Deep in the night, half-way up the red-sand mountain, the living map blinked brightly in Alan’s grasp. There was no sign of them before, but four Peg-wielding Merchants remained at their intended destination, as if waiting for their arrival.

“I don’t like the smell of this,” Alan said.

“I smell nothing but a burning campfire,” Durger’s voice was muffled in his sheath, prompting Alan to pull him free and hold him over the map. “Goodness!”

“Shh!” Alan covered the blade, eyeing Flint to make sure he was still snoring.

“It looks like a cult gathering,” Durger whispered, staring at four amber-glowing dots on the flat top of Sharas-da.

“Do you think Hyndole is pushing all these pieces together?” Alan asked. “Everywhere we turn, Jaeger’s followers or Ojin’s unique minions try to cut our legs from under us.”

A gust of wind blew Alan’s hair on cue. Looking to the forest far down below to his right, Orange Saro faces formed in explosions. Minion versus warrior happened all around them, in every direction. Green healing ribbons wrapped a dragon-rider eastward, and a Red Saro warrior leapt high in the air to the north, deflecting arrows with what looked to be his bare hands.

Alan was mesmerized by all the activity since the hawks cleared so much sectional mist. It’s like a whole new world opened up. One that he couldn’t believe his friends could sleep through so casually.

The prospect of home being at his fingertips again made him wonder a lot of things. Life without magic and knowhow, without potential for greatness. He missed his family, and wanted to show off his new self to his ex, but he wondered… would it be enough?

He looked at his hands, willing Variant Saro to glow at his fingertips. Thoughts of heaven, joy, anger, hell, hope. It flowed through him like a tangible quintessence fueled by his mind. There was so much potential here. A part of him was no longer mad at the face-painted Archer who cut his first life short.

Dreaming of leaping off the mountain and using the white winds to guide him into battle – to help other groups through Ojin’s trials – it warmed his heart. If the frogs were right, then it may one day be a reality.

Hopefully not for the worse.

The next day Alan was refreshed regardless of his lack of sleep – many thanks to channeling Green Saro through the last hour before sunrise. Flint led them to the top of the red-sand mountain, finally, and toward a cove that supposedly worked as an intra-realm portal. Alan made Flint show him where they would end up on his map, and how big the leap within Ojin was. Not far, truly. About one section of light green fog over.

But on the way, something odd happened. The cove entrance was sealed shut by black crystals – engraved with a Wizard’s conjuring that Flint would have to work to get past.

“Another day lost, Neesha,” Gregorian grumbled. “My honor is to you, not these… lessers. Turn back with me.”

She shook her head. “My bonds with Alan are as strong as the one we share. You are free to break your oath if you must.”

Alan’s heart did a somersault. He didn’t mean to overhear that, but he’s happy he did. Gregorian staying put also spoke a tome-full.

One glance at the Archer showed him pressing his hand across his chest – thinking back to the dragon leaving that mortal wound, no doubt. He really is in Neesha’s debt.

The top of the red-sand mountain stretched for miles in every direction, except for the sealed cove they trekked toward. It stood high, nearing the size of some of those reggae trees back in Strangey Town. And the closer they got, the stranger the weather turned. Rain swirled down two green-shaded clouds, following what looked to be a slipstream circling the cove. It was heavily enchanted, and what’s worse, another group of five just peeked into vision from behind it.

Alan and crew were still about a hundred feet away, which made it hard to make out exactly who they were.

Gregorian materialized his bow, eyes flashing yellow, but Lucius held up a hand to stop them.

“They are of Baleston Hills, an ally of Strangey Town,” Lucius said. “I’ve grouped with one of them before. Decent folk. Stand down.”

“Excellent!” Flint became excited, wasting no time in running forward. He held Willypop high in the air and burst the tip for attention. “Hello, fellow travelers from Baleston! It is I, Flint Degoba, from the town they call Strange!”

Alan ran to join him. His elation quickly faded when staffs and swords were drawn against them.

The enemy staff illuminated beige first, then the rest of the weapons glowed in the same Saro outline.

“By the lightning weeds!” Flint stopped in his tracks when sandy winds started scratching their faces. “A Unity group.”

Alan threw his hands over his face. “A what?”

“Same—Saro. Enhanced, ah.” Flint waved his staff to create a tornado of icy winds to counteract the sand.

