Maiz woke shivering. Books he’d read always missed this bit about the desert--however hot it was during the day, it was just as cold during the night. He struggled to his feet, hands finding purchase on the large rock he’d clambered up the previous night. Luckily there had been no snakes on it, something even he knew to watch out for, and there were still none when he cast a quick glance around his surroundings to check.

The sun had just risen minutes before. The faintly pink light cast odd shadows over the formation of large gray stone rocks, arranged in a loose semicircle. Each stone was absolutely smooth, except for parts where they appeared to have split recently. Maiz thought that this place had once been a human community or village; perhaps these stones were the remains of a central temple. Certainly, there were said to be many such ruins and structures dotted throughout the Waste, though it was unclear whether people had been able to live in harsher conditions in the past, or if the Waste itself hadn’t been as forbidding.

Maiz stretched. He felt completely fine, which was somewhat incongruous considering he’d slept on a rock all night and hadn’t eaten or drunk water for a full day. Of course, he’d quickly identified the strange warmth he felt almost continuously as the work of Hakim’s bracelet. It was an impressive piece of magic--as far as he could tell, it forced his mana through a complex pattern which accelerated healing. This meant that it took a portion of his mana regeneration to maintain, but it wouldn’t run out on its own. He had analyzed the pattern by studying his own mana as it moved through his body, and found it was something he had no idea how to do on his own. His Flaming Strike was made up of three layers of magic. The pattern the bracelet forced into his mana had six. And the bracelet itself probably had more, though he was completely unable to tell.

It was unlikely that the bracelet would prevent his death from dehydration. Normally, he would have already been feeling some effects from his lack of water, perhaps some dizziness or weakness. Aside from the raging thirst and the dryness in his mouth and eyes though, he was doing fine. Maybe his Constitution increase would extend the time he could go without water as he’d hoped. Or maybe I just won’t notice any symptoms until I die of thirst. On that cheerful note, he set off West, deciding to look very hard for any sign of a water source.

****************

They woke up lying in sand. Hugan coughed, then bolted upright, looking wildly around for any sign of the battle they’d been running towards. Nothing. Everything was silent, like it always was here on the edge of the Waste. Hugan never understood what made people want to live in this place. Of course, he would never leave it. You had to be loyal to your homeland, after all.

It seemed like he was on the side of a dirt road, but he didn’t recognize which of the many such roads between human communities this was. As he cast his eyes around, they fell on a figure in a red tunic, near the dent his own form had left in the sand. Lila! He rushed to the figure, then hesitated. How should he wake her? If this was Maiz, he’d just shake him until his eyes opened but… he didn’t think Lila would appreciate that, and she could beat him in a fight with one hand tied behind her back.

He gently tapped her on the shoulder, to no reaction. Tapping a little harder also did nothing. Soon he was shaking the girl as hard as he would Maiz, but nothing happened. Oh no. Desperately, he thought back to something he’d seen Ziya do once, and put his two fingers on Lila’s neck, pressing down hard,. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but the pressure apparently caused some discomfort to the girl’s windpipe, because she coughed slightly without opening her eyes. A wave of relief flooded through Hugan as he realized this meant she was still alive! Something must have happened to her when she was hit by the mage’s spell--Hugan supposed that it had been that black robed mage who’d teleported them away. After all, no one good wore all black and cackled at you when you met them.

Well, it was up to Hugan to find a Cleric to heal Lila. Roon had never left a comrade behind, and Hugan wouldn’t do it either. He scooped the girl’s small form into his arms. She was pretty heavy for someone her size, but he’d been working his father’s bellows since he was six. Now, which way to go? They could be anywhere, but it stood to reason that they wouldn’t be too far from either the training grounds or a village of some kind. He shrugged mentally to himself, and stepped onto the road, turning to his left. Better to act quickly than spend forever thinking about it. He wished Ziya was there, though. Or Maiz. Ziya could have just healed Lila immediately, and Maiz probably would have had a good idea of what to do.

