The desert sun hung high above Al Kharid, a molten disc that seemed determined to press its heat into every grain of sand. Rayz stepped through the stone archway that marked the kingdom’s entrance and paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow. Even for someone who had traveled here before, the heat was a force that demanded respect. He had come east from Lumbridge, following the winding path that cut through the grassy plains before giving way to the cracked earth of the valley. The Lumbridge guards had been less than cooperative. Rayz had needed to slip them a handful of coins before they allowed him to pass into the narrow gorge that led toward the desert. He had not been surprised. The guards were known for their suspicion of travelers heading toward Al Kharid. They preferred to keep people on the Lumbridge side of the valley unless there was significant coin involved.

Now, standing at the threshold of the capitol city of Azraha, Rayz felt the familiar shift in atmosphere. The air was dry and heavy. The wind carried the scent of sand and spice. The distant hum of the marketplace drifted toward him, a blend of voices, bartering calls, and the clatter of pottery. He took a moment to steady himself, then stepped forward with the calm confidence of someone who belonged. Rayz blended easily into the flow of people moving through the streets. His robes were simple but well chosen for the climate. The fabric was light and breathable, dyed in muted tones that reflected the sun rather than absorbing it. A thin scarf covered the back of his neck, and his boots were wrapped in cloth to keep the sand from slipping inside. He moved with the quiet assurance of a man who had traveled these streets before and understood the rhythm of the land.

He scanned the crowd until he spotted a familiar figure near the market stalls. Loto stood with his arms crossed, his expression twisted in frustration as he attempted to communicate with a merchant. The merchant spoke rapidly in the local tongue, gesturing toward a basket of mangos. Loto responded with a helpless shrug and a few words in the common language, none of which seemed to help. Rayz smiled faintly. Loto had never been patient, and the desert heat was doing nothing to improve his mood.

Loto’s clothing was clearly chosen for practicality rather than style. He wore a loose robe made of pale fabric that draped over his shoulders and down to his knees. The sleeves were wide and airy, allowing the breeze to pass through. A sash tied at his waist held the robe in place, and a hood rested against his back, ready to be pulled up if the sun became unbearable. The robe was the kind worn by desert travelers who needed to stay cool while still protecting their skin from the sun. Even so, Loto looked uncomfortable. Rayz approached quietly, stopping just behind him.

“You look like you are losing an argument with fruit,” Rayz said.

Loto spun around, relief washing over his face. “Rayz. Finally. I have been standing here for half an hour trying to buy something to drink. I think he is telling me the price, but he might also be insulting me. I cannot tell.”

Rayz chuckled, stepped forward, and exchanged a few words with the merchant in the local tongue. The merchant nodded, handed Rayz a small clay cup filled with cool, blue liquid, and accepted a single coin in return. Rayz passed the cup to Loto.

Loto drank half of it in one swallow. “I hate this place.”

“You have been here for less than a day,” Rayz said.

“And I already hate it,” Loto replied. “The heat is unbearable. No one understands me. And the guards at the gate looked at me like I was smuggling a dragon under my robe.”

Rayz gave him a patient look. “You are wearing the robe incorrectly. The sash is supposed to sit higher on the waist. And you tied it too tightly. It restricts airflow.”

Loto glanced down at himself. “It is a robe. How complicated can it be.”

Rayz adjusted the sash with a practiced motion. “You would be surprised.”

Loto grumbled but did not argue further. He finished the drink and handed the cup back to the merchant.

“You wrote that Varrock needed help,” Rayz said. “I know the general reason. Something serious enough that you wanted me here other than just being a translator.”

Loto leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was nearly swallowed by the noise of the market. He scanned the crowd again, making sure no one lingered within earshot. Only when he was certain they were alone did he continue. “There is much more,” Loto said. “Far more than I could risk putting in a letter. Varrock has been tracking a group for months. They call themselves the Ascendents. They have been attacking villages along the eastern border. Not raids. Not theft. They strike at night, set buildings on fire, and vanish before anyone can respond. Guerilla tactics. No pattern. No demands. Just destruction.”

Rayz listened, his expression calm but his mind sharpening. The Ascendents were not a name he recognized. Loto continued. “They are performing dark rituals, Rayz. Rituals that should not be possible. We had a spy inside their ranks. A good one. Careful. Patient. He reported back pieces of what they were doing. The Ascendents have found a way to create life from nothing. A man. An unnatural creation. But not only that, he was created with innate magical power. He can create immensely destructive spells. We think this man may be the one doing the attacks.”

That was impossible. Or at least, it had always been believed to be. In this world, magic was not something learned. It was something destined. A person was either born with the spark or they were not. No amount of training, no amount of study, no amount of discipline could change that. Those born without magic could become scholars, warriors, craftsmen, or thinkers, but never mages. Never sorcerers. Never wielders of arcane power. Only some spells can be granted to men through binding scrolls, though the spells the scrolls allow are primitive.

But the idea of someone being created with magic…
Born not from nature, but from ritual…
Born with power that could destroy…

Magic was dangerous even in the hands of those trained from childhood. It required discipline, emotional control, and years of guidance. A person born with magic but without upbringing, without structure, without understanding… that was a recipe for disaster. Rayz imagined a mind unprepared for the weight of power. A mind that had never learned restraint. A mind that had never been taught how to separate emotion from action. Magic was tied to the soul. If the soul was unstable, the magic would be as well. He returned his attention to Loto.

“We lost contact with the spy,” Loto said. His voice had grown tight, the words clipped. “The last message we received was fragmented. He said the Ascendents succeeded in creating the man, but something went wrong. The Ascendents tried to control him, but they could not. He broke free. Killed several of them. Then fled into the desert.” Loto continued. “We do not know where he is now. We do not know what he is capable of. But we know the Ascendents want him back. They want their weapon. And if they find him before we do, they will use him to burn more villages. Maybe even Varrock itself.”

Rayz looked out toward the bustling market. Merchants haggled. Children laughed. The scent of spices drifted through the air. It was hard to imagine that somewhere beyond these walls, a man created through forbidden magic wandered alone, hunted by the very people who made him. Loto’s voice softened, but the urgency remained. “We have to try and find him before the Ascendents do. And if possible, we need to learn what they are planning. We need to stop them from creating another abomination.” Rayz met his friend’s eyes. Loto’s expression was firm, resolute, shaped by duty and the weight of the kingdom’s expectations.

Rayz gave a small nod. “Then we begin by asking questions.”

“Carefully,” Loto said. “We do not know who here supports the Ascendents.”

Rayz turned toward the bustling streets and together they walked toward the heart of Azraha’s market. The market stretched before them like a living tapestry. Stalls of dyed fabrics fluttered in the dry wind. Merchants called out prices in the local tongue. The air shimmered with heat, and the scent of spices clung to every breath. Rayz moved through it with practiced ease, slipping into conversations, offering polite greetings, and listening more than he spoke. Loto followed close behind, his eyes scanning every face, every alley, every shadow.