“State yourselves. We sense a great darkness among you,” a woman’s voice echoed amongst the sand – which solidified into a giant beige shield blocking off view of the enemy group.

“Lucius Kiar!” he announced himself. And just like that, the sand shield fell like a waterfall.

The beige glow lessened far in front of them.

“Step forward, ally of Baelston. Let us look upon you.” The woman flipped her staff into the holster on her back and stepped to the front of her group, while Lucius spread his molten-cycling arms and did the same.

“I’ve grouped with Ricktus Harrod among you,” Lucius called. “I know that mustache anywhere.”

Alan heard chuckles from across the way, which put him at ease.

“It is good to see you, friend,” Ricktus called. “I’m sure that darkness Hishaya senses wafts from that terrible armor you wear.”

“And possibly this sword.” Lucius held up Farante’s Soul Collector.

While the old friends shouted their pleasantries amid variant whether, the two groups kept a fair bit of distance between them, obscuring those in the back. Alan couldn’t help but stake out an opportunity.

“Durger. Is there any way Blue Saro allows me to scout ahead telepathically? I want eyes on them.” He squinted, only able to make out broad shapes and blurry features.

“Not Blue, no. You’d have to enhance your senses like a beast. You will find awful sensations like that in the depths of Green.”

“Green? I thought that was for healing and such.”

“Saro has many facets. Think of Gregorian and the Yellow. Lightning and blessing. Green— healing and life.”

Alan concentrated on positive memories that usually evoked channeling. A familiar soothing emerald color started to cycle his fingers.

“That won’t work, Sir Alan. Do try to envision times you connected with your world.”

Alan dispelled the growing streams at the direction of his dagger and tried a different route. Connecting to his old world?

Trish again, to the rescue. Alan gritted his teeth.

“May we approach yet?” Flint called.

“Please, allow our Wizard to complete her scans. Then, I promise, the barriers come down,” Ricktus assured in a light tone.

An almost invisible wall of angry sand bounced around like static, separating the two groups.

Alan took the intermission to remember when Trish forced him into a grounding exercise where they ran barefoot through grass. He thought it was the dumbest thing he’d ever done… back then. But that memory held tangible effects now, since his body glowed forest green the next time he opened his eyes.

Durger was right. His senses enhanced. It was fleeting and wavering like his hearing couldn’t adjust volume. What’s worse, he felt every square inch of his body being pelted by windy air.

Focus, Alan.

After a deep breath, he could hear whispers across the way.

“Is it him?” one voice said.

“It just might be,” another agreed.

The whispers became indiscernible once more, and it was then his vision enhanced. Yes! The blurriness became clear. He noted Ricktus’ plate-mail armor and massive pauldrons. But it wasn’t him that concerned Alan. It was her. Hishaya. The Wizard.

He focused hard on her staff of seeming white marble – completely opposite Flint’s makeshift wooden one. The trance dragged him to a realm of shining castles and a bustling town square that might as well have been pulled straight from Earth’s Middle Ages.

Atop a castle balcony, stood the Wizard. Long flowing caramel hair, an ageless face – somewhat like Flint – and skin so fair she seemed almost translucent.

“Walk with me, Savros.” Hishaya used her staff like a hiker’s stick. “The beige sands help slow Baleston down so I can truly see what matters,” she said vaguely. “I have mixed with gods and warriors from many realms, to strengthen this one… always.”

Alan quickly got bored with her. Understanding that she was somewhat political based on what she was saying, and liked to boast, apparently, was not a trait he admired. The trance sped up at his own doing, to Hishaya deep in the orange fog of Ojin, buried in the heart of a volcano on an ornate beige platform. Alan’s heart raced just watching her deflect spurts of spewing lava using sand shields.

Her voice grew deep and pained as she swayed every which way to deflect. “Give him back!” she shouted, almost through tears. “He is not yours to take!”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The volcano itself bellowed, which made Alan realize she wasn’t fighting the environment… she was fighting a minion. A great, yellow-crusted eye struggled to open on the volcanic wall in front of her. She twirled her staff dangerously fast, conjuring a sand-spear that she willed straight into it.

The eye dilated and squeezed closed in an instant, leaving the molten space to rumble in anger. Another one opened behind her, and without looking, she conjured and tossed a spear straight into it.

OOOHHMM!

The minion bellowed, and out of the pool of lava at her feet rose a hard-rock encasing of the same man she roamed with on the castle. “Savros!” She slammed her staff into her platform and balled her fists tight with Beige Saro. Lines of sand rushed to pry open the encasing.