Hold on. Where was Maiz? Hugan had seen his clothes fluttering, just like his and Lila’s. But another check showed that he definitely wasn’t in the area with them. Hugan frowned. Why would Maiz have gone somewhere else? Maybe because he was a mage? Or… Hugan stopped trying to figure it out. It didn’t really matter. Maiz was smart, and he would be okay. Hugan had to make sure Lila was as well, and maybe figure out how to kill some of the monsters that had invaded the training grounds. He adjusted his hold on the sleeping girl, deciding to sling her over a shoulder instead of carrying her like a plank, and set off. As he began walking, swaying slightly under Lila's unfamiliar weight, he noticed something flashing in the corner of his vision. A green 'N.' Huh. I wonder what that's for.

*****************

On the third night, Maiz slept fitfully, dreaming of the cistern. He remembered carrying a bucket big enough to stand in to the center of the town as the sun rose. He would turn the iron handle and work the pump, and glorious water would flow out like magic. Sometimes, he would take some of the stuff and wash his face, or take a quick sip before dragging the bucket back. Bliss.

When he woke, it was with bleary, dry eyes. He staggered to his feet, not even checking the sand around him for hostile animals. But apparently the snakes didn’t consider him a good enough heat source, because he managed to avoid death by snakebite or scorpion sting. A good start.

Maiz looked around in dim light, knees trembling. His vision was blurred, strange flashes of light popping in and out of existence despite the acute lack of light. The sun hadn’t… done something. It was hard to remember what. What was he doing here?

He felt hot. Gripping his staff in raw hands, he began to channel his mana into it, but nothing happened. He tried to frown, but his face felt stretched tight and immobile. In his mind, he gave a beleaguered sigh and set forth. Step, step, step. No brush anymore. No energy to waste. He kept walking as the sun came up, staggering occasionally but rising each time. It wasn’t any special determination or sense of purpose which kept him walking away from the rising sun. He simply didn’t remember what else he could do.

Water. Maiz imagined the cool trickle of the precious liquid touching his lips, and couldn’t quite remembered what it tasted like. After a moment of wearied consideration, he decided that it must have tasted like the absence of sand. Gritty, almost tasteless but with just enough bitterness to make it even more unpleasant. The idea of not having the stuff pervade his body was almost dreamlike. Maiz blinked, finding himself lying on the sand, sun now higher in the sky. He wished the stupid flashing would go away. Once again, he stood, and staggered forward. His eyes roamed almost without his control, seeing nothing but the brown of sand and the blue of the sky. Occasionally he thought that the blue was water, but he knew he wasn't that lucky, so he kept going.

Then something changed. A motion with the wind, not the ethereal sheet of sand skating over the dunes, but something else. Something swaying, so insignificant he had trouble understanding it. Was that… a plant?

He might have staggered faster, but it was hard to tell. Eventually he was upon the little bit of brush. It looked dry and anemic. Like Maiz felt. But he looked wildly around, and in the distance, there it was. Another plant. Two. He kept going, and saw more. Three, four, five. They grew in little clusters, until he saw strands of long brown grass poking up out of the sand. The entire time he walked with the same shambling gait, giving no sign of his increasing excitement. His emotions felt detached from himself somehow, thirst overriding all other thoughts. The grass was thin, but he could see more patches of it growing out of the barren desert. The sand had changed a little too, though he wouldn’t have been able to tell a few days ago. Before this, he hadn’t really understood sand. Now, the coarser, rougher grains interspersed with the fineness of the desert stood out like a beacon.

He followed the trail of plants, finding occasional splashes of green as he went. He would have wept, if he could have. Not enough water. He kept moving, finding inspiration in the life growing around him, even as the sun climbed to its highest point. He felt feverishly hot, but he had no sweat on his body. At the same time, the base of his skull ached with a deep, pervasive pain.

When his motions began to make rustling sounds instead of the dry hiss of sand being displaced, a smile broke out on his face, splitting the skin of dry lips. There was something before him, something he’d been dreaming of for days. It was blue like the sky, but the sparkle of reflected light and the gentle motion of little wavelets told him it was something else. He fell to his knees, trembling hands cupped before him. They touched the blessed water, and the beautiful splash filled his entire being with joy. Then a sharp pain bloomed in the back of his head.

“Ahhhhh,” a sibilant voice hissed into his ear as darkness overtook him. “That issssss not--gah!”

Maiz heard a surprised gurgle, and everything was black.