They began with the fruit sellers. Rayz exchanged a few words with an elderly woman arranging dates in neat piles. She shook her head at his question, then pointed them toward a man selling pottery. The potter had heard nothing either, though he seemed eager to talk about the rising cost of clay. Rayz listened patiently, nodding at the appropriate moments, while Loto shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly wishing the man would get to the point.

From there they moved to a group of travelers resting beneath a canopy. Rayz asked about unusual sightings. One man mentioned a caravan that had been delayed by a sudden sandstorm. Another spoke of a stranger who passed through the night before, but his description was vague and unhelpful.

They continued through the market. Rayz paused occasionally to listen to passing conversations. He had learned long ago that people often revealed more when they were not being questioned directly. Loto remained beside him, arms crossed, trying his best to look less intimidating. They were passing a stall selling woven baskets when Rayz stopped abruptly. A man nearby was speaking loudly, gesturing with both hands as he spoke to a group of listeners. His voice carried easily over the noise of the market.

“I tell you, it was no ordinary fire,” the man said. “My sheep were grazing near the dunes, and then the air began to twist. The sand lifted on its own. A storm out of nowhere.” Rayz gave Loto a glance and waved him over. The man continued. “And then flames. Flames without spark or tinder. My poor sheep never stood a chance.” The man lowered his voice slightly, though still loud enough for them to hear. “I saw him. A stranger. Tall. Barefoot. Clothes torn.”

One of the listeners frowned. “Did he attack you?”

The man shook his head slowly, as if replaying the memory still unsettled him. “No,” he said. “He barely looked at me. His eyes were unfocused, like he was lost inside his own mind. He muttered something under his breath, but it was not any language I knew. Then he ran. Straight into the dunes.” A murmur rippled through the small crowd. Some listeners whispered sympathy. Others exchanged uneasy glances. A few scoffed, muttering that the desert played tricks on the mind. But Rayz heard the tremble beneath the man’s words. He recognized the cadence of someone describing something real, something that had shaken him deeply.

Rayz stepped forward, offering a respectful nod. “Forgive me,” he said in the local tongue. “I did not mean to intrude, but I am interested in what you saw. This stranger… can you tell me which direction he ran?”

The man looked up, startled at first, then relieved to be taken seriously. He pointed toward the southern stretch of dunes, where the sand rose in gentle waves beneath the shimmering heat. “There,” he said. “He ran that way. I watched him until he vanished behind the ridge. I did not follow. I wanted nothing to do with whatever he was.”

Rayz bowed his head in thanks. “Your help is appreciated.”

The man returned to his story, eager to share it with anyone who would listen, but Rayz had already turned away. Loto waited a short distance off, arms crossed, his expression sharp with anticipation. “Well?” he asked. Rayz relayed everything he had heard. The confused stranger. The swirling sand. The fire that erupted from the ground. The direction he fled.

Loto’s jaw tightened. “A sandstorm without wind. Fire without spark. That sounds like him.”

Rayz nodded. “It is the clearest lead we have.”

Loto glanced toward the dunes, where the heat shimmered above the sand like a wavering curtain. “If he ran that way, he might still be nearby. Rayz adjusted the cloth around his shoulders. “Then we follow them. If he is wandering without direction, he will not have gone far.”

Loto gave a short nod. “Good. Let us move before the sun climbs any higher.”

Rayz stepped beside him, and together they began walking toward the edge of the market. As they left the noise of the market behind, the city’s sounds faded into the hum of the desert wind. The scent of spices thinned. The chatter of merchants dissolved. Ahead lay only the dunes, vast and shimmering beneath the relentless sun.

The desert stretched before them in rolling waves of gold, each dune rising and falling like the slow breath of a sleeping giant. Rayz and Loto walked in silence for a time, letting the noise of the market fade behind them until only the whisper of sand beneath their boots remained. The sun hung high overhead, its heat pressing down on them with relentless weight.

Rayz lifted a hand to shield his eyes as they crested a dune. “It should be just beyond this ridge,” he said. “The merchant pointed directly this way.” Loto grunted in acknowledgment. He had been scanning the horizon since they left the city, his posture tense, his hand never far from the hilt of his sword. “If the man caused a fire strong enough to kill livestock, we will see the signs.”

They descended the dune, and the landscape shifted. The sand here was darker, disturbed, as if something had churned it violently. Rayz slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing. “There,” he said quietly. The remains of the sheep lay scattered across the sand, charred black and twisted into unnatural shapes. The ground around them was scorched in a wide circle, but the burn pattern was unlike anything Rayz had ever seen. The sand itself had melted in places, fused into glassy patches that shimmered under the sun.

Rayz knelt, running his fingers lightly over the fused sand. It was smooth, almost polished, as if shaped by a craftsman’s hand rather than flame. “This was not caused by a torch,” he said. “Or oil. Or any natural source.”

Loto crouched beside one of the remains, his expression grim. “This is the same as the villages,” he said. “The same unnatural fire. It is the same pattern we saw in Varrock. Houses burned from the inside out. Stone cracked from heat that should not exist. And no signs of accelerants.”

Rayz studied the scene again. The scorch marks radiated outward in uneven bursts, as if the fire had erupted in pulses rather than a single blaze. They had been consumed by something that had ignited beneath them. He walked a slow circle around the scorched area, searching for footprints. The sand was disturbed, but the patterns were chaotic. Some prints were deep, others shallow, as if the man had stumbled, run, fallen, and risen again. But the wind had already begun to erase the trail, smoothing the edges, blurring the direction.

Rayz crouched, brushing the sand aside with careful fingers. “He ran,” he said. “But the wind has taken most of the tracks. It is difficult to tell where he went.”

Loto joined him, scanning the dunes. “He cannot have gone far. Not with the Ascendents hunting him..”

Rayz stood again, letting his gaze sweep across the horizon. The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast expanse of shimmering heat and shifting sand. A man could disappear here without a trace. “We will have to search the area,” Rayz said. “Look for anything he might have left behind. A piece of clothing. Anything.”

Loto nodded. “We will find something. He is not trained. He will make mistakes.”

Rayz was about to respond when something caught his eye. A faint glint of metal far in the distance. He squinted, raising a hand to block the sun. The glint grew larger, resolving into shapes. Movement. Figures.

“Loto,” Rayz said quietly. “We are not alone.”

Loto turned sharply, his hand moving instinctively to his sword. “Where?”

Rayz pointed. “There. Approaching from the east.”

The figures grew clearer as they drew nearer. A group of riders on horseback, their silhouettes sharp against the bright horizon. As they came closer, the colors of their garments became visible. Deep gold and crimson. The colors of the Al Kharid royal family.

Loto straightened, his expression tightening. “Why would the prince’s men be out here?”

Rayz shook his head. “I do not know. But they are coming directly toward us.”

The horses slowed as they approached, their hooves kicking up small clouds of sand. The riders were armored lightly, suited for desert travel rather than battle. Their faces were stern, their posture rigid. At their head rode a man with a crest on his shoulder, marking him as a captain.