She pulled, and pulled, and pulled until she fell to her knees.

A lava tidal wave grew from the other end of the volcano – clawing over Hishaya’s back.

“Please,” she begged.

As the shadow loomed, moments before it reached Hishaya, the case cracked, and desperate breath spoke to Savros still having life in him. A clawed hand emerged from the encasing, and that same shield Alan witnessed blocking them before, emerged again to throw the wave flying off course.

Savros no longer had the locks he had when strolling beside Hishaya on the castle balcony. Frayed strands and deep scars on his face told of a terrible tribulation this minion dragged him through.

“I think finally,” he exhaled a labored breath, locking eyes with Hishaya, “Hyndole will accept you as a guest of Jaeger.”

The trance cut out from Alan’s sheer panic.

Oh my god.

He shook his head to reorient himself, noticing too many heartbeats went by. His entire group was now mere feet away from theirs, all except Neesha, who was tugging him to come along.

“Neesha,” Alan whispered low. “They’re working with the enemy.”

“What? Nonsense! The prince has already bridged the gap.”

“Are you blinded by royalty?” he asked seriously. “I need that skepticism, right here and now. Don’t trust them.”

She furrowed her brow, analyzing his expression. “O—okay,” she agreed. “I will not trust them.”

They walked side-by-side tentatively. Alan noticed their Beige Saro was reduced to a dull glow, but it wasn’t shut off entirely. Of course not… they were looking to activate it as soon as they found the chance to stab them in the back.

It’s me they want.

He eyed Savros – who hadn’t really recovered from that coffin the minion encased him in. His eyes were still sunken, hair scant. It was as if Hishaya didn’t see any of it. Her eyes on him were adoring, like lovers on their honeymoon.

Alan would be lying if he said he didn’t want that.

But alas, this wasn’t the time.

“Go hang on Gregorian since this group seems to be fond of PDA,” Alan couldn’t believe he was saying the words.

“Huh?” Neesha frowned.

“Go tell him to shackle the group on my cue. No one has to die.”

Alan broke away from Neesha to interrupt the kumbaya between Lucius and Ricktus. “What brings you all to the portal?” He acted intentionally rude while keeping distance. The air grew tense by his own making, and before Hishaya could speak, he spoke again, “Is this seal yours, Wizard?”

“Alan?” Flint’s face dropped. “Your manners, where did they go?”

Alan eyed Neesha, who whispered in Greg’s ear. The big man looked ready to argue, but one look at the seriousness in Alan’s eyes, and he gave a discreet nod. One less thing to worry about. At least he has some sort of brain in that noggin’ of his. Alan then focused back on the well-armored group. “No, it doesn’t look like your markings, Hishaya. Yours are sharper and less defined. But his. Savros. Yes… I think they might be his.”

Their Saro brightened together.

Alan’s heart pulsed through his ears. His intention was to break the welcoming interaction, because it was a farce. No way he’d let his friends be dragged under.

No goddamn way.

“Greg!” Alan shouted, and on cue, the Archer flipped high in the air to get the jump on all of them – literally.

Fshew—fshew—fhsew!

Three sets of arrows enchanted into chain links wrapped each of the enemy members. Grunts, snarls, and flexed arms spoke to frustration. Alan relished in it. He activated Red Saro to instinctively understand if any of his enemies could somehow break the mold.

His mind’s eye showed the plasmatic links holding strong like thick chains… all except for Savros – Jaeger’s follower.

“Lucius, Flint. Focus on the male Wizard,” Alan commanded.

“We bled together.” Ricktus jerked in his chains. “Lucius. Do not do this!”

“Do what?” Alan answered for him. “We don’t mean you any harm. We simply want to pass.”

Lucius growled at Alan but was smart enough to understand Alan didn’t ask brashly for no reason, so he switched his focus to Ricktus while keeping his dark blade pointed at Savros. “What is your motive, old friend? Speak it now before things get out of control.”

“We follow the ways of our Wizard.” Ricktus wrinkled his nose. “For the good of the realms.”

“That vagueness does not give me comfort.” Lucius narrowed his eyes.

Flint held up his staff. “Friends, friends. I know tensions are high from this rash action. But I’m sure we can work this out diplomatically. Baleston is a great ally—”

“Give up the Herald, and all will remain as it was,” Hishaya spoke.

