Mowj raised his hands, whispering an incantation that shimmered through the hot desert air like a ripple in time. Beneath the ash-covered soil, the seed trembled.

  Then, life broke through.

  Tiny, vibrant green buds emerged from the grey earth, reaching upward with quiet determination. They spiraled and thickened, growing until they formed a delicate, youthful tree—small, but alive with defiant promise against the barren landscape.

  Jamih watched in awe, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He turned to the boy.

  "And now?" Jamih asked. "It lives, but it is barren. How will you make it bear fruit?"

  Mowj furrowed his brow, sweat dripping down his nose as he maintained the flow of magic.

  "I’ll try another spell... a growth accelerant. But... I need more energy to make the fruit grow..."

  Suddenly, the wind shifted, carrying the scent of rot.

  From behind the dunes, a group of figures emerged. Villagers—infected, hollow-eyed, their skin grey and cracking—staggered toward the source of the magic. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, like puppets on strings.

  "They have arrived..." Jamih murmured, stepping in front of Mowj.

  Mowj’s voice trembled slightly as he broke his concentration.

  "What do we do now?"

  "Stay calm," Jamih ordered, his voice low and steady. "We do not attack. And you do heal them—not yet."

  Mowj looked at him, conflicted. "But—"

  "You must conserve your strength," Jamih hissed. "We will find the cure and heal them all eventually... but not now. Look at their necks."

  He pointed to the strange, pulsing purple marks glowing on the villagers' throats.

  "Those sigils... they are feeding off the caster’s energy. Remove the connection, and they will collapse."

  Mowj lowered his hands reluctantly, the light fading from his palms.

  "Understood..."

  "Step back."

  With swift precision, Jamih reached into his belt and hurled a small sphere.

  A thick cloud of white smoke enveloped the staggering group. It wasn't poison; it was a potent sedative. One by one, the Cursed Villagers crumpled to the sand, dropping into a deep slumber.

  "That should buy us time," Jamih said, dusting off his hands.

  Mowj looked at the heap of bodies. "They have become like wild beasts... roaming without purpose."

  "Or perhaps purpose," Jamih corrected grimly. "They patrol the villages, ensuring no resistance, no rebuilding. Just submission."

  He paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

  "But someone sees through their eyes... That wretch, Azalor."

  Mowj turned sharply. "Azalor?"

  "The Sorcerer who once battled your grandmother," Jamih explained. "Cunning, powerful, and utterly unpredictable. If he is the one pulling the strings here... raise your defenses, boy."

  Mowj glanced back at his small, fragile tree.

  "We must leave it for now," Mowj said. "I cast a pollination spell—one my grandmother taught me. It needs time to take hold."

  "So we wait?"

  "No," Mowj said, his jaw setting. "We move. I want to see the state of things in Falia."

  Jamih frowned. "Falia? That is the heart of the infection. That Old Sorcerer, Senil, or even Azalor himself may be there. If we go into the city, we will need an army, not two men. I reject this plan."

  Mowj’s gaze hardened. He looked less like a healer and more like a Commander.

  "Even if it is a direct order?"

  Jamih didn't blink.

  "Even then. I am here to keep you alive, not to follow you into suicide."

  He softened his tone slightly.

  "You may go to the surrounding villages. But we must check the outpost beside Falia first."

  "Lainas told me villagers were gathered there," Mowj argued. "He wants me to heal them..."

  Jamih stepped forward, blocking Mowj’s path.

  "And what will you do if you heal them?"

  Mowj opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the sleeping bodies in the sand.

  "I..."

  "If you heal them," Jamih pressed, "they wake up. They will be hungry. They will be defenseless. You will have to feed them, protect them, and lead them. Can you do that while hunting Azalor?"

  Mowj looked down. The logic was cold, but irrefutable.

  "I won't save them," Mowj whispered. "Healing them means burdening the mission. It is better they sleep."

  Jamih nodded approvingly. "Good. You are learning. Then we head to the outskirts of Falia. Perhaps we will find something useful in the ruins before returning to check on your tree."