Rayz and Loto stepped back from the scorched remains, giving the riders space. The captain dismounted with practiced ease, his boots sinking slightly into the sand. His gaze swept over the scene, lingering on the charred sheep and the fused patches of ground.

When he finally looked at Rayz and Loto, his expression was unreadable.

“You two,” he said. “Step forward.”

Rayz exchanged a glance with Loto, then obeyed. Loto followed, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword but not drawing it. The captain’s gaze swept over Rayz and Loto with the sharpness of a blade. His men fanned out behind him, forming a half‑circle that cut off any easy escape. Their horses snorted and pawed at the sand, restless beneath the weight of the desert heat and the tension in the air. Rayz stepped forward with calm, measured movements. He kept his hands visible, palms open, a universal gesture of peace. “We are travelers,” he said in the local tongue. “We came across this place by chance. We had nothing to do with whatever happened here.”

The captain’s expression did not soften. If anything, his eyes narrowed further. “Travelers do not wander into scorched sand and dead livestock without reason.” Loto shifted beside Rayz, his posture stiffening. Rayz could feel the tension radiating off him, the instinct to fight rising like a spark. He placed a subtle hand on Loto’s arm, grounding him.

“We mean no harm,” Rayz repeated. “We were passing through and saw the damage. We came to get a closer look.”

The captain studied him for a long moment, weighing every word. The guards behind him exchanged glances, their distrust palpable. Outsiders were not welcome in Al Kharid’s affairs, especially not near a site that reeked of unnatural destruction. One guard muttered something under his breath, too low for Rayz to catch, but the tone was unmistakable: suspicion. The captain finally spoke. “The prince has taken great interest in this incident. He will want to question anyone found near it.”

Rayz inclined his head respectfully. “We understand your concern, but we assure you—”

“You will speak to the prince,” the captain interrupted. “Not to me.”

Loto’s jaw tightened. “We have done nothing wrong.”

“That is for the prince to decide,” the captain said. “Not you.”

Rayz felt the shift in the air. The guards were not here to negotiate. They were here to take control. And they would not hesitate to use force if challenged. He glanced at Loto. His friend’s hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, fingers twitching with the urge to defend himself. Rayz knew that instinct well. Loto was a soldier, trained to react, trained to protect. But this was not a battlefield. These were royal guards, sworn to the prince. Fighting them would be suicide in more ways than one.

Rayz spoke softly, just loud enough for Loto to hear. “Do not draw your blade.”

Loto’s eyes flicked to him, frustration burning behind them. “We cannot let them take us in like criminals.”

“We cannot fight them,” Rayz murmured. Loto clenched his jaw but said nothing.

The captain gestured to his men. “Bind their hands.”

Rayz raised a hand quickly. “That is unnecessary. We will come willingly.”

The captain paused, studying him again. Rayz held his gaze, calm and steady. After a moment, the captain lowered his hand. “Very well. But you will ride with us. And you will not stray.”

Rayz nodded. “We understand.”

The guards stepped forward, still wary, still ready to strike at the slightest provocation. One handed Rayz a set of reins. Another did the same for Loto. The horses were tall and muscular, bred for endurance in the desert heat. As the guards formed a protective ring around them, Rayz leaned slightly toward Loto. “We cannot reveal our mission,” he whispered. “Not until we know who we can trust.”

Loto grunted. “Being dragged before a prince is not how I wanted this day to go.”

“Nor I,” Rayz said. “But we have no choice.”

The captain mounted his own horse and raised a hand. The group began to move, sand kicking up beneath the hooves as they rode toward the distant silhouette of Al Kharid’s palace. The sun glinted off the golden domes in the distance, shimmering like a mirage. Rayz kept his posture relaxed, though his mind raced. The prince’s involvement complicated everything. They had come to Al Kharid quietly, hoping to gather information without drawing attention. Now they were being escorted directly into the heart of the kingdom’s authority.

They rode in silence for a time, the desert wind brushing against their faces. The scorched patch of sand grew smaller behind them, swallowed by the dunes. Ahead, the palace loomed larger, its walls rising like a fortress carved from the sun itself. Rayz felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. They were walking into a den of power, watched by men who saw them as potential threats. One wrong word could unravel everything. But refusing to go would have been worse. Fighting the guards would have eventually become fatal. And fleeing would have marked them as guilty. No, this was the only path forward.

As they approached the palace gates, the guards tightened their formation. The captain rode ahead, signaling to the sentries. The heavy doors began to open, revealing the cool shadowed interior beyond.

Loto leaned closer. “Whatever happens in there, we stay together.”

Rayz nodded. “Always.”

The horses stepped through the gates, and the doors closed behind them with a deep, echoing thud. As Rayz and Loto passed through the towering gates, the world shifted from harsh dunes to cool shadow. The walls were built from pale sandstone polished to a soft sheen, each block etched with swirling geometric patterns that caught the light and made the entire structure shimmer. Tall arches framed the entryway, their curves elegant and precise, reminiscent of the grand palaces Rayz had studied in old texts. Slender columns lined the hall, carved with motifs of desert flowers and flowing water, symbols of prosperity in a land where both were precious.

Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly with incense and rosewater. Sunlight filtered through latticed windows of carved stone, scattering intricate patterns across the marble floor. The tiles beneath their feet were arranged in sweeping mosaics of blues and golds, forming shapes that resembled waves, stars, and desert winds. Servants moved quietly through the halls, their footsteps soft, their eyes lowered as the guards escorted Rayz and Loto deeper into the palace.

Rayz took in every detail with quiet appreciation. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Even the ceiling was a work of art, painted with scenes of Al Kharid’s history: kings on horseback, caravans crossing endless dunes, and mythical creatures said to guard the kingdom’s borders. Loto, however, seemed far less impressed. His gaze flicked from guard to guard, assessing exits, counting weapons, measuring distances. He trusted Rayz, but he did not trust this place.

They were led into a side chamber near the main audience hall. The room was small compared to the grand corridors, but still richly decorated. Cushioned benches lined the walls, upholstered in deep crimson fabric embroidered with gold thread. A low table sat in the center, holding a brass pitcher of water and two cups. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting desert landscapes and the royal crest of Al Kharid, a stylized sun rising over a curved blade.

The guards gestured for them to sit. Rayz lowered himself onto one of the benches, grateful for the chance to rest after the long walk through the dunes. Loto sat beside him, though his posture remained rigid, his hand resting near his sword even though he knew drawing it here would be suicide.

The door closed behind the guards, leaving the two alone.

Rayz exhaled slowly. “At least they did not bind us.”

“They did not need to,” Loto muttered. “There are enough guards in this palace to kill us ten times over.”

Rayz poured water into one of the cups and handed it to him. “We are guests. Suspicious guests, perhaps, but guests nonetheless.”

Loto took the cup but did not drink. “You trust too easily.”

“And you trust too little,” Rayz replied, though his tone was gentle. “We cannot reveal our mission. Not yet. But we can answer their questions truthfully without giving away everything.”

Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps and the soft murmur of palace servants moving through the halls. Rayz folded his hands in his lap, letting his mind settle. The prince’s summons could mean danger, or it could mean opportunity. Either way, they would face it together.

