Somewhere On A Desert
The four of them trudged over the final dune as twilight sank into the sand. Ahead, a tiny frontier town nestled between ridges of stone — clay houses, lantern-lit paths, and smoke curling from hearth chimneys.
Mary gasped. "A village! Civilization!"
"We can finally drink water that isn't… warm sand soup," Andrews wheezed dramatically.
Allen pointed lazily with one finger. "We go there. It's… safe enough."
The wooden gate stood half-open. The guard was an old man snoring with a spear under his chin. He blinked awake when they passed, looked at them, shrugged, and promptly fell asleep again.
No messenger hawks overhead.
No crystal-echo stones glowing with royal announcements.
No traveling criers delivering kingdom decrees.
Good.
The news of "Allen the Great Mage's murder" hadn't reached this remote place yet.
Andrews nearly cried with relief. "We're not arrested! We're actually not arrested!"
They stepped into a squat inn glowing with warm firelight. Patrons drank quietly, mostly farmers, hunters, and caravan workers. A tattered banner swayed from the ceiling.
The innkeeper — a broad woman with an eyebrow scar and a voice like a hammer on an anvil — looked them over.
"You look like people who lost a wrestling match with a sandstorm," she said. "Rooms? Food?"
Allen plopped a few copper coins onto the counter, then pushed his hood over his face like he intended to hibernate.
Mary whispered, "No mentioning the capital. No mentioning the academy. Don't even breathe too loudly."
Andrews nodded and immediately breathed too loudly.
Allen produced four dusty traveling cloaks from a pocket dimension — basic adventurer gear: brown, torn, and bland enough that nobody looked twice.
Mary hid her pink hair (mostly).
Suzanne tucked her elven ears under the hood.
Andrews looked like a suspicious potato but did his best.
Andrews puffed his chest. "If anyone asks who we are, we're merchants!"
Mary hissed, "What do we sell?!"
Andrews blinked. "…Happiness?"
Suzanne smacked the back of his head.
Stew was served — thick with herbs and meat. They devoured it.
Nearby, two hunters chatted over ale.
"Did you hear?" one murmured. "The capital summoned all crier mages at dusk. Something big."
"Aye. My brother said three royal griffin riders flew south with sealed orders."
Mary froze. Griffin riders meant urgent news. If they carried the king's decree about Allen's "assassination," rumors would spread to every settlement by dawn or midday.
Suzanne whispered, "We're running out of time."
Allen sipped his stew without looking up.
"Then we leave before morning."
Andrews leaned forward across the table.
"Okay, great mage—how exactly did you frame us again? Explain it like I'm an idiot."
"You are an idiot," Suzanne muttered.
Allen lifted one finger and described calmly:
A conjured fake body, aged and fragile.
An illusion woven directly into the guards' minds.
A scene staged to show betrayal.
Their memories locked so they couldn't doubt it.
The innkeeper, overhearing, just blinked.
"…You folks sure speak strangely," she said. "Sounds like something bards wouldn't even put in a play."
And she walked off.
Mary whispered, "Why does she not care?!"
"She's paid," Allen said sleepily. "People care less when they're paid."
Night settled. They washed (cold water, lots of sand) and gathered on the rickety balcony overlooking torch-lit streets.
Allen sat curled on the floor, arms around his knees.
He spoke softly.
"You three are strong. Not fully trained, but strong enough to survive being fugitives. If I framed anyone else… they'd be dead by morning."
Mary stared. "Why us, really?"
Allen looked away.
"When the world believes in the Great Mage… no one else grows strong. Everyone waits for me. That's not a world I want."
Suzanne's throat tightened.
"So you ran away."
"I didn't run," he grumbled. "I… relocated."
Andrews smirked. "So you hid behind us like a coward?"
Allen lifted his hood and said flatly:
"Correct."
The trio stared.
Mary laughed through tears. Suzanne wiped her eyes discreetly. Andrews tried to act unimpressed but smiled anyway.
Downstairs, a traveling trader spoke loudly to anyone who would listen.
"I swear on my donkey's tail, a royal courier-listening crystal lit up bright as the moon earlier! Something terrible happened in the capital, mark my words!"
A boar hunter nodded gravely.
"A kingdom doesn't summon all its criers unless the world is about to shake."