  "Agreed. Let's go."

  "Keep your defenses up," Jamih warned as they mounted their beasts. "They could strike at any moment."

  "But I thought we slipped through unnoticed..."

  "We were attacked before," Jamih reminded him. "Azalor—or the old man who assaulted Lajira—sees through the villagers' eyes. He knows we walk this land. He may already be planning a counterstrike."

  Mowj gripped the reins tight. "Then what do we do?"

  "In moments like these, we adopt the Assassin’s Creed," Jamih said, pulling his scarf over his face. "We stay low. We avoid conflict. We take what we need, and we retreat. A little damage to slow them down is acceptable. Glory is for dead men."

  "Understood..."

  "But," Jamih added, his eyes flashing, "if we are caught in a trap... you fight. You fight with everything you have. Sometimes survival demands a battle, not an escape."

  Mowj stepped forward, leading the beast south. The green comet pulsed above them.

  "Then we fight... if we must. Let's move."

  The Golden Trio — Echoes of the Past

  Jamih secured the beasts inside one of the abandoned storehouses, checking the ropes twice before stepping back out into the fading light. He slid his sword into its sheath with a sharp , the sound echoing in the empty street.

  Mowj stood nearby, watching him.

  "Commander..." Mowj started, then hesitated. "I have always wondered... what did you do before all this began? Before the stronghold?"

  Jamih looked toward the southern horizon, his eyes narrowing as if reading a language written in the sandstorm.

  "Hunting," he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "Selling beast hides and rare organs. Raiding caravans. Pillaging villages."

  Mowj blinked, taken aback.

  "That’s... terrifying. Beautifully terrifying, I suppose."

  Jamih smirked, turning to face the boy.

  "You think we were healers like you? We were assassins, boy. We stole, we killed, we thrived in the shadows where good men feared to tread. We abandoned comfort to live by instinct."

  Mowj nodded slowly, processing this.

  "But something changed," Mowj insisted. "Lidra told me you were different when you arrived here. Harder, but... purposeful."

  Jamih’s gaze hardened.

  "You adapt or you die. That is the rule of the desert. Everything changed the day one of our men brought a child to the stronghold. Claimed he was a vampire."

  "We didn't believe him, of course. We treated the man like filth for bringing a monster into our home. I cast him out myself."

  Mowj’s eyes widened.

  "A vampire child? I have never seen one... But I heard villagers speak of my grandmother sending Commander Sylvance to find a child traveling with a caravan. He must be important."

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  Jamih nodded once. "Perhaps it is fate."

  Mowj lowered his voice.

  "When I freed Silva’s Guardian from the Black Order’s control... He spoke of a sword. And a child."

  Jamih studied him for a long moment.

  "You already know what you must do after we finish here."

  Mowj nodded firmly. "I will go to Aurik. I will meet Sylvance there."

  Jamih raised a brow. "Sylvance? The commander your grandmother sent?"

  "Yes. She is the strongest leader I have ever known. Brilliant, patient, a master of combat and magic. She taught herself everything."

  Jamih said nothing. He turned back to the desert, letting the wind carry his thoughts away.

  His mind drifted back, years and lifetimes ago. To a small house in Aurik where he found his parents murdered. To the years of wandering the Valley of Wonders alone, surviving on wild fruit and the meat of beasts he slew with jagged rocks. To the moment he decided to stop being a victim and become the monster under the bed.

  He remembered the Korta Tunnels. The smuggling. The contracts. And he remembered them.

  Kaser. The father of the man who would one day bring the vampire child. Jamih had met him when they were barely teenagers.

  Delyn. The strategist.

  Together, they became unstoppable.

  That was what the underworld called them. Above ground, in the shining city of Aurik, they were legends—heroes to the street urchins, nightmares to the corrupt nobles. They built their stronghold in the heart of Silva’s deadliest desert, daring the world to come for them. Young men and women flocked to their gates, begging to be taught the art of death.

  Until that day...