After what felt like an hour, a guard stepped inside, his armor gleaming under the lantern light. His expression was stern, unreadable. “You two,” he said. “The prince will see you now. Follow me.” The guard turned and led them out of the chamber, down a long corridor lined with tall pillars and hanging tapestries. They reached a pair of towering doors carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold. Two guards stood on either side, spears crossed. At a nod from the escorting guard, the spears lifted, and the doors swung open.

The throne room was vast. Sunlight poured through high windows of colored glass, scattering patterns of red, blue, and gold across the marble floor. Tall columns lined the chamber, each wrapped in silk banners bearing the royal crest. At the far end of the room, elevated on a platform of polished stone, sat the prince.

He was younger than Rayz expected, perhaps in his early twenties, with sharp features and eyes that missed nothing. His robes were deep crimson trimmed with gold, and a circlet of polished bronze rested on his brow. Guards stood at attention along the walls, their presence a silent reminder of the prince’s authority. The escorting guard stopped and gestured. “Presenting the travelers found near the southern dunes.” Rayz and Loto stepped forward.

The prince regarded them with a calm, assessing gaze. “Welcome to my palace,” he said in their language. His voice was smooth, controlled, carrying easily through the chamber. “I am Prince Kadin of Al Kharid. You were found near the site of a… troubling incident.”

Rayz bowed respectfully. “Your Highness, we are travelers passing through your kingdom. We meant no disrespect by being near that place. We simply—”

The prince raised a hand, cutting him off with effortless authority. “Let us not waste time with pleasantries,” he said. “You are not simple travelers.” Rayz kept his expression neutral. The prince continued. “You are from Varrock. And you are searching for the Ascendents.” Rayz felt Loto tense beside him, but he spoke before his friend could react. “Your Highness, we—”

Again, the prince silenced him with a gesture. “I know why you are here,” he said. “Varrock does not send men like you across the desert for leisure. You are here because the Ascendents have become a threat to your kingdom, like they are to mine.” Rayz exchanged a brief glance with Loto. There was no point in denying it now. The prince leaned back slightly on his throne. “And how you are searching for a certain… man.”

“You know of him?” Rayz asked.

“Yes,” the prince said. “A man created by the Ascendents. A man born not of nature, but of ritual. A man with power he does not understand. “I have seen the destruction he leaves behind. And I know what he represents.” Rayz felt the weight of the moment settle over the room. The prince was not speaking from rumor or fear. He was speaking from knowledge. “The Ascendents,” the prince said, “believe they can create a god-man. A being shaped by their rituals, infused with power from the moment of creation. A weapon they can control. A weapon they intend to use to overthrow me!” The words hung in the air like a blade.

Rayz felt a chill despite the warmth of the throne room. “You believe they intend to seize Al Kharid?”

“I do not believe it,” the prince said. “I know it. They have been moving through the desert for months. They have spies in my city. They have burned villages along your border. And now they have created something they cannot control.”

Loto spoke, “And you know he escaped I’m sure.”

The prince nodded. “He did, and it was very fortunate. If the Ascendents had him, they would already be marching on my gates I’m sure.” Rayz absorbed this quietly. The man they hunted was not merely a threat. He was a key piece in a larger plan. A plan that could topple kingdoms. The prince studied Rayz and Loto for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the colored glass windows cast shifting patterns of gold and crimson across the marble floor, as if the sun itself listened to the conversation.

He stepped down from the dais and began to walk slowly across the room, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice carried the weight of history. “Al Kharid was not always a place of wealth,” he said. “My ancestors ruled over nothing more than sand and wind. The desert was a wasteland, barren and unforgiving. Travelers avoided it. Caravans skirted its borders. No one believed life could flourish here. It was my great‑great‑grandfather,” the prince continued, “who first saw the potential of this land. He realized that Al Kharid sat at the crossroads of the world. North, south, east, west. Every major trade route passed near our borders. But no one dared cross the desert. Too dangerous. Too empty.”

He paused beside one of the tall windows, the sunlight outlining his silhouette. “So he changed that. He built the first oasis outposts. Dug wells deep into the earth. Offered protection to caravans. He invited traders from distant kingdoms to rest here, to barter here, to build here. And slowly, the desert changed. What was once a wasteland became a hub of commerce.” The prince turned back toward them, his eyes sharp. “Trade brought wealth. Wealth brought alliances. And alliances brought stability. Al Kharid became a place where nations met, where goods flowed freely, where peace was maintained not through force, but through cooperation.”

Rayz nodded. “A kingdom built on connection rather than conquest.”

“Exactly,” the prince said. “And that is why the Ascendants despise us.”

He resumed his slow pacing, his robes brushing softly against the marble. “They believe power comes only through strength. Through domination. Through fear. They see trade as weakness. Diplomacy as cowardice. They want a world ruled by those who can seize it, not those who can build it.”

Loto’s voice was low. “And the man they created is their weapon.”

The prince stopped walking. “Yes. A weapon they intended to unleash upon my kingdom. A god‑man, as they call him. A being shaped by their rituals, infused with power from the moment of creation. A symbol of their belief that strength alone should rule.”

The prince returned to his throne, though he did not sit. “I wish I could tell you more about the man you seek. But I know little beyond rumor. My scouts have reported strange disturbances in the desert. Fires without fuel. Storms without wind. And tracks that vanish as quickly as they appear.” He gestured toward a map carved into the stone wall behind him. The map depicted the desert in sweeping lines, with canyons etched like deep scars across the southern region. “The man may have entered the canyons,” the prince said. “My scouts found signs of movement there. Disturbed sand. Broken stones. A trail that suggests someone fled into the narrow passes. If you wish to help, I will grant you passage through my lands. You will have the freedom to travel where you need. But before you leave, there is something you must understand. The man you seek… his mind is not whole.”d.

Loto and Rayz gave a concerned look. “From what my scouts and informants have gathered, the man was inflicted with madness from the moment he was created. The Ascendents forced power into him. Power he was not prepared to hold. His mind fractured under the weight of it.”

Loto’s brow furrowed. “Madness from birth.”

The prince nodded. “The Ascendents could not control him. Their rituals succeeded in creating power, but not obedience. He fled before they could bind him to their will.”

Rayz nodded slowly. “We understand.”

The prince leaned back in his throne. “Good. Then I will have my men prepare horses and supplies for you. You should leave immediately. The longer he remains free, the more unpredictable he becomes.”

Rayz bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

The guards stepped forward, gesturing for Rayz and Loto to follow. As they walked through the throne room, Rayz felt the prince’s gaze lingering on them, measuring, calculating, hoping they would succeed where his own men had failed. They reached the outer courtyard, where the heat of the desert returned in full force. The stables stood near the palace walls, shaded by a long awning of woven cloth. Horses stamped their hooves in the sand, their coats gleaming in the sunlight. A stablehand approached with two saddled mounts and two small packs. “Water, dried dates, and a little bread. Enough to reach the canyons if you travel quickly.”

