"SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
A high-pitched screech rang across the desert.
A boy clad in simple farmer clothes and an oversized helmet trembled as the cry persisted, each shrill note tearing into his brain as his consciousness continued to wane. Although the brown helmet he had been given, filled with complex circuitry, was very effective at keeping out the noise, it was useless against the terror that naturally came with each shriek.
"KRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
As the noise continued, the boy fell onto one knee atop the stationary floating disk as he took deep heavy breaths to try and control his terror.
With him, a dozen people clutched their same brown helmets, struggling not to give in to the terrible noise. Only one man stood firm. He alone wore no helmet, revealing charcoal hair, sharp eyes, and a distinct goatee. His attire was simple, a white linen shirt and plain white trousers, yet the prestigious silver emblem on his chest, engraved with the symbol of a dagger, marked him as anything but a simple man.
Stroking his beard, Arlo sighed.
A shame.
Arlo looked at the boy with pity as he convulsed on the floor. Arlo was unperturbed by the clamour of this desert. It would be an embarrassment for someone of his rank to show any struggle in a danger zone of this level, and Arlo intended to uphold the honour of his kingdom, The Imperium Tempor.
This boy…
Arlo pondered, trying to remember his origin.
Ah, he's the one who got sold to us by his father for just 2400 riak. No wonder he doesn't have the mental fortitude to continue.
His eyes shifted past the boy and into the distant horizon.
Desolate.
That was the only word that came to him to describe such a sight.
In every direction was sand violently rumbling around. There were no animals, nor cacti.
Just sand.
Even the rocks had been whittled down to dust over time.
The desert was vast and their small group had been traveling northeast for six hours, and this short journey had been quite taxing. The expedition had begun with just 15 Core-stage recruits but the continuous waves had already taken the lives of three others.
"SKROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"
The noise continued to get louder and louder.
The real danger of the desert came from the deep unnatural tremors and shifting sand, but atop the disk Arlo had borrowed, simply a strong body or a strong will power was enough to survive.
The disk was a deep red and quite large, spanning 15 meters across with a low railing everywhere but the head where Arlo stood. He had once gotten into a brawl with someone because they likened it to a plate.
He glanced over at the rest of the group who looked to be fairing well, better than the farmer boy at least. Their faces were clenched in pain but pain was something they would have to learn to deal with, especially if they intended to go far down the Path.
The group was a mix of farmers, handymen, merchants, and even a street magician who he had picked up from Yosten City. All of them had unlocked their core and had decided or were forced to enlist to the war against the ever advancing Ultor. He was responsible for bringing the fresh recruits to the training camp and eventually to the frontline.
Thinking of the frontline, Arlo grimaced. He had very few good memories of the unnatural place, but the achievements he had earned had served him well.
Growing bored, Arlo looked closer at the group. The magician in particular was faring surprisingly well, despite his clearly famished body. Arlo had expected him to be one of the first to fall.
He must either have an impressive core ability or really want this.
Suddenly the world stopped shaking. For a reason unknown to Arlo, the tremors always started and ended before the shrieking.
And as expected, a few moments later, the shrieking stopped too.
Arlo approached the boy whose life energy appeared all but worn out on the ground and checked his pulse.
Surprisingly he was still alive.
Arlo was satisfied. Deaths under his watch felt like a failure on his part. With a grin he waved his hands around to reveal a floating, shining green orb. It slowly drifted closer and closer to the boy until finally getting absorbed into him.
Hopefully he can survive the next wave too, we only have about 90 kilometers left.
"You did good," he said while giving him a thumbs up. "At most one more of those before we get out of this hellhole."
The boy weakly nodded his head as he let the rest of the construct enter his body. This had been the second time he had needed to be healed up but it still shocked him all the same. A few weeks ago he had only heard of these powerful core-weavers in newspapers and legends, and now he was beside one of these revered figures.
It was all too much to handle.
A deep doubt filled his heart as he wasn't sure if he was cut out for this. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling as only one thought filled his mind:
Today is the day I will die.
Satisfied that the boy was in better shape, oblivious to his inner thoughts, Arlo turned to the rest of the group. Their shock had faded, and he shaped a simple communication construct to address their minds directly.
[That last wave was much longer than average so I expect we will have about an hour to the next. Get some good rest, you wouldn't want to have made it so far just to fall a bit short!]
The crowd shook their heads and braced, knowing full well they would start moving again. They had gotten used to this little routine, and the disk quickly accelerated to top speed.
They took their helmets off with a sigh.
The mood was dreary; everybody trying their best to recover mentally as much as they could before the next wave.
Some continued to stand and admired the vastness of the desert, a few started up small conversations, and most lay flat on their back cursing their past selves for bringing themself here.
One man – the malnourished magician – stood out as he slowly started moving from his spot taking deep rhythmic breaths. Without his helmet, his wavy dark auburn hair and a deep vertical scar on his cheek was revealed. A faded tailcoat hung from his narrow frame, its tattered fabric exposing his forearm, worn over a rumpled waistcoat that concealed hidden pockets. At his belt hung a pouch stuffed with cards, coins and various tools of misdirection. He made his way across the floating disk with his eyes filled with a certain confidence.
Arriving at his destination, he kneeled down to the trembling boy with a soft smile and took out his pack of cards and began wildly shuffling them.
"What's your name?" He asked continuing to shuffle, cards flying all around.
The boy, who in his shock hadn't registered the magician, jolted from his daze. He looked at the magician and couldn't help but be mesmerized by the cards flying around, yet in perfect control. He shook his head to regain focus and replied weakly:
"L-Leo."
Suddenly all the cards were swiftly brought to the magician's right hand, then he spread them out evenly in front of the boy.
"Let me show you something cool."
Leo looked at the magician, whose gaze was shifting between him and the cards, with confusion. He had never played cards before, but on occasion his father would play it with his friends.
Regretting never listening to the rules, he continued awkwardly staring at the cards waiting for something to happen.
The magician cleared his throat after realizing the boy had never seen a card trick before and clarified with practiced ease.
"Pick a card, any card! But be sure not to tell me which one!"