None of them mentioned Allen directly.
But by tomorrow, they definitely would.
While Mary and Suzanne reassured each other and Allen passed out snoring on a pillow, Andrews slipped downstairs to gamble with dice.
He lost all his coins to a farmer who had the face of an innocent potato and the soul of a gambling demon.
When Andrews returned, broke and offended, he reported:
"Rumors say a 'great protector' collapsed on the western holy road. The priests are crying lightning tears. Sounds like people think the Great Mage died."
Mary groaned.
"Oh great. They're already mourning you and you're right here snoring aggressively."
Allen, asleep, mumbled, " I'm delicate…"
And so, in a tiny town not yet touched by royal decrees:
the trio slept as fugitives,
Allen snoozed like a cat who caused a disaster and felt no remorse,
messenger hawks flew across the kingdom carrying news of a murdered hero,
and griffin riders approached towns one by one to proclaim the king's decree.
By morning, everything would change.
For now, they rested.
The sun peeked over the dunes, lighting up the sleeping desert town in warm gold.
Mary stretched, Suzanne tightened her boots, and Andrews… was already carrying Allen on his back like an oversized, unhelpful backpack.
Allen's arms dangled limply.
His hood flopped over his eyes.
He looked like a dead cat.
Andrews grunted, "Why do YOU get to be the world's strongest mage but I have to be your personal donkey?"
Mary sighed, "You could have at least walked."
Allen lifted one finger. "Too tired."
"He literally fought zero yesterday!" Suzanne exclaimed.
"Exactly," Allen said. "Exhausting."
After an hour of walking toward the next town, they spotted a group of six adventurers camping by the roadside — armored, loud, and clearly proud of themselves.
Their leader, a muscular man with a cleaver-like greatsword, squinted at the kids approaching.
"Well, well! Look what the wilds dragged in. Children traveling alone?"
Mary smiled awkwardly. "Just passing by—"
"We're not children," she corrected sharply. Suzanne said flatly.
The man laughed.
"Hahaha! All youngsters say that until a goblin sneezes on them and they faint!"
The other adventurers burst into hearty laughter.
A cheerful female mage approached them.
"Are you lost? It's dangerous going toward the mountains. We're heading to a B-rank dungeon to clear it out. Monsters get tougher the deeper you go."
Andrews' eyes sparkled — not with courage, but poverty.
"A B-RANK DUNGEON?! Wow! That sounds… profitable."
Mary's eyes narrowed instantly.
"…Andrews."
Suzanne crossed her arms.
"He's thinking about money."
Andrews whispered, "Look. I may or may not have gambled away all our money… and our food… and the deposit for the room."
Mary shrieked, "THE ROOM DEPOSIT?!"
Andrews whispered louder, "THE WOMAN SCARED ME!!"
Allen, half asleep, muttered, "Our landlord was… powerful…"
The adventurers exchanged amused looks.
"Aww, the kids are broke. That explains a lot," one archer said.
Another adventurer, a tall guy with a ponytail, patted Andrews' head like he was petting a struggling puppy.
"Don't worry. Stick with us. We'll protect ya."
Andrews clenched his teeth.
"Protect. Us. Right."
Suzanne grabbed his shoulder before he swung at the man.
Andrews cleared his throat and put on the fakest polite smile in existence.
"Heyyy, sooooo… how about we team up with you? You know, help you clear the dungeon?"
The adventurers stared at him for three seconds—
—then burst out laughing.
The leader slapped his knee.
"Hahaha! YOU kids? In a B-rank dungeon?!"
"We appreciate the enthusiasm," the female mage said kindly, "but your friend there"—she pointed at Allen— "looks like he hasn't slept since being born."
Allen, still hanging off Andrews, raised a lazy peace sign.
"Correct."
"And you," another adventurer said to Mary, "look like a noble girl on her first picnic."
Mary puffed her cheeks angrily.
"This is my irritated face, thank you very much."
"And the elf girl looks like she's ready to cry," he added.
Suzanne's eye twitched.
"I am trying very hard not to incinerate you."
"And that boy—"
Andrews perked up. "Yes?"
"—looks like he'd die tripping on a stick."
Andrews' soul briefly left his body.
Mary sighed dreamily.
"He does fall a lot…"
Suzanne added, "He fell yesterday on flat sand."
