I thought I'd never see one again."
I pulled him closer, crushing him in an embrace that was more desperation than comfort. Tears fell freely, though my lips still curved into a smile.
For a long moment, I just held him there—proof that the world hadn't ended completely.
The boy said nothing. He shifted uncertainly in my arms, but his heartbeat thudded fast and strong against the metal of my chestplate. A fragile, human rhythm. I hadn't heard one in so long, it almost didn't seem real.
There was no warmth in my embrace, not truly. Just the hollow memory of it. I wasn't comforting him, I was clinging to the idea of life itself.
"Sir, please," he whispered, voice trembling. "You're… you're crushing me."
I blinked, as if waking from a dream.
"Oh—" My voice broke. I set him down gently, stepping back. "Forgive me. I just—"
My hand fell to my face, metal scraping softly against skin. "It's been… a very long time."
When I lowered my gauntlet, my fingertips came away wet. Tears. I hadn't even noticed them fall.
I suppose… that's not such a bad thing. Tears meant I could still feel. That I was still someone.
The wind sighed between us, dragging ribbons of sand through the silence. I looked at him and disbelief gnawed softly at the edges of my mind.
"Are there… others?" I asked quietly. "Humans. Villages. Anything?"
He nodded quickly, eyes bright with relief. "Of course! The trade routes run through here. The nearest city's two days east—"
A long, uneven breath slipped out of me, shuddering before it became a sigh. Or perhaps a sob.
"Good," I managed. "Good."
I was grateful—grateful that hope hadn't been crushed completely beneath time's heel. Something is left… something.
I turned toward my spear, still half-buried in the sand. Lightning slithered lazily along its shaft, alive but tired, just like me. I reached for it, and it thrummed faintly as my fingers closed around it.
"Are you… a knight?" Adam asked.
I smiled faintly, though the expression felt strange on my face. "Once," I said. "A very long time ago."
If I told him the truth, that I was a warrior of an ancient kingdom sealed away to wake in another age, he'd think me mad. Maybe I am.
The wind pulled at my tattered cape as I began walking. The dunes stretched endlessly ahead, pale and quiet. I'd walked deserts like this before. Buried friends beneath sands like these.
Then I heard his small footsteps behind me. Something stirred in my chest, an echo of comfort.
I glanced back. His eyes were bright, curious, alive in a way mine hadn't been for centuries.
"Adam, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
A weary smile crept across my lips. "Then stay close. I think I've forgotten how humans talk."
He smiled, and for an instant… I almost felt human again.
When I reached for my spear once more, it dissolved into soft motes of blue light. Adam gasped.
"M–marvelous! You must have been a great knight, sir!"
"Something like that," I said, smiling faintly. His awe was disarming—it made me feel almost… whole.
"Where's your home?" I asked, more to fill the air than anything.
He pointed east. "My village is about two hours away."
I followed his gesture—nothing but dunes and wind. Yet his confidence was unshaken, the kind born from youth and stubbornness.
"You must be a fine navigator to survive this desert," I said.
He puffed his chest. "Yes! I'm the best in my village!"
A quiet chuckle escaped me. "At such a young age? Admirable."
"Can I see your village, boy?" his shoulders stiffened.
He looked up at me, torn between gratitude and fear. I couldn't fault him. A man clad in rusted armor and stormlight was no friendly sight.
"You don't have to decide now," I said softly. "But I'd like to see what's left of your world."
The wind swept between us again, wrapping around our silence.
Some time had passed.
He walked beside me, though carefully—as if afraid my presence might scorch the air. I could hear his breathing: shallow, cautious.
It had been so long since I'd heard footsteps other than my own.
After a while, he asked, "Sir… what's your name?"
I turned toward him, and he flinched under the weight of my gaze. But I answered anyway.
"Alaric," I said.
The name tasted old, familiar. Sassafras had chosen well.
He blinked. "No… last name?"
I said nothing, only looked toward the sun as it slipped behind the clouds.
We walked on in silence, shadows stretching long and thin across the sand.
"How far is your village?" I asked.
"About an hour, sir."
"Good. I'd like to see it."
He nodded, though his hands fidgeted. He was afraid. Of me. Of what I might bring.
And truth be told, I didn't blame him.
"What year is it?" I asked suddenly.
"Uh… 847. Post-Scourge."
I frowned. "Post… Scourge?"
He looked at me oddly, as if I'd asked the color of the sky. "That's how we count time now."
"I see," I murmured. "And… is there an empire?"
"There's the Drogan Empire, but we're not within its borders. The Wildlands bow to no one."
My pace slowed. The sand whispered underfoot.
No recognition. No trace.
"Then… the world truly did end," I said softly.
"Sir?"
"Nothing." I forced a small smile. "Just thinking aloud."
He said nothing more, though I could feel his unease like static between us.
I wanted to ask a hundred things, about gods, wars, seas, but bit them back. He'd had enough strangeness for one day.
Instead, I said, "You speak well. The tongue has changed, but I still understand. That's… comforting."
"Comforting?" he echoed.
"Yes. It means she was right."
"She?"
"An old friend," I said, smiling faintly. "A lazy one."
We walked on, the dunes glimmering in the last light. Our shadows stretched behind us, two fragile shapes against an endless world.
"What's your village called?" I asked.
"Gerri," he said.
"Gerri," I repeated. The word was soft, rounded by wind and time. "A good name."
He smiled shyly. "It's small, but… it's home."
"Does it have walls?"
He shook his head. "Only dunes. The canyon keeps the storms away."
Then, suddenly, he pointed ahead. "There it is!"
Far off, something shimmered in the dying sun—a scatter of houses clinging to the earth's edge.
Before he could react, I crouched and scooped him up.
"Uh—sir?" he stammered.
"Hold on."
Blue lightning crackled around me. The air tightened and broke.
The desert roared as we shot forward in a streak of light, sand exploding outward in our wake.
The world blurred into gold and white. I held him close, my cloak shielding him from the screaming wind. Not too fast. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel alive again.
When we stopped, thunder faded into a soft hush.
I set him down gently. He swayed, dizzy and pale, hair sticking up wildly.
"T–thank you…" he mumbled, voice unsteady.
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Below us, the dunes gave way to green. Patches of grass, the scent of water. Ahead, a small village huddled against the horizon's glow. Beyond it yawned a great canyon, its walls bleeding red beneath the sunset.
"That's my village," he said, pride and fatigue tangled in his tone.
I smiled faintly. "Then let's go home, Adam."