Sojo walked happily through the fog. At least, that was how she thought of it, inasmuch as she was thinking at all. With every step her strength surged, energy building from the exertion rather than be expended. She felt herself grow lighter, breathe easier, and the fog in her mind thickened.

Outside her head, the sun still beat down relentlessly and the sands burned bright yellow with the glare of noon. She couldn’t quite recall if this was the second noon or the third. She’d set out on the first to find the Sink’s heart and claim something worthy of their suffering, but time was slipping by like sand beneath unbroken feet. She’d be there soon, she hoped.

The land blurred beneath her feet, dunes rising and falling like a passing tide. She saw faces trekking past, ducked under phantom arrows from battles long ago, caught a tear dripping from a robed man’s chin as he stared at the sky in confusion and horror. And as she moved towards the center of the desert, as she climbed an endless pile of sand and crushed stone, she remembered her conversation with her grandmother, the story that should have ended the book she carried rather than Corinth’s death.

-

She sat cross-legged at the old woman’s feet, listening to the wispy voice recount with a measured cadence, words flowing into each other, a voice that she could dream to.

“My grandmother’s mother worked at a small shop in Derudt, a family business for decades. None who had run it save the first were adventurous, as they had chosen to stay in that town, run that shop, and remain. Her father had once studied at the altar of Apothet, hoping to be one of the blessed, but had not been chosen.

And it seemed that the same fate would be passed down to Nallia, son of Elnet, mother of our family’s ways. She was not chosen. She had heard the call of long roads and faraway places but had felt it slip away every day. Her lot was to do as her family had done, make their living through care and diligence, straying little from the place she felt they’d always known.

The day things changed was the same as any other, with a bright sun rising through a cleft in the mountains and rousing the town from slumber. It was only when she first stepped through her arched doorway that she noticed the shadows deepening. The dark places grew darker, carving free of the world and shrouding their holdings from view. She watched the shadows ripple and melt, clouding the village grounds even as the sky darkened above. All the folk of Derudt knew what this meant. He was coming home.

Then darkness fell. To walk the streets was to brave a twilight, a pre-dawn hush. The sun was in the sky, but it was a scrawled orb in the dusk. Soldiers started passing her along the roads, calling out happily to family and friends, disappearing into the fog. She was about to step back inside when a smaller form appeared. This one was hunched and armorless, with only a sheathed sword at its side. She stepped out of the way, but the man stopped to speak with her.

“Who are you, girl?” he asked. “There aren’t many who live here that I don’t know, by now.”

“Nallia,” she answered, staring into eyes shrouded in shadow with only faint glimmers reflected. She felt there was something odd about this old man. Something familiar. She noticed the hilt of his sword was wrought glass when he called out.

“Young Nallia!” the man exclaimed, his voice filled with happy memories. “Have I really been gone so long? You can’t have been eight years old when I left, and here you are all grown.”

She frowned, wondering how she’d come to be known by someone with the wealth to own glassworks. She looked back to his face and peered closer, but still could see nothing in the darkness. “You know me, sir?” she asked.

“We’ve met before, yes. I remember you asking your parents about Myranel and the island cities.” She thought she saw the man smiling, but perhaps it was just the shadows wafting by. “I remember you were rather insistent on seeing them yourself one day.”

Nallia blushed, and looked away. “A childish desire. Every year I see more clearly the place that waits for me here.”

Now the man frowned, she was sure. “So you’ve given up this goal? I was hoping you’d still be longing for the road. It would be a shame to hear that dreams are still dying in this town.”

“You were hoping? Why would you care for a child’s daydreams?” There was a worry starting to bloom within her, and she glanced around. The street was empty. The passing fighters had vanished into the dark.

“Only because I fear this is the last time I’ll be returning home, and I have some parting gifts to give. So tell me, have you truly lost your taste for the larger world?” The man sighed, and she saw him hunch a little further, as if his hopes had been dashed in turn.

Nallia thought then of a land beyond the mountains, of seeing the wonders she’d heard stories of before bed. She thought of her life in Derudt, of passing the days as all her family had before. “Wait!” she called out.

“I don’t- I’ve…” She couldn’t find the words to explain the visions of a different path flooding her mind. “I’d given up on it. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”

The man nodded slightly and leaned forward. “If you had the means, if the travel was bought and paid for, would you still want to go?”

She nodded, then paused. “Would I… get to choose who I travel with?”

He blinked, and then a rasping laughter emerged like a moth from a cocoon. “Oh dear,” he said, breath coming in small wheezes. “I’m sorry, I’ve explained this terribly. Let me show you.”