The guards stepped back, giving them space. One of them spoke. “The prince has granted you free passage through Al Kharid. But be warned, the desert is unforgiving. And the canyons even more so.”

Loto mounted his horse with practiced ease. Rayz followed, settling into the saddle. The horses shifted beneath them, eager to move, their hooves stirring the sand in restless circles. The palace gates closed behind them with a heavy thud, leaving only the open desert ahead For a while, they rode in silence. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the dunes. Rayz’s gaze drifted across the horizon, but his thoughts were far from the landscape. At last, he spoke. “Loto… do you think the prince is right about him?”

Loto glanced over. “About what?”

“About the man being inflicted with madness.”

Loto exhaled through his nose. “It seems likely. Everything we’ve seen and heard points to it.”

Rayz shook his head slightly. “But what does ‘madness’ mean in this case? Was he unstable from the moment he opened his eyes? Or did the Ascendents do something to him? Force something into him that broke his mind?”

Loto frowned. “Does it matter which?”

“Because if he wasn’t born broken… then someone broke him.”

The horses trudged forward, their hooves sinking into the soft sand. The desert wind brushed past them, carrying the faint scent of dust and distant stone. Rayz continued, “The prince said the man was created with power. Forced into him. No guidance. No upbringing. No understanding of what he is. And power. Power he never asked for.”

Loto’s voice was steady. “Power like that given to someone like him shouldn’t exist. And he’s mad, then we will need to put him down. To prevent innocents from being on his receiving end.”

Rayz frowned. “Loto,” he said, “what if he escaped because he didn’t want to be their weapon?”

Loto didn’t hesitate. “Or he escaped because he wanted freedom to destroy freely.”

Rayz turned his head, studying his friend’s expression. Loto wasn’t angry. He wasn’t cruel. He was practical. Grounded. A soldier who had seen too much to believe in convenient innocence. Rayz respected that. But he couldn’t ignore the other possibility.

“You think he’s dangerous by nature,” Rayz said.

“I think he’s dangerous by design,” Loto replied. “The Ascendents didn’t create him to be gentle. They created him to be powerful. To be used. To break things.”

Rayz nodded slowly. “But if he didn’t want to be used…”

“Then he’s still dangerous,” Loto said. “Just dangerous on his own terms.”

Rayz looked down at his hands on the reins. “I don’t want to kill him, Loto. Not if I do not have to.”

Loto didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was softer than Rayz expected. “I know.” Loto shifted in his saddle. “But Rayz… you need to understand something too. If he’s unstable, truly unstable, then helping him might not be possible.” The horses continued forward, their shadows stretching long across the sand. The sun dipped lower, painting the dunes in shades of amber and crimson. Rayz kept his eyes on the horizon, scanning for anything out of place. The prince’s information had been vague. It was Loto who spotted the first clue.

“Rayz,” he called, slowing his horse. “Look there.”

Rayz guided his mount beside Loto’s. At the base of a dune, half‑buried in sand, was a patch of scorched earth. Small, but unmistakable. The sand had fused into a thin crust of glass, shimmering faintly in the fading light.

Rayz dismounted, crouching beside it. “This is recent,” he murmured. “The heat hasn’t fully dissipated.” He brushed the sand aside with careful fingers. Beneath the glassy crust, the ground was disturbed—shallow depressions, irregular, uneven.

“Footprints,” Rayz said. “But not steady ones. He was stumbling.”

Loto knelt beside him. “Or running.”

Rayz studied the pattern. “Running… but not in a straight line. His steps veer left, then right. As if he didn’t know where he was going.”

Loto frowned. “Madness. The prince may be correct.”

“Or he was afraid,” Rayz countered softly. He stood, scanning the dunes. The footprints continued, faint but traceable, leading toward a jagged line in the distance. They followed the trail as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert. The air cooled rapidly, the heat bleeding away into the night. The canyon rose before them like a dark wound in the earth, its walls steep and jagged.

Rayz crouched beside a stone outcrop, pulling up on a rope laying in the sand. It was tied around a jagged boulder jutting from the earth, the knot crude and uneven, as if made by trembling hands. The rope disappeared into a dark, circular hole in the ground. An opening wide enough for a man to slip through, but not without effort.

“He climbed down,” Rayz said, feeling a little annoyed.

Loto tugged the rope, testing its strength. It groaned but held. “Still sturdy. Lucky for us.”

Rayz nodded, though unease prickled at the back of his neck. The hole exhaled a faint draft of cool air, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic. Rayz approached the edge and peered down. The darkness swallowed the rope after only a few feet.

“This won’t be easy,” he murmured.

“It never is,” Loto replied, already crouching down. The rope creaked under his weight as he lowered himself into the hole. Loose sand trickled down from the rim, pattering against his shoulders like dry rain. The walls were tight at first, forcing him to brace his boots against shifting stone. Pebbles broke free beneath his feet, clattering into the unseen depths below. Rayz followed not far behind. The descent grew steeper. The rope swayed, scraping against the rough stone. The shaft widened suddenly, and Loto’s boots touched solid ground. He stepped aside quickly, giving Rayz room to drop.

They turned toward the cavern ahead. A faint glow pulsed from within—soft blue‑green light that shimmered like the heartbeat of some ancient creature. Rayz stepped forward, drawn to it. The cavern walls were coated in clusters of bioluminescent fungi, their caps glowing like scattered stars. The light reflected off the damp stone, casting shifting patterns across the floor.

Rayz touched one gently. It brightened at his fingertips. “Bioluminescent mycelium. Rare. They thrive in places untouched by sunlight.”

Loto pointed to the ground. “Footprints!” Rayz followed his gaze. The prints were faint but visible, leading deeper into the cavern.Loto rested a hand on his sword. “Let's move, carefully.” The bioluminescent fungi cast a soft blue‑green glow across the cavern floor, enough to paint the stone in shifting hues and guide Rayz and Loto deeper into the underground passage. The footprints they’d been following, uneven, staggered, sometimes dragging, were clearer here than in the sand above. Each step left a faint impression on the damp earth, illuminated by the fungi’s eerie light.

But the cavern had other inhabitants. A faint clicking echoed from deeper within. Soft at first, then multiplying, overlapping, growing louder. The two froze, hands tightening on their sword hilts. The clicking grew sharper, accompanied by the scrape of chitin against stone. The glow of the fungi revealed shapes emerging from the shadows. Low to the ground, armored, glistening. Giant scorpions, each the size of a pig, their pincers snapping with territorial fury. Their tails arched high, venomous stingers dripping with a faint, oily sheen.”

The first scorpion lunged. Loto met it head‑on, blade flashing in the fungi’s glow. He sidestepped the stinger by inches, pivoted, and sliced through the creature’s pincer. The scorpion screeched, its tail whipping forward. Loto ducked, rolled, and drove his sword upward into the softer underside of its carapace. The creature convulsed and collapsed. Another scorpion charged from the right. Loto spun, parrying its pincer strike, then slashed across its eyes. It thrashed blindly, tail stabbing wildly.