As she did, Alan noticed Savros’ chains cracking in his mind’s eye. Hishaya sensed it too. That’s why she had the gall to reveal her motive.

“By the leaves of Spataro.” Flint’s eyes widened. “Jaeger is everywhere.”

Savros flexed hard in his electrical shackles, summoning a small sandy whirlwind to fling his staff back into his grasp. Before Flint could react, Savros manifested a powerful sand-sword the size of the cove and slammed it down to crush them all.

Clang!

Lucius pulled a matching sized sword a quarter out of the ground to clash. His gauntlets sizzled as his arms shook to hold it in place.

“Hawoo!” Flint hurled a lightning bolt-shaped icicle into Savros – freezing him mid-motion – then twirled Willypop to whip four more projectiles in the other direction.

Tsh! Tsh! Tsh! Tsh!

In a flash, Gregorian’s lightning shackles were reinforced by coats of Flint’s ice.

“Has the whole universe gone mad? Jaeger seeks dominance of all. Can’t you see?” Flint seemed angry, yelling at the electrical popsicles. “A god building his realm to mimic Ojin. Is that what you seek?”

The sandy winds kicked up again all around the five of them.

“Jaeger is our chance at prosperity,” Hishaya’s voice carried through the winds. “If his demand is one Merchant, we will pay that price.”

On cue, the Wizard broke all her chains and lashed a powerful gust of wind to free the others. Gregorian’s pulsing arrows whipped out of the ground, severing the electrical tethers, while Flint’s White Saro prisons melted instantly.

Alan flipped Durger to be downfacing, bolstering his Red Saro for combat. Ricktus charged Lucius first, but Alan kicked the back of the warrior’s battle hammer to knock him off-balance.

I will not kill you.

The mantra sent a wave of Green Saro to mix with his Red. Ricktus turned on him in anger, lifting his battle hammer while bellowing a great war cry that made all his hair glow beige. A ghostly version of the warrior sprung forward like static – passing right through Alan and solidifying behind him.

Clang!

Alan turned at the last second to clash with a thick glass sword held by a sandy ghost. It all fell to dust the instant they connected, leaving Alan’s back open for the real Ricktus.

Woosh!

Alan dashed out of the way of a destructive hammer – the ground shaking from impact. His brow furrowed when he realized the miss was intentional. It was an ability, denoted by the visible beige hammer-made waves clinging to Alan’s boots. He grew heavier by the second.

“The Beige are crafty, Sir Alan. Especially when feeding off one another. Try lessoning White Saro from ice to water. It will weaken the links.”

Alan ducked another mighty swing with gritted teeth, focusing hard on White as the Beige crawled up to his knees to weigh him down. He was still able to flip, but the slower movements were distracting – throwing him off.

If he switched off instinctive Red now, he feared his head would be mushed against the cove wall.

“Fear not, Herald,” Ricktus snarled. “We prefer you alive. Though Hyndole didn’t say in how many pieces! Rrrah!” He swung again to hit nothing but ground. This time Alan cartwheeled with one hand, pushing himself over the pulsing ground vibrations and into close-range – where a dagger fared better than a two-handed monstrosity of a weapon.

“A test of chains!” Flint’s voice carried. “Be free, my friends!” He crashed his staff down, sending bright white ice circling each of Alan and crew, melting into a body-suit of water that expelled the sand.

Alan’s speed picked up exponentially. He spotted cracks in Ricktus’ armor, noting non-critical spots that he stabbed into.

I will not kill you.

A patch of light Green Saro remained to clot the wound – like a mosquito would patch a victim after getting what it wanted.

Ricktus grunted and dropped his hammer, pulling two lavish tomahawk axes that fared better against a dagger.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Alan moved his blade artfully left to right, relying on technique to guide the tomahawks out of place – using Ricktus’ momentum against him – since he was outmatched in strength. More Red Saro bled through his body, overwhelming the Green. It seeped into his vision, distorting it in a way that made him momentarily lose control from the sheer speed of reaction.

This wasn’t him.

It was something else. Raw power mixed with snippets of clairvoyance.

He sidestepped an overhead swing and slashed Ricktus under the elbow crease, earning a shout of agony. Without hesitation, Alan flipped over Ricktus’ giant pauldron and stabbed him in a back crease.

