Vale's eyes widened slightly as he crossed his arms, a quiet chuckle rising in his chest. He tried to suppress it, but failed. The sound slipped out before he could stop it, and when he finally looked back at Eskar, his posture had relaxed, the tension easing now that the words were out in the open.
"What makes you think I'm her favorite person?" Vale asked, a faint grin playing at his lips.
Eskar smiled back, unbothered and confident. "Well," he said, "I've been her self-proclaimed rival for years. I think I'd know when she does, and doesn't, like someone."
Vale tilted his head slightly, listening.
"And," Eskar added, "I heard Nym talked about you a lot back at the academy."
Vale's grin faded into a more uncertain expression. He narrowed his eyes, his arms folding tighter across his chest.
"I see," he said slowly. "But doesn't that just mean I'm a good friend of hers?"
Eskar chuckled. He turned away without answering immediately, then lay down on his back in the sand, hands folded behind his head, eyes drifting shut.
"Well," he said lazily, "that's always an option, yeah."
A heartbeat later, his breathing evened out.
He had fallen asleep.
Vale stared at him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and let out a quiet laugh. "You're unbelievable," he muttered.
His gaze shifted to Drago, who sat a short distance away, idly running his fingers through the sand as if it were soft cloth rather than scorching desert grit. Vale frowned slightly and crossed one arm over the other.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
Drago glanced up, his expression steady, unreadable. "Some monarchs are fighting," he replied calmly. "The Spiked Serpent and the Great Worm."
Vale's brow rose. He had known for about a week now that Drago could sense what moved beneath the sand, but sensing that, from such a distance, with such clarity, unsettled him.
He remained silent for a moment before asking, "Do you think either of them will die?"
Drago closed his eyes, palm resting against the sand as though listening to something far below. After a brief pause, he shook his head.
"No. Their titles haven't changed in hundreds of years. I doubt that will change now."
Vale released a small, relieved sigh.
Drago stood and moved several meters away from Eskar before lying down on his back. "Wake us if anything goes wrong," he said, tossing Vale a small, unfamiliar device.
Vale caught it instinctively and examined it, turning it over in his hands.
"That thing tells the guardian to come to us," Drago continued. "Place it in the sand if something happens that isn't immediate danger, but still requires its help."
Vale frowned. "Why would we need this now?"
Drago looked at him flatly. "We just killed dozens of the Fifth Monarch's children," he said. "Better to be safe."
Vale's eyes widened. He covered his face with both hands and exhaled sharply.
"Didn't you say the Fifth Monarch wouldn't care?"
"I said it wasn't likely," Drago replied indifferently.
With that, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Vale stood there for a long moment, staring at the two of them, one asleep without a worry in the world, the other unconcerned by threats that could erase them in seconds.
"…Fantastic," Vale muttered.
He turned and began climbing the tallest nearby dune to take watch, the sand shifting beneath his boots with every step. The night wind whispered across the desert, cool but uneasy.
His thoughts churned as he climbed.
There were too many now.
He pushed thoughts of Nym aside. Whatever that was, whatever it meant, could wait. What troubled him far more was the cave he had discovered… and the writings carved into its walls.
The false angels.
The Father of Flaws.
The people who had written those words had spoken of the Father of Flaws as though he were a god, or something beyond one. And the false angels… they were described as devils masquerading as saviors.
Vale reached the crest of the dune and stopped.
His hand drifted unconsciously to the onyx blade at his waist.
And then, like a memory pulled from deep water, a name surfaced, one he had buried long ago.
"…Ali."
Ali had told him about the Father of Flaws.
At the time, Vale had dismissed it as a story. A strange legend, spoken casually, easily forgotten by any person. He had assumed it was nothing more than myth.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
Ali had forged the onyx blades. Vale had always known they weren't ordinary, but he had chalked it up to Ali being an exceptional blacksmith.
Then Ali had vanished.
His shop disappeared with him leaving no records.
No one, except Vale.
Now everything had changed.
Ali knew about the Father of Flaws.
