“Three Elementals in a month. Most people never meet any in their whole life,” Hunter comments. While sitting in the carriage, he leans his head on his palm and rests his elbow on his knee.

  “It isn't completely absurd, in my opinion,” ?elare says, “as Novus is more than likely in the league of such beings. He's above even the Emperor, after all.”

  Astraea queries, “Do any of us have even an inkling regarding his identity?”

  The question is not met with any response, causing her to shake her head with exasperation.

  Vis breaks the silence.

  “I know he's really old despite his looks. He'll occasionally make references to stuff that happened ages ago; stuff he probably shouldn't even know about, such as the history of my tribe. I know that because it's passed down, but he's no member.”

  Astraea’s expression morphs into a thoughtful one as she responds, “Furthermore, he appears to know, with relative certainty, the future. Recall that Terras messenger we met with before arriving at the mountain.”

  Hunter finishes the thought.

  “He knew exactly where we'd be, and when. Didn't he even comment on the strangeness of that himself?”

  ?elare’s eyes open wide as he says, “He's a time conceptualist? But he's used healing magic, even disregarding the difficulty of that.”

  Hunter sighs and says with a perplexed tone, “I've also seen earth magic. He can't be a tri-mage, those don't exist.”

  Astraea speaks once more.

  “I believe it to be more likely that he uses hidden artifacts, but that itself raises questions. He must be hiding them on purpose.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Everyone considers this for some time, but no more theories of substance are offered. Eventually, the carriage stops and they depart from it.

  The road feels soft underfoot, consisting more of sand than rock. There is little fauna on the ground around them, beyond the occasional patch of tall, red grass, and the only man-made structure outside of the carriage is a compact sandstone hut with a conical, thatched roof. Beside its front entrance is a large sign.

  “We can be received into the Great Dunes here, it says,” ?elare states, pointing to the sign.

  Vis nods.

  “We have no reason to hesitate. He'll explain it all when we enter,” he says, already walking toward the door. The others do not object but follow him in. ?elare turns back, before entering, to wave at the carriage driver, who stares back at him with a mild look of concern. The boy’s expression turns quizzical before he shakes his head and walks into the interior of the building.

  They find themselves in an area sectioned-off by smooth, stone walls, giving them barely enough space to stand apart from each other. Vis grunts and extends his hand to ring a bell placed on a countertop in front of him. The sound pierces the air, causing ?elare to wince.

  “Sorry, I forgot how loud that is,” Vis says, sighing.

  Before ?elare can respond, a tall man with tanned skin, similar to Vis’ own, steps through a doorway on the other side of the glass above the counter. He regards the four of them with an obvious sense of surprise before speaking in a rough voice.

  “You've returned. With… others, no less.”

  Vis responds, “I made my oath and I'm gonna stick to it. You're not thinking of denying our entry, Obix?”

  Obix raises an eyebrow.

  “We both know I don't have the authority to do that, despite how much I want to. State your reason for entry, at least for formalities.”

  “We're here to kill the Goliath Scorpion Mother,” Vis says.

  The other man nods and writes something down on one of the papers placed orderly on his desk.

  “Understood. You are to stay in Sabulo, unsurprisingly.”

  A grin flashes on Vis’ face as he turns to the others, who have been silently waiting. He announces, “Let us go. Normally we'd have a guide, but I know the way to my home village.”

  They exit the embassy building and walk to the other side of it, finding a stone object attached to the base of the wall. It is similar to a compass, with ten labeled lines sticking out. The warrior crouches down and mutters to himself, touching his finger off them, beginning from the right, until he stands back up.

  “It's this way,” he says, pointing along the axis of the fourth protrusion from the left. He begins traveling, and everyone follows without complaint.