Argrave’s legs gave out as his feet sunk into the top of a sand dune, and he collapsed ungracefully onto the ground. As he lifted his face up and shook his head to dislodge sand, a lizard blending in with the surroundings scurried away, heading for the distance. Argrave followed it with his gaze, and far ahead, a great monument loomed above.

“Are you all right?” Anneliese asked, kneeling beside Argrave with genuine concern in her voice.

“Just…” Argrave rose to his knees, adjusting his misaligned backpack. “…exhausted.” He pointed ahead. “You’d think three days of resting while we hid from that damned sandstorm would mean I’d be able to handle a desert hike easily. Whatever,” Argrave shook his head. “I was worried that I got my directions mixed, but… there’s Argent. In the distance. The silver one.”

The land before them was like a great crater in the earth. The black sand dunes of the Burnt Desert faded in way of rocky hills of igneous rock, descending down towards a central point. There were marks in the earth where rivers had once flowed, but they were gone—dried up utterly.

Far beyond, sand dunes ranged once again, and a mountain encircled the sand, seemingly forming a great bowl. A wide waterfall descended down the side of one of these mountains, though it was quickly shielded by another tall peak. Argrave saw a vague silhouette flying about, and after a time, distinguished it as a wyvern. In those mountains lived the last free tribe.

In the center of the crater, there was a fortress city: Sethia. Its gray walls were every bit as grand as Mateth’s, and perhaps even stood taller. The fortifications formed a perfect half-circle around the city itself. Where the missing half of the circle was, three roads led to three high towers, each structure the color of precious metals.

Argent was, as its name might suggest, the silver tower. It was polished to the point where it reflected all around it. The reflection created a strange warping effect on its lower half, while the top half reflected the sunlight, rebounding into the air like a radiant crown of gold. It was surrounded by a wall of the same make as Sethia before it. The walls shielded an estate befitting a king.

The other two towers, Aurum and Cyprus, varied mainly in their tower’s color. The copper tower, Cyprus, had long ago been covered with patina—its bright green was pretty, yet decidedly lackluster in comparison to the two other towers. Aurum shone as brightly as Argent.

“One of these things is not like the other,” Argrave sung. “What you see now in those towers is a good display of what’s actually happening in Sethia.” Argrave leaned closed to Anneliese and pointed two fingers out, lining them up with the gold and silver towers. “Aurum and Argent shine brilliantly, and control most of what goes on within the city. Cyprus has faded, lost its splendor.”

“The mountains beyond… that is where the last independent southern tribes are?” Anneliese asked.

“Well, yeah,” Argrave nodded, lowering his pointed fingers. “But don’t you worry about that. Keep your eye on the prize.”

“The prize, is it?” Anneliese’s gaze lingered on Argrave as he rose to his feet.

“That’s correct,” Argrave turned around. “We four have to exploit the faction dynamics within the city to get what I need.”

Though Argrave spared a glance at his place atop Galamon’s backpack, Garm did not react to his inclusion in their party.

“Outsiders will have trouble gaining influence,” Galamon criticized.

Argrave turned his back to the city. “When people are down on their luck, they’re not going to be choosy with the hand reaching out to help them.”

“So… we aid Cyprus, the one that has lost their luster,” Anneliese concluded, walking past Argrave to stare at Sethia.

“Quick as a whip, little lady,” Argrave moved his head, following her as she walked past. “The current Lord of Copper is a young, ambitious Vessel who wants to recover his faction’s power. He’ll do anything to this end. Argent has the Wraith’s Heart—it might seem counterintuitive to go with Cyprus, but as you’ll find, their faction is willing to do just about anything to get ahead.”

Argrave strode away, continuing, “They’ll take suspicious people so long as they’re helpful. They’ll do anything that needs to be done, provided it gets them ahead. I intend… to pit them against Argent. It’s already what the Lord of Copper wants—I merely need to give him the push.”

“Do wyverns visit the city?” Anneliese questioned.

Argrave turned his head. “Look, I know I talked about getting a wyvern, but you might want to curb your—”

Anneliese grabbed Argrave and turned him around to face the city. He staggered a little, but she kept him steady and pointed off into the distance. He followed where she was pointing, squinting.

“You see?” she asked as if validated.

Argrave didn’t answer, staring at three flying creatures steadily growing closer to the city. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. As the wyverns grew closer, he saw many people on their backs. Argrave started walking down into the crater, keeping his eyes fixed ahead with his brows furrowed in confusion.

The wyverns narrowed in on one of the towers—Argent. The furthest ahead landed on the wall around the tower. Someone atop its back threw a sling, and the projectile slammed into one of the windows, shattering it. After, the wyvern craned its neck, and the people atop the thing climbed up into the tower. The other two wyverns circled about, one clinging to the tower, all offloading men into the window.

“What in…?” Argrave whispered, still walking into the crater.

“This is beyond your expectations?” Galamon questioned, jogging to catch up.

“What do…” Argrave stopped. “No… No, I get it.” Argrave nodded. “They’re raiding the tower. God damn it,” he cursed, moving a little faster. “We’ve got to get down there. I have to see who’s leading them.”

Exhaustion forgotten in wake of urgency, Argrave moved down into the crater quickly enough that he could not afford to keep his eyes on the raid happening ahead. He watched his footing carefully as he descended down the rocky black hills, sending dirt and dislodged rocks tumbling down ahead of him.