He stepped to the side and suddenly there was a small chest behind him. Groaning, he knelt beside it and unlatched the lid. “This is the gift I was talking about,” he said, and opened the box.

Inside were sparkling rings and bangles, bracelets and earrings and broaches all in silver and glass. The finery was different for each piece, bears and boars and soaring birds, rosebuds and autumn leaves strewn without care.

“This is what I offer to you,” he said, and she could hardly believe the words as he spoke. “In every town you pass, sell a few pieces so that your travels might continue. See the world and decide for yourself whether you should have gone.”

She looked down into the chest of more riches than she’d ever imagined seeing together. They sparkled, somehow, even in the shadows.

“Why are you doing this?” Nallia finally asked, standing frozen as if the dream might shatter at a touch.

“Because to escape this place cost my life, and I wouldn’t have it cost yours too.”

She leaned forward, kneeling beside the crouched man, and the shadows covering him fell away. He was bent and broken, but his face was not old. His eyes sparkled with a young man’s dreams. Like a crystal prism coming into line, she understood. “Corinth,” she breathed, and remembered seeing him from a distance as the University announced their plans to free themselves, and Derudt in the process.

“Hush, now. The gift is given, the terms are set. Will you take this?” he asked her.

-

“Will you take this?”

Sojo spoke to the desert, on her knees at the base of a dune. “Will you take this gift, freely offered?”

“Yes,” the desert answered.

-

Eyn walked silently from the camp. Brehen was sleeping in his tent, had been for days now, but would wake at the slightest noise. When she judged she was out of earshot she started fiddling with the wooden puzzles again. There was something unique about these carved rings and spikes, she thought, that it could hold a mystery so slow to reveal itself. A pressure was mounting in her mind, as if the answer was sneaking closer but couldn’t yet be seen or grasped.

For the last three days, as Brehen had slept, she’d been planning her escape from this place. She’d counted up waterskins, packed rations into rucksacks, and gone over the maps she’d marked a hundred times until the route and markers were unforgettable. There weren’t enough details left to ponder at this point, and as the sun slipped lower in the sky she wondered if she shouldn’t just go.

She could have gone last night, she knew. Or the night before even. She was waiting on Sojo, but the idiot had walked into the desert without so much as a waterskin. Eyn didn’t want to give up on her, but it didn’t seem possible the woman was even alive by now. To wait was as crazy as walking into the desert herself.

But she hadn’t gone yet, couldn’t go yet. She couldn’t let Brehen sleep to death, Brehen wouldn’t leave without Fallow, and Fallow couldn’t pull the cart alone even loaded lightly. Something would have to give, and Eyn was waiting for her conscience to slip away. She thought, fiddled, and passed the time while it faded.

And the pressure was growing.

She felt the pieces start to glide under her fingers, aligning and turning without her even needing to guide them. She was so close, as if there was only one secret left she needed to understand the puzzle. Her fingers flew along the contraption, heart racing in her chest as if the truth of this place was about to reveal itself to her-

The sound of shifting sand echoed in her ears. From all around her, footsteps through the dunes and the cascades of sand walls cried out to her, warned her of something approaching. She tried to freeze, but the puzzle wouldn’t stop moving, her fingers kept flying. Until it, too, stopped.

She looked down at the ridges and pieces, seeing a carved likeness of the little green plant Brehen had been warned about by the scouts. The tiny cactus that grew in these parts had lived on this very land where she stood, before it had turned to sand and ruin. She bent down and nestled it into the ground beside her, the trinket looking for all the world like a plant grown from seed in the barren soil.

“Was this your land, once?” she asked the orb, before realizing the absurdity of what she was saying. The sound of running sand grew louder. Eyn hesitated, and then lay down on the ground, ears straining to identify its source. There were distinct footsteps audible, several pairs at least. She felt her heart skip a beat. Brehen was asleep, unguarded!

She rose to a crouch and crept back towards their supplies, feeling the beads of sweat run down her face. Why hadn’t she gone? Why had she waited for the desert to stake its final violent claim upon them?

The tents rose in front of her, the campsite empty of enemies, and she could hear Brehen’s breathing through the fabric walls. She glanced around, seeing only the wavy tops of dunes around her; there was nothing but the dusky colours of the desert sands. She was still looking when the dunes stood up.

A dozen figures rose around the camp, wrapped in sand-encrusted cloaks and holding spears and jagged swords. One of the strangers shouted and the group advanced, encircling the camp and closing in slowly.

“Brehen,” Eyn called out, “I need you to wake up now.”