No patch of Green Saro stopped the blood this time. The sight of it made Alan blink out of his combat trance. He backed away slowly, shocked that he was out of control.

Ricktus’ breathing grew labored as he turned – teeth gritted in rage. “You’re already on your way, aren’t you?” He huffed and stomped the ground, causing a ripple effect that burst outward for an instant before rewinding to cover his body in a sandy shell.

Alan didn’t think in the split second he had. He just envisioned the freezing cold in his mind and snapped his fingers to create a bubble of dull-White Saro that he launched at Ricktus’ body.

Ricktus tried to swing his axe, but the wound made him too slow.

Bwoosh!

The bubble burst over him, making the Beige Saro roll off him like water. The lack of preserving magic and depleting energy caused the warrior to cave onto one knee.

“Dangerous,” he seethed. “I see why Lucius protects you. He wants you for himself.”

Alan shook out of his daze to survey the scene.

Lucius fought against the floating weapons of a Wizard, suffering spear after spear in the back. But he laughed through it all – steam hissing through his body. Pain suppression again, no doubt.

Flint on the other hand, was having a much more difficult time, maintaining three-to-one in a misty show of blizzardy fury. He met sword with staff, shot a freezing bolt into the warrior, and spun to shield himself against seven sand-spears conjured by Hishaya.

One got through, making Alan’s heart drop into his stomach, but Gregorian’s green-enchanted arrows impaling Flint’s shoulder made him more confused than anything. Saro combinations?

Neesha empowered the Archer’s arrows, utilizing her own healing abilities, making Alan breathe with relief.

He dug into his pouch for a coin, realizing this might be a good environment for the Mistborn. Sure, it hated Alan as a betrayer, but it still owed him allegiance. And water seemed to curtail the sand. It had to be done.

“Go, you crazy mutt.” Alan flipped the coin towards Flint’s fight and readied again for Ricktus’ charge.

Fssh!

The Mistborn exploded into action, cursing Alan as it lunged for the sword-warrior trying to impale Flint.

“Foul creatures!” the Mistborn yelled before chomping down on the warrior’s arm. “Almost as foul as my Collector!”

Alan rolled his eyes at that.

The battle raged on for thirty minutes. Alan had no idea he had that kind of stamina in him, but apparently adrenaline pushed his limits beyond normal measures. Durger was out of breath as much as him. It’s like Ricktus was a runaway locomotive, endlessly devoted to his cause.

A benefit to being a Unity group is shared Saro. And Alan noticed a bit too late who was able to conserve and who wasn’t. Savros – the male Wizard – was all grand gestures, giant shields, momentous swords. But it was Hishaya who sprinted to exhaustion. She’d pull, and pull, and pull. But Savros had a reserve deep enough for everyone.

Boof!

Alan was knocked flat on his back. His vision swam from a sand shield crashing into his side, and he swore three versions of the same man strutted up to end him. Ricktus and his sand clones. A dangerous warrior for a fitting end.

Alan’s Red Saro blinked in and out of existence, and Durger’s voice was a mere whisper in his head. Don’t give up, Alan. He gasped, experiencing sharp pain all over his body from depletion.

Neesha was on one knee close by, dark circles rimming her eyes. Greg had rushed into close combat to save Flint, and Lucius stood triumphant with his dark blade stuck through a warrior. He refused to let go as the warrior writhed to break away. Pulsing orange lines slashed through the enemy’s face like he was a cracking egg.

All of it could’ve been figments, because Alan was no longer in his right mind.

Ricktus straightened with his sand clones at his sides, battle hammer reclaimed. “I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want to bring you back alive. Jaeger will have to make do without his precious Herald. Hyndole said it best, I think.” Ricktus lifted his hammer high in the air. “A prize lost is better destroyed than left for the hands of our enemies. Hrrra!”

In a split second, Alan reached toward a pool of lava spawned by his side – activating the last of his Saro to Orange so he could grasp the budding hilt – and whipped out a throwing axe. It spun in one rotation blindingly fast before sticking deep into Ricktus’ armor.

Alan gasped as they locked eyes. Almost immediately, they went white.

Ricktus choked and let go of his hammer in one motion, sand clones dissolving at his feet. He grabbed at the hilt, but it hissed in his grasp. A molten splash splattered over his breastplate.

How deep did it go?

When blood leaked out of Ricktus’ mouth, he had an idea.

“The Herald…” Ricktus gulped. “He is real.”