Three came pouring from the walls, and Rayz was already moving. He looked around, noting the loose stones, the clusters of fungi, the narrow choke points between stalagmites. The scorpions were fast but predictable. They attacked in straight lines, driven by instinct rather than strategy. He stepped forward, sword raised, taunting the scorpions with quick, precise movements. They lunged, pincers snapping. Rayz dodged, weaving between them, guiding them toward the cluster of jagged stone spikes overhead. He grabbed a fallen stalagmite and slammed it against the cavern wall. The vibration shook the ceiling. The stalactites broke free, crashing down onto the scorpions in a burst of dust and shattered chitin. Two were crushed instantly. The third writhed, trapped beneath the debris. Rayz stepped forward and ended it with a swift thrust of his sword.

The cavern settled into silence after the last scorpion fell, its twitching legs curling inward as the echoes of battle faded into the stone. Rayz wiped dust from his hands and stepped forward, letting the bioluminescent fungi guide their path once more. The footprints grew more erratic, weaving left and right, sometimes overlapping as if the man had circled in confusion. Yet they continued forward, deeper into the cavern’s heart. After several minutes, the cavern widened into a chamber. A crude shelter had been assembled against the far wall. Broken stalagmites had been dragged together to form a makeshift frame, covered with scraps of cloth and dried moss. It wasn’t much, barely enough to shield someone from the cold, but it was unmistakably deliberate.

Rayz turned toward the cavern wall. At first he thought the markings were natural. Scratches, cracks, mineral streaks. But as he stepped closer, the shapes resolved into something unmistakably intentional. Drawings. Dozens of them. Scribbled across the stone in charcoal, ash, and what might have been crushed fungi. Lines overlapped chaotically. Circles, jagged strokes, spirals that led nowhere. Some resembled faces, distorted and hollow-eyed. Others were nothing more than frantic slashes, as if the man had tried to carve something out of his own mind and onto the stone.

Loto stared. “These are… nonsense.”

Rayz touched one of the spirals gently. “Not nonsense. Expression.”

Loto snorted. “Expression of madness.”

Rayz shook his head. “Expression of emotion. Confusion. Fear. Maybe even curiosity.”

Loto folded his arms. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?” Rayz asked quietly. “Look at the patterns. They repeat. He’s trying to make sense of something. Trying to understand himself.”

Loto countered, “Or he’s documenting his descent.”

Rayz didn’t respond immediately. The drawings were chaotic, yes, but there was something human in them. Something raw. Something that spoke of a mind struggling not to destroy, but to comprehend. Loto moved to the shelter again. “Rayz. Over here.”

Rayz approached, expecting another scrap of cloth or a broken tool. But when Loto lifted the object free he saw a folded parchment. Loto unfolded the parchment and the fungi’s glow washed over the ink, revealing a detailed chart of the desert. Canyon routes, dune ridges, oases, and narrow passes marked with precise, practiced lines. Several locations were circled. Others were crossed out. Notes filled the margins in a hurried but deliberate hand.

Rayz leaned closer. “This wasn’t drawn by him.”

“No,” Loto agreed. “The lines are too clean. Too steady. Someone trained made this.”

“A navigator,” Rayz said. “The Ascendents’ Navigator. He was of sound mind enough to think about his escape plan.”

Loto looked at him, uncertain. “You’re suggesting he’s not crazy.”

“This was a deliberate choice. A rational one. A man who thinks to take a navigator’s map is not mindless. Either way… this tells us something important.” Rayz looked down at the map once more, letting the moonlight illuminate the ink. The Ascendents’ camps were clearly marked, each one circled with a precise hand. A line connected them in a pattern that suggested careful planning. Rayz traced the path with his finger.

“Here,” he said. “This was their last camp.”

Loto leaned closer. “And the next one is already marked. They planned their route ahead of time.”

Rayz nodded. “Which means they will follow it. They’ve been searching for him, so they will either have him or be expecting to find him near where they’re going.”

The bioluminescent fungi dimmed behind them as Rayz and Loto made their way back to the rope. The cavern’s glow faded with each step, replaced by the quiet stillness of the shaft above. Rayz gripped the rope first, climbing steadily. Sand trickled from the rim as he pulled himself upward, boots scraping against the rough stone. Loto followed close behind, muttering about caves and ropes but keeping a firm hold. When they finally emerged into the open desert night, the cool air felt wide and still. Their horses waited where they had left them, ears flicking at the sound of footsteps.

They set off across the dunes, the desert stretching before them in silver and shadow. The moon cast long lines across the sand, and their horses moved with steady determination. Rayz kept the map in hand, checking their direction whenever the terrain shifted. The Ascendents’ route was deliberate, weaving through narrow passes and avoiding open ground. Whoever had drawn the map understood the desert well. The night deepened as they rode. The sand gave way to rocky ground, and the outline of a ravine appeared ahead.

Rayz slowed his horse. “This is the place.”

They dismounted and approached on foot, moving quietly along the ridge. The ravine dipped sharply, creating a natural shelter hidden from the open desert. Rayz crouched near the edge and peered down. A camp lay below. Tents of dark cloth formed a semicircle around a central fire. Crates and supplies were stacked neatly beside them. Bedrolls were arranged with military precision. A dozen men moved about the camp, some tending the fire, others sharpening weapons or checking equipment. Their movements were efficient and disciplined.

Loto scanned the camp. “Do you see him?”

Rayz shook his head. “No. But they are preparing for something.” He studied the layout carefully. “Two guards on the north side. One by the crates. Three near the fire. The rest must be inside the tents.”

Loto nodded. “We go in from the south. Less light. Fewer eyes.”

They descended the ridge slowly, keeping low, letting the shadows swallow them. The sand muffled their steps, and the wind carried the faint crackle of the fire, masking their movement. Rayz moved with deliberate care, eyes scanning for any shift in the camp’s rhythm. Loto followed just behind, blade still sheathed but ready. They slipped between two boulders and crept toward the outer tents. The camp was quiet, the dozen Ascendents either resting or murmuring around the low fire. Rayz raised a hand, signaling Loto to pause. He leaned forward, checking the position of the nearest guard.

Then he heard it. A soft huff of breath behind him. Rayz turned slowly. A dog stood a few paces away. Lean, desert‑bred, its coat a mottled tan that blended with the sand. Its ears were pricked, eyes fixed on Rayz with sharp suspicion. It wasn’t growling yet, but its posture was tense, ready to alert the camp. Rayz froze. He would not kill it. Not unless he had no choice. The dog took a step forward, nose twitching. Rayz moved in a single, swift motion. He lunged forward, not with a blade, but with a sharp, controlled kick to the dog’s side. Enough to knock the breath from it, not enough to break bone. The dog yelped softly and collapsed into the sand, stunned but alive.

For a heartbeat, the camp remained still. Then the dog let out a weak, startled bark. A guard’s head snapped toward them.

“Who’s there?”

Rayz cursed under his breath.