  Flashback: 20 Years Ago

  The night sky over the desert was a canvas of glittering diamonds. A crimson comet streaked overhead, an omen they were too young and arrogant to read.

  Jamih sat by the fire, sharpening his blade with rhythmic strokes. Kaser and Delyn huddled over a map spread on a crate.

  "Focus, boys," Delyn said, tapping a marked location. "Our target is a Noble. The payout is 240 gold coins."

  Kaser jumped up, his eyes shining with excitement.

  "Let’s go! Jamih! What should we buy for the stronghold with that kind of coin? Maybe paint the walls blue? Or velvet curtains?"

  Jamih sighed, not looking up from his whetstone.

  "It is a stronghold, Kaser, not a tavern. Think before you speak."

  Kaser pouted, kicking the sand. "Come on, Jamih... you have no soul."

  Delyn laughed, rolling up the map.

  "Let’s finish the job first. We have twenty-three men now. They need food, gear, shelter. Velvet curtains can wait."

  Kaser nodded. "True! But still..."

  He reached into his tunic and pulled out a golden pendant, studded with diamonds. It caught the firelight, sparkling brilliantly.

  Jamih narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you wasted your share of the last job on that nonsense."

  Another crimson comet flashed overhead.

  Delyn leaned in, whistling. "It’s not nonsense. That is a family legacy. No blade we own can match the magic in that thing."

  Jamih stared at his own sword—a masterpiece of steel he had spent a fortune refining with Leona’s smiths and Aurik’s mages.

  "You are telling me a necklace is stronger than this?" Jamih scoffed.

  Kaser opened the locket. Inside, a strange magical clock ticked—its hands moving in spirals, emitting soft, melodic chimes.

  "You plan to fight with a clock?" Jamih asked dryly.

  Delyn’s eyes widened. "It’s beautiful! Is that...?"

  Kaser nodded proudly. "Yes. It’s for my son."

  "He’s crawling now," Kaser continued, his face softening. "I’m thinking of buying him a sword soon."

  He turned to Jamih. "You’ll help me pick one out, right? You are obsessed with weapons."

  Jamih scoffed. "A sword for a baby? You are insane."

  Kaser laughed, looking up at the vast sky.

  "I want him to be free. Like us. Under Silva’s sky, beholden to no king. You’ll help me, won’t you?"

  Jamih smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "Of course, you fool. That is why we started all this."

  "What is his name?" Delyn asked.

  Kaser smiled. "Fouad."

  Delyn grinned. "Nice name. Surprising, coming from you."

  "Why?" Kaser gasped, mock-offended.

  Jamih didn't miss a beat. "Your sword’s name is 'Rock.' I wouldn't have been shocked if you named the boy 'Brick.'"

  They all laughed, the sound echoing into the night.

  Suddenly, Delyn pointed toward the dunes.

  "There he is. The Noble Felix. The merchant who connects Leona, Aurik, and the Luminous Tree villages."

  Jamih scoffed, standing up and sheathing his blade.

  "The Luminous Tree? Don't make me laugh. They are weak. We rob them blind and sell their healers for profit."

  Kaser nodded. "They barely resist anymore."

  "They have been broken since the last war," Delyn added.

  They approached the rendezvous point. Felix waited for them, dressed in fine silk and leather, flanked by armed guards.

  "Welcome, gentlemen," Felix said, his voice smooth as oil. "An honor."

  Delyn bowed theatrically. "The honor is ours, Lord Felix. When do we depart?"

  "Now."

  Felix mounted a large Desert Beast. "Today, we forge a pact in the Valley of Wonders. A secret meeting between King Caesar and Leona’s monarch."

  Delyn trembled with excitement. "We are going to meet King Caesar? In the desert?"

  Felix smiled coldly.

  "Yes. He has decided to strengthen ties with Leona and the Luminous Tree. Strange, isn't it? He is notoriously private. But now he wants diplomacy. He asked me personally—due to my ties to Leona’s royal family."

  Jamih eyed Felix’s heavy gold chains. "Do you need all that gold for a diplomatic mission?"