Vale sat down at the edge of the dune, staring out into the endless sea of sand as he pieced his thoughts together, fragment by fragment.
Ali was no ordinary man.
There were only two possibilities: either Ali was someone who didn't belong to that world, like Vale himself, or he possessed knowledge no one else did.
The first felt more likely.
But vale couldnt be completely sure.
One thing, however, was undeniable.
If Ali knew about the Father of Flaws, Vale had to find him again.
No matter how long it took.
Even if he had to search the entire world.
Because deep down, Vale knew this wasn't the first time he had heard that name.
As Vale looked out over the vast expanse of the desert, now swallowed by the heavy shadows of night, the moon hung alone above him, the only source of light in an ocean of darkness. The dunes stretched endlessly, silent and indifferent, as though the land itself were holding its breath.
Vale let out a deep sigh, disappointment weighing on his shoulders.
"I'll ask Drago," he muttered to himself. "He said he's the head librarian of the royal library. If anyone has answers… they might."
He lifted his gaze again, his thoughts drifting back to the false angels, their name alone felt wrong, heavy with implications.
But before he could form another thought, a sensation seized him.
It was sudden. Violent.
Vale dropped to his knees as if struck from above, breath ripped from his lungs. Every muscle in his body screamed, as though they were being torn apart from the inside. His vision blurred, his fingers dug into the sand, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips.
Yet even through the pain, he knew this feeling.
"…Ember," he whispered.
A small, almost relieved smile tugged at his lips.
But then he froze.
This wasn't Ember's emotions bleeding through as they usually did. This wasn't warmth, or reassurance, or quiet presence.
This was something else entirely.
Vale forced himself to focus, coughing as dry sand filled his mouth. His body trembled, muscles locking and releasing in painful spasms.
"What are you trying to say?" he rasped.
He shut his eyes, clenching his jaw as the sensation surged once more, then, just as suddenly, it vanished.
Only silence was left.
Vale opened his eyes understanding the message.
His gaze locked onto the sand beneath his hands, eyes widening as the meaning settled in. His teeth ground together, fury flaring hot and sharp. He drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the ground, sand exploding outward as his shout tore through the empty desert.
"What the hell do you mean?!"
Sparks of defiance burned in his narrowed eyes.
He had heard Ember's warning clearly.
''Stay away. It's dangerous here.''
Vale repeated the words under his breath, bitter and incredulous. "Stay away…"
He dropped back into the sand, dragging a hand through his hair, biting at his nail in frustration.
If it was truly that dangerous, then why hadn't Ember left?
Ember could fly. He was a wyvern. If this place was dangerous, then why remain there?
And why, why, was the first sign of life Vale had received from his friend a warning to stay away?
What was at play here?
Why was it too dangerous for him, but not for Ember?
Vale stared down at the sand, his thoughts spiraling,
Then the desert roared.
The sound was colossal, deep and ancient, as though the world itself were splitting open. Vale shot to his feet, eyes wide with horror as a massive cloud of sand surged toward him in the distance, the dunes trembling beneath its advance.
"Damn it!"
He turned and sprinted down the dune, boots tearing through the sand as he raced back toward Eskar and Drago. His hand plunged into his pocket, fingers closing around the device Drago had given him.
Without hesitation, Vale slammed it into the ground.
Behind him, the desert guardian erupted from the sand in a storm of stone and heat, its massive form rising between him and the approaching threat.
Eskar and Drago were already awake, dragged from sleep by the roar. Eskar spun in place, confusion etched across his face.
"What was that?!" Eskar shouted, panic threading his voice.
Vale rushed past them, grabbing his spear as he ran. The guardian lowered itself, and Vale vaulted onto its rocky scales, climbing with practiced urgency.
Drago watched the horizon, his jaw tightening, frustration pulling sharply at his expression.
"That," he said grimly, "was the worst-case scenario."
Vale and Eskar froze.
They didn't need clarification.
There was only one thing Drago could mean.
The Fifth Monarch of the Scorched Sands had awakened.
And now,
It was hunting them.