"SHUT UP!" Andrews barked.
Despite laughing at them, the adventurers were surprisingly friendly.
The leader eventually waved a hand.
"Well, since you're desperate and we're not heartless, sure. Join us for this one raid."
"It'll be fun to show them real monster hunting," another chuckled.
Andrews grinned triumphantly at Mary and Suzanne.
"In your face! Free money incoming!"
He said dropping Allen like a chunk of spoilt meat .
Mary whispered, "Please don't embarrass us."
Suzanne whispered, "Too late."
Allen whispered, "Carry me."
"No," Andrews snapped.
Allen pointed ahead weakly.
"Then I'll sleep here. On the ground. Forever."
"FINE!, like I care!! You can sleep there forever for all we care! Right girls?!"
Girls glare
"There's no way I'm going to carry him!"
GLARE
"I'm not going to chicken out... Nope not going to carry him "
And so Andrews continued carrying the deadweight hero.
As they walked toward the dungeon entrance, the adventurers continued bragging.
"Once, I took down a C-rank ogre single-handedly!"
"I defeated two orcs at once!"
"I made a wyvern retreat just by yelling at it!"
Mary muttered, "That's… not how wyverns work."
Suzanne nodded. "They're deaf to shouting."
The adventurers burst out laughing again.
"A kid like you wouldn't know!"
Allen whispered, "I killed a wyvern in my sleep once…"
But no one heard him.
Thus the group marched on:
Adventurers boasting.
The trio trying not to reveal they're overpowered.
Andrews desperately needing money.
Allen being carried like a lazy, gloomy princess.
At the end of the valley, a dark stone entrance yawned in the cliffside.
The B-rank dungeon.
And nobody — absolutely nobody — understood the disaster that was about to occur.
Far, far beneath the crust of the world, where sunlight had never been spoken of, let alone seen, lay the Abyss of Black Echoes — a cavern so deep that sound traveled for miles before daring to return.
For centuries, the place had remained silent.
Thick, demonic mana — ancient, heavy, and suffocating — coiled around the pillars of obsidian like living smoke.
Then…
A single red eye snapped open.
Followed by another.
And another.
And thousands more.
The darkness trembled as the first demon rose — a towering, bat-winged monstrosity with a crown of curling horns and a voice like cracking stone.
DEMON LORD ZATHUZAR
"...It is quiet."
The abyss rumbled as lesser demons stirred. Some were so large their footsteps created earthquakes. Others swarmed like schools of razor-winged shadows.
DEMON GENERAL SLATHA
"Our slumber lasted too long. Why hast thou awakened us, Lord?"
Zathuzar raised his head, sniffing the air as if tasting the distant world.
Then, with a slow, delighted grin:
ZATHUZAR
"He… is dead."
A heavy pause.
Even demons froze.
SLATHA
"Impossible. The human sorcerer — the one called the Greatest Mage — he who slaughtered our legions… You mean to say—?"
ZATHUZAR
"Yes. The boy with the eyes of gloom. The miserable prodigy we feared more than the gods themselves."
He inhaled deeply, savoring the faint threads of mana drifting from the surface.
"There is no trace of him."
The demons erupted in excitement — shrieks, roars, wings unfurling, claws clattering against stone walls.
They had not been sealed by Allen.
They had not been defeated.
They had hidden.
Hidden like rats.
Hidden like cowards.
Hidden because Allen's power was so enormous that the entire demon race agreed on one thing:
"Let the human grow bored and forget we exist."
But now…
The world believed him dead.
And the demons had waited centuries for exactly that.
ZATHUZAR
"With the brat gone, the era of demons… RETURNS!"
His wings burst open, sending shockwaves throughout the abyss.
Tens of thousands of demons screeched and ascended, spiraling upward like a storm of living shadows.
SLATHA
"Our long reign resumes…"
ZATHUZAR
"We shall claim the kingdoms, devour the humans, and dye the skies crimson. Let the surface tremble. Let them scream."
He smirked, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.
"And should the brat somehow still live… we shall feast on his despair first."
A tidal wave of demonic wings surged toward the surface — the start of a new era of terror.
But miles above them?
A gloomy teenager was being carried over someone's shoulders, half-asleep, drooling slightly, and complaining about wanting breakfast.
The irony was magnificent.