  Felix laughed softly. "We are diplomats, boy. King Caesar asked us to begin building new alliances. Trade, research, weapons. Leona has the finest blacksmiths."

  They began the trek into the Valley.

  Jamih glanced at Kaser, who had fallen silent.

  "You alright? You have barely spoken since we met the Noble."

  Kaser stared at Felix’s back, his eyes dark. "I’m fine."

  They entered the Valley of Wonders proper. The air grew heavy, static electricity prickling their skin.

  Suddenly, the sand exploded. Feral beasts—twisted, vicious creatures with glowing eyes—lunged from the dunes.

  Jamih drew his sword instantly.

  "Sila!"

  He channeled his mana to strike—but the blade remained dull. The gems did not glow.

  "Damn it!" Jamih cursed, parrying a claw with brute strength. "My sword won't activate!"

  Kaser fought beside him, his daggers flashing. "Same here! Something is wrong. The Valley rejects us!"

  Delyn fought from the rear with his spear, slaying five beasts with sheer skill, but he was panting. "My spear is heavy! It’s not responding to my mana!"

  Felix sat atop his beast, glaring down at them.

  "What is wrong with you? I hired the Golden Trio—and you are struggling against common beasts?"

  "We are fine!" Delyn shouted back. "Just... off balance!"

  Kaser stared at Felix, his eyes cold and suspicious.

  Felix narrowed his gaze. "What is your problem, boy?"

  "Kaser?" Jamih stepped in, shoving a beast back.

  Kaser turned away. "Nothing."

  More beasts charged, their numbers endless.

  Jamih struck one aside, his muscles burning.

  "They are getting stronger!"

  Kaser poisoned another, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  "Something is wrong," Kaser whispered. "Very wrong."

  The Betrayal in the Valley — Blood Beneath the Sand

  Felix rode at the head of the group, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as they reached the heart of the Valley of Wonders. The golden dunes rose around them like the walls of a canyon, and the wind whispered secrets of ancient magic.

  "Finally," Felix exhaled, surveying the landscape. "This valley truly is a graveyard... No wonder your reputation thrives here. You three fight with such ferocity."

  Delyn grinned, spinning his spear. "We were built for this sand. Don't worry, Lord Felix."

  Felix’s eyes narrowed. In the distance, the delegation from Leona appeared—led by their High Commander, flanked by elite guards in silver armor. They looked majestic against the harsh desert.

  "Now..." Felix whispered under his breath.

  The air behind the dunes tore open. A portal of swirling shadow expanded, and figures clad in black armor surged forth. They moved with unnatural speed, crashing into the Leona soldiers with ruthless precision.

  "They're under attack!" Delyn shouted, his instincts kicking in. "We have to help them!"

  "No," Felix snapped, his voice losing its diplomatic veneer. "Stay back. They are dangerous. If we interfere, we will be slaughtered."

  Jamih turned to Kaser.

  Kaser’s eyes burned with righteous fury. He looked at the slaughter, then at Felix.

  "I’m going in," Kaser growled. "Are you insane? You expect us to watch them die?"

  He didn't wait for permission. He leapt forward, drawing his sword.

  "Kaser!" Jamih shouted, cursing under his breath. He spurred his beast forward. "Damn it!"

  Felix scoffed, watching them charge.

  "Disappointing. I thought I hired assassins... not noble fools."

  Jamih roared back over his shoulder.

  "To hell with you!"

  He followed Kaser into the fray.

  Delyn remained behind, gripping his spear. He watched his comrades clash with the attackers, then looked at Felix’s calm demeanor.

  "This wasn't part of the deal," Delyn said, his voice low. "We are doubling our fee."

  Felix unsheathed his blade, admiring the edge. "It doesn't matter."

  Delyn moved faster than Felix expected. In a blur, the tip of his spear was pressed against the noble’s throat.

  "Don't move," Delyn hissed. "Or I will kill you right here."

  Felix chuckled, slowly clapping his hands.

  "How amusing... You forget—I have guards. No matter how skilled you are, you are still assassins. Treachery runs in your blood."