The guard stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Intruders!” The camp erupted. Men surged from the tents, weapons drawn. The three by the fire leapt to their feet, blades flashing in the firelight. The quiet night shattered into chaos. The first Ascendent charged, swinging a curved blade. Loto met him with fury, steel clashing. Loto’s movements were fluid, precise, almost effortless. He parried, sidestepped, and struck in a single motion, his blade slicing across the man’s chest. Another rushed in. Loto pivoted, letting the man’s momentum carry him forward before driving his sword into the exposed side. He withdrew the blade cleanly, already turning to face the next threat.

An Ascendent lunged at Rayz, who stepped aside, letting the man’s blade strike a tent pole. The canvas collapsed, tangling the attacker’s arms. Rayz swung his sword across the man’s neck, dropping him instantly. Another came from the left. Rayz turned, punched with his left, stumbling the attacker long enough for Rayz to slash at the man’s leg. The Ascendent collapsed, screaming. Rayz silenced him with a drive of his blade into his chest.

Loto cut down two more, his sword a blur of silver in the firelight. He fought with the confidence of a man who had trained his entire life for moments like this. One Ascendent tried to flee toward the ravine entrance. Loto sprinted after him, closing the distance in seconds. His blade flashed once, and the man fell face first into the sand.

Only two remained. One charged Rayz with a spear. Rayz sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, and twisted. The man stumbled forward, off‑balance. Rayz used the momentum to pull him into a knee strike, then slammed the spear butt into his jaw. The man crumpled, and Rayz ended him with a single strike of his sword.

The last Ascendent hesitated, glancing between Rayz and Loto. His courage faltered. He turned to run. Loto threw his sword. The blade soared through the air, striking the man in the back of the leg. He collapsed with a cry, rolling onto his side, clutching the wound. Loto strode forward, retrieving his sword with little grace.

Rayz approached slowly, scanning the camp for any remaining threats. The fire crackled softly. The tents fluttered in the wind. The bodies of the Ascendents lay scattered across the sand. The man laid on the ground, bleeding from the leg, breathing hard. His eyes darted between Rayz and Loto, wide with fear. Loto wiped his blade clean on the man’s robes as he twitched with wide eyes. Rayz crouched in front of him. “I want to know how he was made.”

The Ascendent laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “Of course you do. Outsiders always want to peek behind the curtain. You think you can bargain with me? You think you understand anything about what you’ve stepped into?”

Loto nudged him with his boot. “Start talking. Or I make you.”

The Ascendent glared up at him. “You’re all the same. Brutes who think a blade can carve truth out of a man.”

Rayz leaned closer, voice steady. “Then tell me the truth before my friend tries with his blade anyway.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Rayz, narrowing with disdain. “Truth? You wouldn’t recognize it. I’m a soldier, not a mage. I don’t know the rituals. I don’t need to. I follow orders. I kill who I’m told to kill. And you…” he smirked “...you will never know how he was made. You’d have to reach our sanctum to learn it,” the Ascendent said, voice dripping with mockery. “And you’d die before you ever set foot inside. Go ahead. Try to attack us. Try to interrogate our mages. You will die before even setting foot on our land.”

Rayz’s expression dimmed with disappointment. He had hoped for something, anything, that would help him understand the man they were chasing. But this soldier knew nothing. And worse, he enjoyed withholding it. Rayz exhaled slowly. “Fine. Then tell me where he is.”

The Ascendent rolled his eyes. “He’s south of here, just past this ravine. Hiding in some cave like an animal. We were about to attack anyway.”

Rayz stood slowly. “You’ve told us what we need.” Loto nodded once.

The Ascendent’s smirk faltered. Loto’s sword flashed in a clean, practiced arc. The man slumped sideways, silent. Rayz didn’t look back. “Let’s go. We know where he is. But we need a plan first” And together, they stepped into the night, heading south toward the ravine. The desert night stretched wide and silent around them as Rayz and Loto rode toward the northern cliffs. The moon hung low, casting pale light across the dunes. The passage widened into a chamber, and there, near the far wall, stood the man.

He was thin, barefoot, his clothes torn and dust‑covered. His hair hung in tangled strands around his face. His eyes darted wildly, unfocused, as if he were seeing things no one else could. His hands trembled at his sides, and with each tremor, tiny sparks of pale light flickered from his fingertip. Brief, uncontrolled bursts of magic that crackled against the stone. The man looked like someone who had been running for far too long. Loto slipped silently along the right wall, moving into position just as Rayz had instructed. The man didn’t notice him. His attention was fixed on the empty space in front of him, as if expecting something terrible to emerge from the shadows.

Rayz stepped forward slowly.

“Hello,” he said softly.

The man flinched, spinning toward him. A burst of light shot from his fingers, striking the ground between them with a sharp crack. Rayz stopped immediately, hands raised.

“It’s alright,” Rayz said. “I’m not here to harm you.”

The man’s breathing quickened. His hands shook harder, sparks dancing across his palms. “Stay back.”

Rayz nodded. “I will. I promise.”

The man’s eyes flicked over Rayz’s face, searching for threat. His shoulders were rigid, his entire body coiled like a cornered animal.

Rayz kept his voice gentle. “You look exhausted. You look like someone who’s been alone for too long.” The man swallowed, throat bobbing. Another spark jumped from his fingers. Rayz continued, “I want to understand. I want to know if you’re alright.”

The man’s expression twisted. Fear, confusion, something deeper. “No one… no one understands.”

The man’s trembling slowed slightly. Rayz took a careful step forward. “You’re not a threat to me. You’re not some monster. You’re someone who’s been mistreated. Someone who’s been used.”

The man blinked rapidly, as if the words struck something inside him. The sparks around his fingers dimmed. Rayz watched closely. Positive words seemed to ease him. So he continued.

“You’re not alone,” Rayz said. “You’re not trapped. You’re not what they said you were.” The man’s breathing steadied. His shoulders lowered a fraction. Rayz took another step. “You’re someone who deserves safety,” Rayz said. “Someone who deserves peace.” The man’s eyes softened. The sparks faded to faint glimmers. Rayz felt hope stir in his chest, but he didn’t let his guard drop. He kept his stance ready, weight balanced, prepared to move if the man’s magic surged again. He wasn’t naive, and he wasn’t foolish. He knew how quickly fear could turn into destruction.

Rayz spoke again, choosing his words with care. “I want to help you. Truly.”

The man’s lips parted. “Help…” The word seemed to calm him further. His hands lowered slightly. Rayz nodded. “Yes. Help. You’ve been hurt. You’ve been chased. You’ve been treated like something you’re not.” The man winced at the word hurt. A sharp tremor ran through him, and a burst of light shot from his fingertips, striking the wall with a crack. Rayz immediately shifted his tone. “You’ve been wronged. You’ve been frightened. But you’re not alone anymore.”