A bell rung out across the city, loud enough to be heard even distant as they were. As they descended into the crater, Sethia’s wall grew too tall for them to see over its top. Argrave gave the walls a wide berth, not wishing to draw the attention of any of those people guarding outside. Instead, he moved around Sethia, hoping to get the best view of Argent that he could.

They were not alone in wishing to view the spectacle, it seemed. People emerged out from the city walks, rushing to get a better look at the rare occurrence. Argrave felt that was a fortunate thing, for he did not need to be so restrained in his approach. Soon enough, he had a clear view of the incursion.

The people were southern tribals, as could be expected from the masters of the wyvern. They wore armor made of wyvern scales, each and all beautifully crafted. They offloaded things from the windows, throwing crates and bags of valuables. Gemstones scattered from one poorly tossed bag, and he heard a shouted admonishment from a rider.

Argrave walked while catching his breath, eye on the wyverns now that he had some leeway. Eventually, he saw the person he expected emerge from the tower. A tall man wearing a gray coat of lamellar wyvern-scale armor stepped to the window. His helmet had a grand red plume.

“Knew it was you, Durran,” Argrave muttered beneath his breath as he watched. “Nobody else would—"

Argrave’s voice caught in his throat as he spotted another person step up. The man’s shining plate armor stood out starkly beside the tribals, wearing armor of wyvern scale. The newcomer bore a mace, and his helmet was made in the shape of a boar with two tusks.

With words escaping him, Argrave watched silently as the raiders began to emerge one by one, climbing back onto the now-loaded wyverns. They clutched their haul tightly. From the city of Sethia, a mass of water made its way over the walls. The southern tribals spotted this, hurrying their escape. The wyverns braced, preparing to lift into the sky.

With their powerful wings creating gales and scattering sand everywhere, the wyverns took off into the sky. Argrave shielded his eyes as he watched them go. The mass of water—a Vessel, undoubtedly—wound its way up Argent until it came to the cone-shaped roof on its top. The water swirled in front of it, and a thin line of water shot out like a bullet into the distance after the wyverns.

Despite the tremendous distance made, one of the wyverns was hit. It swayed, roaring, but managed to rebalance in time to prevent its descent. Argrave could see its blood dripping down into the sand it passed over, gliding for the mountains as it lost altitude.

Argrave turned around, where Anneliese and Galamon watched with as much interest as he did.

“Let’s find a place to talk,” Argrave sighed.

#####

“Let me explain things,” said Argrave to his other three party members. They had elected to wait until things calmed down in the city to go inside—being implicated with this happening would be a difficult stain to remove. They sat cross-legged in a relatively secluded part of the crater.

“The… avatar I told you two about, with which I experienced this world before.” Argrave placed his finger on the ground. “I had ten choices each time. A custom-made one, or nine pre-existing ones. Of the ready-made, each was divided into three distinct categories—spellcaster, warrior, or rogue.”

Argrave paused, but all three were listening intently—even Garm, though he looked confused.

“Stain was the pure rogue. Nikoletta was the pure spellcaster,” Argrave continued. “You two met both of them,” he pointed to his two elven companions.

Both nodded.

“I also mentioned Melanie, as I remember—she’s got a warrior focus, but she also has some traits from the rogue side of things. Then there’s Ruleo, who’s rogue-focused with magic abilities… now, I’ve seen two more of these avatars.”

Garm frowned. “What in the gods’ name are you talking about?”

“A game,” said Argrave, pushing past the head’s interruption. “Boarmask is here—the pure warrior. Durran is also here—another warrior with a dash of magic spice. From what I saw, they’re working together.”

The two absorbed the information. Anneliese adjusted her sitting position, then asked, “What significance does this hold?”

“Well…” Argrave paused, trying to discern this for himself. “Both are highly resourceful, and both are very talented. I have no doubt they were the driving force behind the raid that happened today. I can say this with certainty because it falls in line with what the player could do—one of the ‘quests’ I described to you.” Argrave kneaded his palm, questioning if he was explaining things sufficiently.

“Do you believe these people took the Wraith’s Heart?” Anneliese followed up.

“No. Too well-secured to be seized in such a quick raid.” Argrave leaned back, looking to the shining silver tower. “Just… things won’t be predictable.”

“Then let us go based off what you know, and what we have seen,” Anneliese suggested, and Galamon nodded, agreeing with the idea. “You know the people in control of this city. What will their response be?”

Argrave looked down, thinking. “The southerners don’t really have a use for baubles and trinkets from the tower. They have more pressing concerns, and don’t value the material as much.” Argrave looked up. “The Vessels will respond as Durran probably intended for them to. I suspect he’s working with Cyprus. It’s a provocation... one that won't work, I believe.”

“But why would he…?”

“His brain works in ways I can’t codify in short-form,” Argrave sighed. “I could explain, but maybe you’ll have the opportunity to ask. I don’t want to make an enemy of him.”

Garm looked to have much on his mind, but said nothing. They stewed in the silence, before Galamon asked, “What do we do now?”

Argrave turned his head back to Sethia. “Things have probably settled. We can go to a place that I know—no brothel this time, thank the lord. From there…” Argrave turned his head back. “We’ll have to adapt.”