  Suddenly, Felix spun, his hand glowing with dark energy. He didn't aim at Delyn. He aimed at his own bodyguard standing nearby.

  A blast of dark magic struck the guard in the chest, killing him instantly. The man fell, eyes wide with betrayal.

  The remaining guards froze in shock.

  Delyn’s eyes widened. "You..."

  "Don't move!" Delyn roared, pressing the spear harder against Felix’s skin, drawing a bead of blood. "I will take his head if you step closer!"

  He glared at Felix.

  "Treachery? Don't make me laugh. Our guild is built on honor. We are assassins, yes—but we don't betray our own. You just murdered your protector!"

  Felix remained still, a serpent’s smile on his face.

  "Of course," Felix whispered. "Because you expected us to be like you. Honorable."

  Felix’s face twisted into a mask of faux-terror.

  But before Delyn could react, a voice thundered from the ridge behind them, shaking the very sand.

  "YOU! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

  King Caesar had arrived. He stood atop the dune, battle-hardened and bloodied from the journey, flanked by his terrifying Royal Guard.

  Down in the valley, Jamih and Kaser fought back-to-back, surrounded by the black-clad soldiers.

  "They aren't normal!" Jamih shouted, parrying a heavy blow that numbed his arm. "Standard strikes don't pierce their armor!"

  He stepped back, channeling his mana. His sword ignited with roaring orange flames.

  "Sila!"

  A wave of concentrated heat burst from his blade, striking five of the attackers. The force sent them flying backward, their armor glowing red hot.

  Beside him, Kaser danced through a flurry of blows, his movements fluid and deadly. His twin daggers shimmered with sickly green light.

  He exhaled a cloud of magic.

  "Death's Venom!"

  A toxic green mist engulfed two enemies. They collapsed instantly, their bodies seizing as the magical poison bypassed their defenses.

  But they were too late.

  Leona’s guards fell one by one, overwhelmed by numbers. The High Commander took a fatal blow to the chest and collapsed, gasping for breath.

  "No!" Kaser cried. He slid across the sand, catching the Commander before he hit the ground. Blood soaked Kaser’s hands.

  As soon as the Commander fell, the attackers retreated. They vanished back into the shadow portals as quickly as they had appeared.

  Jamih watched them go, breathing hard.

  "Damn it..." Jamih wiped sweat from his eyes. "They got what they came for. They never wanted a fight... they wanted a massacre."

  Kaser held the dying man.

  "Please..." the Commander rasped, gripping Kaser’s bloodied tunic. "Tell the King... Leona accepts all his terms... We... we wanted peace..."

  His hand went limp. He died in Kaser’s arms.

  "What now?" Kaser asked, his voice shaking, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

  Jamih looked up to the ridge. He saw Delyn. He saw Felix. And he saw the King.

  "We are in deep trouble, Kaser..."

  The Accusation — A Kingdom on Edge

  On the ridge, King Caesar stormed toward Delyn, his presence suffocating.

  "Release the Ambassador, Assassin!" Caesar commanded. "I will give you whatever you want—just step away!"

  Delyn stood firm, his spear still at Felix’s throat.

  "No, Your Majesty! You don't understand! He—"

  Felix seized the moment. He shoved Delyn aside with unexpected strength and collapsed to the ground, panting, his face a portrait of terror.

  "Your Majesty!" Felix cried, crawling toward the King. "Thank the stars! I saw death with my own eyes!"

  He pointed a shaking finger at Delyn.

  "It was them! The Assassins! They attacked Leona’s delegation! They killed my guard when he tried to stop them! You arrived just in time!"

  King Caesar turned his gaze to the valley floor.

  He saw the bodies of Leona’s soldiers strewn across the sand. He saw the dead Commander.

  And standing amidst the slaughter, covered in blood, were Jamih and Kaser.

  Caesar’s expression turned to ice. His voice thundered across the valley, carrying the weight of a death sentence.

  "You two. Down there."

  He drew his massive blade.

  "Come here. Now."

  

  ·

  Here's we Go! New song!