Rane came to his senses hot and startled. He opened his eyes but a searing brightness forced them shut again. A pair of hands helped him to his feet and a voice rang in his ears. He found a pole and grasped it with all his strength. It was metallic and uneven, hot to the touch. Each panicked breath filled his lungs with warm air and a rancid smell. Another pair of hands touched his back and he jerked away. His eyes slowly got used to the sunlight and he made out figures surrounding him.

“Rane!” A familiar voice called out to him. “Calm down. Do you know where you are?”

“Dead.” Rane felt his stomach. No wounds. No blood. “I should be dead,” he said. Men bled out from less. Rane had seen it plenty in the dungeon. Yet the skin on his belly was smooth with no signs of injury. How was this possible? How had he lived?

The person next to him came into focus. He was scrawny with age and had a face full of scars. Etched above them was his Oathbrand, covered in dried blood. “You’re in luck then,” he said with a chuckle, leaning against the bars. “No one here survives for long.”

Rane turned to the others. They sat deathly still, legs hanging out between the bars as the wagon moved, leaving lines in the desert. A mother was holding a child in her hug, having found shelter from the sun under the wooden roof. Men and women, all ashfen.

“Rane.” Elen hugged him, pressing her arm against his back. “You kept mumbling nonsense in your sleep. I t-thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

Rane cast his gaze outside, at the unending ocean of red sand. “What is going on? Where is this?”

“I don’t know.” Elen lowered her voice, pulling him away from the others. “Guards brought the two of us here, then the rest. I- I took care of you as best I could.”

“Thank you…” Rane touched the Oathbrand on his forehead, then glanced at the bars. They were still slaves. Even though he fought… even though he killed to earn his freedom, he was locked up again. An eerie feeling settled in his stomach when he thought back to Sydell’s dying smile. It wouldn’t be easy to forget what he had done. Perhaps he couldn’t.

“Stand back,” Rane said, more roughly than he would have liked. Elen inched back as he gripped the bars and called forth his magic. Power surged to his fingertips, more than ever before. Strands of Sydell’s red nora were woven into his own, wisping from his hands like radiant mist. Two different types of nora existed within his soul in harmony. No book or study he had ever read allowed for such a thing, but he didn’t care much for theories at this point. It was time for action. He tightened his grip and focused. The bars, though chipped, were thick. They’d be hard to melt. He clicked his fingers and fire sprung from his hand. A woman screamed and the slaves scurried away to the other side of the wagon.

“Mage!” One of them yelled.

“I won’t harm you.” Rane held the flame over a bar. “I’m going to set us free. Elen, tell them.”

“It’s true. He may be a human, but he is–”

“Stop it,” The old ashfen hissed. “Master Leylin will kill you.”

“What did you say?” Rane let the flame dissipate. “That name. Say it again.”

The old man knit his brows. “Leylin,” he said. “The one who bought us.”

Rane felt his heart sink in his chest. He’d hoped that whatever happened while he was unconscious had landed him a slave to someone else. To someone not so keen to make him suffer. He slammed against the bars and screamed. “What do you want from me? Why am I so damn important?” The other slaves gazed at him baffled. Of course. How could they understand? He let his head slump against the bars and laughed. Even after all he endured, he had only drawn closer to the real source of his pain and torment.

“Because I raised you.” Leylin’s voice came from behind, velvety and rich. Rane turned to the man. The black of his hair shone under the desert sun, the same black as his clothes. Cotton, they were, woven together with fine leather the likes of which he vaguely remembered. “Because you have to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Rane stared right into his eyes. Black and red mixed inside them like murky, dark blood. Looking into them was nauseating, and it vexed him. Leylin held his stare.

"The war that will end all wars," he said. "Among other things."

So he was being trained to be a soldier. That would make sense. "I'd rather die than fight for you."

“You’ll soon find my goals worthy of both. Silyra and Andre won’t wait much longer after all." Leylin grabbed him by the chin, inspecting his face. There was strength behind the grip, more than Leylin’s lean build let on. “I’ve saved your life twice now. You could be a bit more grateful.” He let go of Rane and glanced at the slaves. They too turned their gazes away. “Now be silent.” With that, he left. A whiplash tore through the air. A drawn out beastly grunt later, and the wagon resumed its sluggish crawling.

Rane sat by himself. It didn’t make sense. If he was simply meant to be trained as a soldier Leylin wouldn’t go through all that trouble. Why erase his memories? Why organise tests? Revenge. That could be it. He turned his attention to the other slaves again. Some whispered among themselves, stealing glances at him. They reeked of hunger and thirst, and their limbs were scrawny like those of a ghost. On the men, the dried out skin left the breastbone visible.

“Where is he taking us?” He turned to the old man who’d helped him before.

“I–I don’t know,” he stammered. “Please forgive me.”

Rane stood up and the slaves shuffled away, pushing each other into the corner. They feared magic, all of them. Leylin had made sure of that. Only Elen stood by his side awkwardly.

“Relax.” Rane put his hands to the side and took a few steps back. “I’m only looking for some answers.”

