The air outside the tent was heavy.
Not with heat but with fear.
Around me, the entire village had gathered. Men, women, children. They were all silent, all watching the same tattered cloth door that separated us from the Elder. Every face I looked at carried the same fear, the same helpless hope that maybe, just maybe, the old woman inside would step out and laugh at us for worrying.
But she didn't.
The only sound was the low whisper of the wind and the crackle of a dying fire pit. I could hear someone muttering a prayer to Ormazir under their breath, and another shushing a crying child.
Inside the tent, the only villager with any skill in medicine. A wiry man named Heshem was tending to her. He'd gone in nearly an hour ago. It felt like a day.
Adam stood beside me, wringing his hands. "She's been sick before," he said, though his voice was trembling. "She always gets back up."
I didn't answer.
Because this didn't feel like one of those times.
The Elder had looked pale the night before. Tired. She'd smiled like she was pretending not to see something staring back at her from the dark.
Finally, the flap of the tent opened.
Heshem stepped out, his hands covered in dried herbs and sand. His face told us everything before his words did.
Everyone spoke at once.
"What's wrong?"
"Is she awake?"
"Did the fever break?"
Heshem raised both hands, silencing the noise.
"The Elder is sick," he said quietly. "And it's not just her body. She's raving. She is seeing things. Speaking of storms and fire and shadows that walk like men."
A hush fell over the crowd. Someone gasped.
"She's having visions again," an old woman whispered.
Heshem nodded. "Worse this time. She says the sky burns in her dreams, that the sand screams. I can treat the fever, but not the mind. We need a priest from Redgate. Only they might know what to do."
The name hit the air like a curse.
A few villagers began to argue immediately.
"Redgate? They'll turn us away!"
"They'll take her in and demand coin we don't have!"
"Better her die here than in that viper's den!"
Adam turned to me, eyes pleading. "What do we do?"
Before I could answer, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his nose spoke up. "The priest won't listen to us," he said. "But they'll listen to him."
He pointed at me.
The others murmured in agreement. I could see it in their eyes. A strange mix of trust and unease that always followed me.
I straightened. "You think they'll treat me differently because I'm a Knight?"
The hunter spat to the side. "You wear the mark of their kind. It's the only thing they respect."
I hated that he was right.
I looked toward the tent, where the Elder lay murmuring to ghosts. "Fine," I said. "I'll go."
Adam frowned. "You shouldn't have to—"
"She needs help," I cut in. "That's all that matters."
Heshem nodded gratefully, though his eyes still flicked downward when he met mine. "Leave by dawn," he said. "The road north is dangerous after the heat breaks. Sandbeasts hunt the shade."
I glanced once more at the tent. Through a small tear in the fabric, I saw the faint glow of the lantern inside flickering unevenly.
I turned away and exhaled.
That night nobody slept.
The first light hadn't even touched the dunes yet.
The sky was a bruised violet, and the air hung still. It was the kind of stillness that only came before sunrise, when even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I adjusted the strap of my pack and looked once more at the small parchment map the hunter had drawn for me the night before. It was crude, made with charcoal and torn leather, but it would do.
Three days north to Redgate, if the dunes were calm.
Five, if they weren't.
I tightened my cloak, feeling the chill crawl across my skin. The village behind me was asleep. There were only a few distant fires still smoldered.
I was in my armour again.
It felt comforting and suffocating at the same time.
I started walking.
The sand crunched softly under my boots, every step sinking a little before I pulled free. The stars were fading overhead, swallowed by a pale ribbon of gold rising from the horizon.
I didn't hear him until he tripped.
"Wait! Sir Alaric!"
I stopped and turned.
A small figure stumbled down a dune, clutching a satchel almost half his size. His blanket was still wrapped around one shoulder like a cape.
"Adam," I muttered, half in disbelief. "What in the world are you doing?"
He skidded to a stop beside me, panting hard. "You're leaving for Redgate. You'll need someone who knows the desert."
"I already have a map."
He frowned. "That map looks like a drunk sandworm drew it."
I couldn't argue with that.
"Go back," I said. "Your people need you here."
"So do you." He straightened up, eyes fierce. "You don't know the dunes, the wind, or what it means when the sand turns black. You can fight monsters, I get that but out here, the desert's worse than any beast."
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Adam—"
"I'm coming," he said, cutting me off. "If you try to stop me, I'll just follow you from a distance, and you'll waste time worrying about me instead of the road."
I stared at him for a long moment before shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"Adam-ant," he said with a grin, like he'd been waiting all morning to say it.
I blinked. "…That was terrible."
He laughed.
He threw the satchel over his shoulder. "So, are we going or not?"
I sighed again, longer this time. "Fine. But if we get eaten by something with too many teeth, I'm blaming you."
"Deal," he said, grinning ear to ear.
We began walking north, side by side.
The first rays of sunlight crept over the dunes, painting the sand in gold and shadow. The village behind us grew smaller with every step, until it was nothing but a shimmer in the distance.
For a long while, we said nothing. Only the wind spoke in a low and slow tone, like a song older than both of us.
And as the dunes stretched endlessly before us, I found myself glancing at the boy beside me. His steps were uneven but determined. He hummed under his breath, a tune I didn't know.