The man’s trembling eased again. Rayz took another slow step forward. “You’re safe with me.” The man stared at him, eyes wide, confused, hopeful, terrified all at once. “Safe…”

Rayz nodded. “Yes. Safe.” Behind the man, Loto remained silent, hidden in the shadows, blade ready but lowered. He watched Rayz with a mixture of admiration and dread. Rayz was reaching the man, but the wrong word, the wrong movement, could shatter everything. Rayz extended a hand. Not touching, not demanding, simply offering. “Let me help you. Let me understand you.” The man stared at the hand. His fingers twitched, sparks flickering weakly. Rayz held his breath. The man’s shoulders sagged. His magic dimmed to faint glimmers.

Rayz took one more step. He was close now. Close enough to see the fear in the man’s eyes. Close enough to see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The man’s trembling slowed. For the first time, he looked like someone who might let himself be reached. For a moment, the cave felt still. Fragile, suspended, as if the world were holding its breath. The man’s trembling had eased, the sparks around his fingers dimming to faint glimmers. Rayz dared to hope he was reaching him. He took one more careful step, hand still extended, voice soft.

Rayz felt the shift. He felt the possibility. But then… The man jerked violently, his entire body snapping backward as if struck by an invisible force. His spine arched, his arms flung outward, and a burst of raw magic exploded from his hands. Sparks shot across the cave like shards of lightning.Rayz stumbled back, shielding his face. The air crackled with heat and wind, the stone walls vibrating with the force of the outburst.

He didn’t know what caused it. Did he step too close? Did he say the wrong word? Did the man simply lose control? Rayz didn’t know. And the not knowing hit him like a blow. The man screamed, a sound torn from somewhere deep, primal, terrified. Magic surged from him in waves, slamming into the cave walls, scorching the stone. Rayz’s heart hammered. He looked to Loto.

And in that instant, time slowed. Rayz saw Loto’s eyes widen. Saw the shift in his stance. Saw the silent understanding pass between them like a spark. This is it. Rayz didn’t want it. He didn’t want this ending. He had hoped, truly hoped, that the man could be reached. That he could be saved. That he wasn’t just a weapon waiting to explode. But the cave was shaking. The man was losing control. And Rayz knew what Loto knew. If they hesitated, they would die. Rayz inhaled once, sharply. Loto nodded once, grimly. No words were needed. They moved. The man unleashed a blast of wind that tore across the cave, sending dust and debris flying. Rayz dove to the side, rolling across the stone floor. Heat scorched the air above him as a streak of fire shot past, slamming into the wall and exploding in a shower of sparks. Rayz heard Loto’s voice, distant, stretched, echoing strangely in his mind.

“Varroooock!”

The battle cry rang out like thunder, but to Rayz it sounded slow, distorted, as if underwater. He saw Loto charging, sword raised, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of the man’s magic. Rayz pushed himself up, lungs burning. Another blast of wind roared toward him. He ducked, feeling it tear through the space where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Fire followed. Thin, whip‑like tendrils of flame lashing out in wild arcs.

The man wasn’t aiming. He wasn’t thinking. He was unraveling. Rayz sprinted forward, weaving between bursts of magic. Sparks grazed his arm, searing the fabric of his sleeve. He ignored the pain. He had to get close. They had to flank him. Force him to divide his attention. Rayz darted left. Loto charged right. The man screamed again, firing a blast of fire toward Loto. Loto dove behind a boulder, the flames scorching the stone. Rayz used the distraction to close the distance, sliding across the ground and slashing upward with his sword. The man jerked aside, the blade grazing his arm. A burst of wind erupted from him, knocking Rayz back. Rayz hit the ground, skidding across the dust.

He forced himself up and saw Loto move.He sprinted from the right, silent as a shadow. That was the opening. Rayz saw the man’s head snap toward him. Loto leapt and came down from above, sword raised high. The finishing blow was clean, swift, merciful. The man collapsed, the light in his hands flickering out. His body hit the stone floor with a soft, final thud. Silence filled the cave. Rayz knelt beside the fallen man, chest heaving, dust settling around him like ash. He stared at the still form, at the faint scorch marks on the stone, at the sparks fading into nothing. Loto stood beside him, sword dripping, breath heavy. “Rayz…” Rayz closed his eyes. The cave was quiet now. Too quiet. And the weight of what they had done settled over him like dust.

The desert was quiet that night. Rayz and Loto made camp a short distance from the cliffs, far enough that the cave was only a dark shape against the horizon. Their fire crackled softly, its glow flickering across their tired faces. Neither spoke much. The battle had drained them, but it was the silence afterward that weighed on Rayz the most. Loto sat sharpening his sword, the rhythmic scrape of metal on stone steady and familiar. Rayz knew it was his way of settling his thoughts. Rayz, meanwhile, found himself staring into the fire, replaying the moment again and again. The final collapse. Rayz exhaled and reached for his pack. He pulled out parchment, ink, and a quill. Loto glanced over but said nothing. He understood.

Rayz sat beside the small fire, the flames low and steady, casting long shadows across the sand. He unrolled a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.

I write to you from the southern desert, where I have encountered a matter I believe should be added to our archives. As you have always encouraged us to report new findings, especially those concerning unusual magic or unknown factions, I feel obligated to share what I have learned.

During my recent travels, I came across a group who call themselves the Ascendents. They are not a kingdom, nor a guild, nor any form of scholarly order. They are a clandestine sect operating beyond the reach of any known authority. Their purpose, as far as I can determine, is the pursuit of forbidden creation magic. They do not study life. They attempt to manufacture it.

The Ascendents have succeeded, at least once, in creating a man through ritual means. I do not know the specifics of the process. Their soldiers claimed ignorance, and their mages were not present for questioning. I am unsure whether our library contains any records of such rituals, but if none exist, then this letter may serve as the first account of their work.

The man they created possessed extraordinary magical potential. His abilities were tied directly to emotion, manifesting as uncontrolled bursts of elemental force. Fire, wind, and raw kinetic energy erupted from him without intent. He was powerful, but I could sense he was also deeply afraid. The Ascendents intended to bind him, to shape him into a weapon they could command. He escaped and fled into the desert.

I cannot say whether he could have been guided toward stability or peace, but I feel compelled to record that possibility. His fear was not the fear of a monster. It was the fear of a man who had never been given a chance to be anything else. The Ascendents continue their work in secrecy. Their methods are cruel, their intentions narrow, and their understanding of the forces they manipulate appears dangerously incomplete. I do not know how many creations they have attempted, nor how many have succeeded. I only know that the one I encountered was both powerful and profoundly lost. What happened here may be the natural effect of creating a man for destruction, but I cannot help wondering what the natural effect might have been if he had ever been created for anything else.

I leave it to you to determine how this knowledge should be preserved or pursued. My only certainty is that this matter should not be forgotten. If others like him exist, or if the Ascendents attempt such rituals again, we must be prepared to understand what they are and what they might become.

Master Rayz

Rayz set the quill down. His hand lingered on the parchment before he folded the letter and sealed it. The fire had burned low, its embers glowing like faint, dying stars. The desert wind brushed against his face, cool and empty. He tilted his head back and looked at the sky. The stars stretched endlessly above him, distant and cold, offering no answers. He felt the weight of the day settle into his bones. Rayz closed his eyes, but the night did not comfort him.

Natural Effect

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