“Nobody knows where we’re headed.” An ashfen man creeped free of the group. His beard had been grimed with sand and dirt. “Nobody cares. We’ll be dead before we reach anywhere.” He raised the rugs that he wore, exposing his body. Most of his ribs were visible, and so was the beating of his heart beneath a thin layer of gray skin.

Rane forced himself to look. “You could always ask him for more food,” he said. “He won’t let you die before he can sell you.”

“We won’t be sold…” The ashfen’s hands trembled as he pulled the cloth back down. “We’ll be fed to the hauling beast.”

A woman whimpered again. Rane couldn’t tell which one it was. They were just food. All these people. “Then why…” He struggled for the words. Elen took his hand and pointed behind them. Rane’s gaze followed the rope tied to the back of the wagon, and the skeleton being dragged through the sand by the neck.

Elen shivered by his side. “It only eats the bones, Leylin said. The rest– The rest is useless. He lets the desert have it.”

“Laws be damned…” Rane grasped the scorching metal bars and looked outside, mind swarming with ways to escape. The desert stretched in every direction. Even if he broke everyone out, they wouldn’t make it anywhere. Not in this state. But there was something he could do.

He pushed his hands outside and willed nora to the tips of his fingers. There was little moisture in the air, but he cast the spell nonetheless, gathering all he could. It took a lot out of him, but he managed to make six chunks of ice the size of his fist. Those would have to do for now.

“Take them,” he said and reached out to the slaves. “They’ll help.”

“Thank you! By the Gods, thank you!” There were a dozen slaves stuffed in that wagon, yet they shared the ice around after cooling their bodies. Probably too weak to antagonise one another.

Rane gazed outside, then reached out and dragged his hand through the sand. It was fine, slipped through his fingers like running water. The desert itself was level, letting him see far into the distance. No dunes or pits to stop it from merging with the horizon. A pack of animals galloped away in the distance, too far for Rane to make out clearly. There was something satisfying about being able to look so far away, without walls blocking the view. He’d miss the feeling.

A tang on the roof of the wagon drew his attention. “Storm!” Leylin yelled from the front. The slaves moved quickly, sitting with their backs to the bars and facing inside. They draped their rugs over their heads.

“Sit with your back turned,” Elen said. “It’ll protect you.”

“In a moment.” He wanted to see more of the world, even if it was only a barren desert. If he could spot a city or even people in the distance, perhaps they could sneak out during the night.

Elen tugged at his clothes and shuffled to the side, making room for him to sit. “The storms c-come sudden. It’s best to be prepared.”

A sudden gust of wind sped through the bars of the cell, wanting to prove her right. Rane sat cross legged next to the others and all eyes fell on him. Most slaves dared only send glances. The children stared at him though, tucked as they were between their parent’s arms. He focused his magic and made more ice for them. That brought a smile on their little faces at least. Rane thought them cute.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“It’s been more than twenty moons now,” a woman next to him said. She had dark circles under her eyes. “It’s hard to keep track. Three days ago, we picked the two of you up.”

Another wave of heat and sand hit his back. Rane pulled the rags over his head and inched forward. “So what’s the plan? How will we escape?”

The ashfen with the dirty beard chuckled. “There’s no plan.” His finger brushed past his Oathbrand. “See this? Leylin can have us dead with a single word.”

“So you’re simply giving up?” Rane asked. “If you’re certain you’ll die… at least choose how. Die with dignity.”

“Dignity.” The ashfen scoffed and turned his head away. He brushed some sand away from his legs and mumbled. “What good would that do?”

Rane let the howling of the wind bring the conversation to an end. The ashfen was right. Dignity didn’t matter in the face of death. The storm began in earnest minutes later, and the slaves drew closer to each other in hopes of fending it off. Dry rugs did little to stop the sand from entering his lungs, Rane found. It was as if the skies themselves had cracked open to spit out orange lightning that webbed and crackled without clouds, reaching the ground and shooting up again. The wind of this storm didn’t howl. It screamed.

Each speck of sand pierced the skin of his back. The scorching pain reminded him of Sydell’s torture. And Sydell, in turn, reminded him of his sin. This was his punishment, and he’d weather it. There was a secret to surviving, to enduring hardships that would make others kneel and accept their lot. It was to find a purpose. Whether that was his mother, being freed or seeing the outside, there was always something to stop Rane from giving up. Something for him to cling to.

So Rane bore his back against the storm, letting the winds and the sand burn away at his thoughts. Yet he didn’t wince like the rest as it buffeted his back. He stared straight ahead at the young ashfen girl trembling in her mother’s embrace. In that girl’s unblemished forehead, he found his purpose. One. If he managed to save even one, that would be enough.

The sandstorm pounded the wagon and its prisoners relentlessly and late into the night. Rane lost sight of the faces next to him, and turning to look earned him a dry mouthful of dust. He closed his eyes. So thin the sand was, that it slipped under the rugs over his mouth and into his lungs. He could hear the other slaves coughing roughly over the deafening winds. It was a miracle they had lasted this long. Loud crackling broke the storm at times, making Elen squeeze his hand tight. The gusts would die down for a few moments after the sound, and the slaves would all breathe in deep. Then the wind would pick up again and back down they’d all go, cowering under their rugs.

