Thessia moved through the darkened underpaths of the dwarven ridge, keeping to the shadows. She’d left the village hours ago after pretending to side with the local enforcers, letting the couple who helped her keep their heads low.

  It still sat in her gut — wrong. Filthy. Like a betrayal soaked in purpose.

  The bandits were being allowed to operate freely in exchange for magical shipments — it wasn’t just tolerance. It was complicity.

  She couldn’t let that go.

  So when she saw a group of cloaked figures moving toward a side tunnel with covered carts, she followed. Silent as a dagger. Watching.

  She waited until they broke formation to load crates onto a mechanical lift before springing into action.

  Three guards went down in seconds. The fourth raised an alarm, but her foot shattered his jaw before the sound fully escaped.

  Then came the one she hadn’t seen — a tall figure in desert-stained armor.

  A female elf — sharp eyes, and something ancient carved across her blade.

  “You’re not with them,” the elf said calmly, blade drawn.

  Thessia tightened her grip on her own. “And you’re not just a merchant.”

  The elf didn’t answer.

  Instead, she attacked.

  Their blades clashed in a burst of sparks that lit up the underpass. The narrow tunnel offered no room for footwork, only instinct. Thessia ducked a horizontal slash, pivoted, and kicked her opponent into a supply crate, shattering it.

  The elf spat blood and hissed, “They’ll come for you. You and your kind. You’ve already meddled too much.”

  Thessia stepped forward, blade resting against her shoulder. “Tell them to hurry.”

  She knocked the woman out with a pommel strike.

  As silence returned, she looked at the crates.

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  Inside: enchanted cuffs, cursed mana dampeners, and shipping logs listing the Elven capital’s emblem.

  “Rell’s gonna love this.”

  —

  Time Passed: ~6 hours since the sandstorm

  The wind howled low across the ruined ridge, dragging streaks of heat through fractured dunes. The sun had shifted west, casting jagged shadows across the blistering landscape.

  Rell trudged through the shimmering mirage-ripples, Neyxa in his arms. Her body was scorched from the cursed energy release, but still warm — breathing. That was enough.

  He paused at a wind-worn rock pillar, resting her back against the shaded side. Sand slid off his cloak with every movement.

  “Rest,” he muttered, voice low and broken. “I find… water.”

  Neyxa groaned faintly, her fingers twitching as he draped her with his half-burned cloak. She didn’t stir more than that.

  Rell glanced upward. The sun was merciless.

  He scowled. “Desert… sucks.”

  Rell’s eyes snapped upward—hand already halfway to his weapon—when a glider crested the ridge like a hawk on silent wings. Sleek and low to the ground, forged of dwarven alloy mixed with elven liftwood, the thing hummed with arcane charge. Fins curved out from its sides like the petals of a burning orchid, catching every breath of air with pinpoint control. It moved fast—easily matching the speed of a high-end city runner from the human world—somewhere north of 150mph.

  And riding it, goggles down and braid whipping behind her, was Thessia.

  She landed in a spray of sand ten paces away, bringing the glider into a controlled drift before it stilled.

  “Need a ride?” she asked, hopping down.

  Rell gave a grunt. “Late.”

  Thessia rolled her eyes and knelt beside Neyxa. “She’ll be alright. Took some licks, but still breathing steady.” She glanced at Rell. “You?”

  He shrugged. “Still walking.”

  She snorted. “Showoff.”

  Rell stood as she pulled a canteen from her belt, pressing a bit of water to Neyxa’s lips. Thessia looked up. “Got news.”

  He turned slightly. “Ko Mala?”

  “No… not yet. But I tracked some bandits to a side tunnel. Took down a few. Found crates—gear from the capital. Advisor’s name was all over the logs.”

  Rell’s jaw tensed.

  “They’re not just stealing,” Thessia added. “The bandits are being hired. Used to extort the dwarves—raise the price on shipments, then bleed them dry on both ends.”

  “Advisor’s gone,” Rell muttered. “They don’t know. Or… don’t care.”

  Thessia nodded grimly. “Either way, dwarves still paying.”

  Then, like a pulse through the sand, something twisted. Faint. But real.

  Rell turned his head, eyes narrowing. “…Ko Mala.”

  Thessia’s brow furrowed. “You sure?”

  “Close. Hurting.”

  He stepped forward, but the glider was already heating up. Thessia slung Neyxa into the back seat and climbed in.

  “Go,” she said. “We’ll catch you.”

  The glider burst forward with a hiss of arcane wind.

  Rell didn’t wait.

  He took off—barefoot—cutting through the dunes with brutal efficiency. Each stride launched a spray of sand behind him. He didn’t falter. Didn’t slide. Like the ground itself bowed beneath him.

  And even with the glider at full throttle—blades glowing, arcane thrusters pulsing—Rell stayed ahead. Twenty feet. Consistent.

  Thessia’s eyes narrowed behind her goggles.

  “…He’s fast,” she muttered under her breath. “When he’s pissed… he’s faster.”

  The desert didn’t slow him.

  It got out of his way.