Despite the blinding cloud of red sand, the wagon dragged onward, pulled by the invisible force that was ‘the hauling beast.’ Rane gave it a hundred forms in his mind. A big snake, or perhaps a scorpion. Imagining the crack of bones as it devoured an ashfen cut the fantasies short. The black of his eyelids gave birth to a different reverie, one where he was reunited with his mother. They’d laugh and hug and sit together, but they wouldn’t speak. It was as if her image was too fragile for that. Rane drifted in and out of sleep with that memory.

“Hey.” A slave nudged him and Rane opened his eyes. The weather was clear. “On your feet. Leylin’s coming.”

Rane stood, brushing off the sand that had gathered on his clothes and hair. Leylin came from the front of the wagon, eyes on Rane the entire time. The dagger in his hand clinked across the bars and the slaves shied away as he opened the cell’s door.

“Alright, who’s next?” he asked. None of the slaves moved. “You know I could use your Oathbrands.” Leylin knit his brows and walked deeper into the cell. “If no one offers themselves I’ll take the kids instead. The two of them should be enough for a day’s meal.”

“You can’t –” Rane tried to speak up, but the ashfen with the beard he met before shoved him aside.

“Me, Sire,” he said. Rane saw no fear in his eyes nor heard any in his tone. The ashfen must have chosen this day to die. Rane’s gaze drifted downward and he froze. Clenched tightly in the ashfen’s hand was a stone. The one visible end was sharp enough to kill if driven to a skull. He glanced at Leylin. Had the man noticed it?

“Very well. The rest of you get to live for now,” Leylin said, then turned his back. “Follow me.”

Rane’s breath caught in his chest. He saw the scene unfold slowly, the images lumbering past. The ashfen lunged at Leylin, stone in hand. Black veins shot up, from his bare feet to his hand, and it stopped a hair’s width away from Leylin’s head. The man screamed as the Oath’s magic pulsed through his body.

Leylin turned around slowly, and his dark, crimson eyes bore into the ashfen. “What are you doing?”

The ashfen’s face shivered into a grimace of a smile. “Dying…” He forced out the words through a clenched mouth. “With dignity.”

No! Rane felt a burst of anger. He raised his hands toward Leylin. He’d use his magic, save the ashfen and—

Leylin cut the man’s head clean off. He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate. It was so fast that Rane couldn’t even see what had happened. He saw nothing in Leylin’s eyes either. No remorse, no hatred, not even annoyance. When Sydell killed, there was that wicked gleam of enjoyment, that sadism. Leylin showed no emotion.

The body flopped onto the floor in a spray of blood. Rane’s vision blurred with tears of rage. He knew that he had no chance of winning. He knew that he’d only make things worse if he fought. But every instinct, every shred of humanity he had left drove him to step forward. He grabbed Leylin by the collar, flames already burning in his hands. The dizziness of staring into Leylin’s eyes almost overcame him. There was nothing to say to this fiend. Nothing that would make a difference.

“Let go.” Leylin’s tone couldn’t have been colder, even with the magic burning so close to his head.

That voice, it swayed him. It crawled into his mind and begged for his fingers to open. He pushed it away, focused on his nora. The spell flared up and the flames burned against Leylin’s throat, yet something held Rane back. “Why?” he questioned himself. “Why can’t I bring myself to kill you?”

"Because you're smart." Leylin’s hand tightened around Rane’s own and lowered it. “You’ve come to learn the futility of resisting me, and the punishment it might bring if you try it.” He bent down and grabbed the ashfen’s lifeless body by the arm before dragging it outside to tie it behind the wagon.

Rane watched him do it with a sullen expression. Leylin felt stronger than Sydell had been, somehow. Even if he did manage to kill the man, he wouldn’t be able to keep on living. Not when the burden of one murder nearly drove him mad. Despite that, he made no effort to hide his hatred. “You’ll pay for all this one day. If the Arbiter truly exists, you will pay.”

Leylin stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Rane over his shoulder. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said, lifting up the corpse a little. “After all, what value is there to a life destined to end? What is it except torment?"

"You're the one causing the torment! You!" Rane slammed against the bars and the whole wagon shook.

Leylin didn’t flinch. “Control your temper,” he said, “and maybe I'll spare those who remain after the journey.” He spared a look at the slaves inside the wagon before dragging the body away.

Rane sat where he was, trying to calm himself. The wagon began moving again, leaving a line of blood behind, red mixing with red.

“You’re alive.” Elen hugged him and planted her head against his shoulder. “Please d-don’t do that again.”

“Why?” The scarred slave approached Rane next, trembling. “Why did you fight for us?”

Rane laughed bitterly, patting Elen’s head. “Would you do the same? Would you disobey Leylin to save me?”

The slaves remained silent, some turning their heads away.

“That’s why I tried,” Rane said. “If I can change even one of you, it will be worth it. If I can save even one of you…” He paused and looked down at the bloody sand. “It will be worth it.”