Triahkel - Circa 1,000 years prior to the Corruption

A curious group of curious gnomes set out on a grand mission to satisfy their curiosity. And wasn't there a saying about curiosity…. Suffice it to say gnomes were an inquisitive lot.

———

“The sand traps so much of the magic down there!”

An accusatory finger pointed at the offending grit. The hand looked decidedly childlike—short digits and a smaller overall size. But it also had a plumpness that came with age, callouses, and a small scar from an accident with an uncut emerald.

“Maybe the earth needs it more. We should confer with it, see if it requires anything.”

“I wonder if—

“What if we stuck a pump enchanted with a [Force] spell down there and brought it all up so the people can access it?”

“Nithroel, Grnulf, Krinink, be at ease, children—”

Nemzo cut off the sudden babble of brainstorming.

“Pfft. I'm not a child. I'm 384 years old!”

Grnulf, one of the aforementioned children, interrupted, pointing a thumb at his chest and proving the eldest gnome correct. Adults didn’t make a habit of flaunting their age to prove points, and Grnulf’s apple cheeks flushed rosy with embarrassment when his father told him such. The apprentices settled down with the gentle admonishment.

“We are not always called to action. Sometimes we must simply bear witness to the world around us.”

The leader of their expedition, Nemzo, imparted his wisdom and then resumed the gruelling journey through the desert. Privately, Grnulf thought his father the most meddlesome gnome of all and thought he would benefit from his own advice.

Nemzo turned to the other adult gnome, Widbi, leaning over to whisper as they walked.

“Pumping it up isn't such a bad idea. We'll talk to the people of Tahir about it when we arrive.”

Apprentice Krinink, who'd suggested that idea, smiled smugly at his two friends when they overheard the adults talking. He promptly lost his smile when Nemzo's staff landed a firm bop on the head.

The gnomes were on the move. If that sounded unusual, well, it shouldn't. Gnomes were always travelling about, collecting stories from across the world, preserving the histories of all species, sniffing out treasures and artifacts like bloodhounds, and doling out helpful advice and wisdom as they went.

Species that had minimal interaction with gnomes had superstitious beliefs that to see a group of gnomes was a good omen. Many who didn't know gnomes thought they had some sort of luck magic.

So, while gnomes walked every continent gathering content for the Grand Archives, this group traversed a land known as Triahkel. Their party comprised two members of the Historical Preservation League (HPL)—the council that oversaw gnomekind—and three young gnome apprentices training to be the future leaders of their species.

At six hundred, they would be considered full-fledged adults. The teen gnomes had a few years to go. And they could only become full members of the HPL if someone retired or…could no longer fulfill the role.

But the young gnomes had plenty of work to do. The League always needed assistants who could do the tedious work. Grnulf’s job for this expedition was to document everything and author the recount of their journey—a tremendous honour and responsibility.

Currently, they were on a preservation mission. Word had reached Gnomeland—technically named Bott Gonrin—of extensive centres of knowledge, unique libraries, and something called the Room of Reliquaries—all places in need of cataloguing.

Of course, this caused quite a stir. The gnomes had to see these wonders! Then came the news that these sites were unprotected—or rather, unprotected as far as gnomish interpretations of such things went.

The stir turned to aghast protests, which quickly resulted in the organization of a team to journey to Triahkel, assess the situation, and ‘fix’ it. For all their longevity, the perception of time did not move slower for most gnomes, and they wasted little of it. They understood how fast the world moved and changed around them, and they longed to be there for all of it.

That was how Grnulf’s father, Nemzo, leader of the gnomes; Widbi, the research specialist of the HPL; and the three foremost apprentices, Krinink, Nithroel, and Grnulf, came to Triahkel.

The gnomes' mission was to identify the sites on their itinerary and assess the value in terms of acquirable knowledge—knowledge being a very broad term in this case. They would then apply applicable wards and safeguards determined by value levels. Produce facsimiles of all significant texts. And record any oral histories they could acquire. If it sounded like an ambitious undertaking, that's because it was.

But even more than that, gnomes were busybodies, so they made frequent stops along the way—at ruins, in towns and cities, magical locations that drew them in. They unlocked buried wells of power. They stopped to exchange stories with every single being in a town. They participated in minor excavations, and sometimes even dungeon dives, to ensure the findings were adequately recorded for posterity—sometimes, there was loot for them, too! They enjoyed a nice chest full of treasure as much as the next person.

But this all meant that one mission could take them decades—nothing to a gnome that could not die of natural causes. But tidings of their arrival in a continent often long preceded arrival in a city across that continent. Thus, if the gnomes disembarked on the eastern shores, the west would be talking about their impending visit for anywhere from two to twenty years, like a prophecy.

A mother trying to distract their upset child might say something like:

“It will be better when the gnomes arrive, my darling.”

She'd coo as she held her crying child tightly.

“But what if…what if they never come?”

“They will, my darling. They will. It has been promised…”

She'd stroke the child's hair soothingly while telling the story of the gnomes and the wonders they worked during their slow journey through the continent. But they were still coming. Every few months, or sometimes years, a new story would surface about something marvellous occurring in a distant city across Triahkel. In each tale, the group of gnomes popped up closer to Eltanu, albeit in a wonky zig-zag route. But they were coming.

“Soon. They will be here soon, my darling. Just you wait.”

The mother would tell the child.

And come they would. But the earth does not shift in a day, and gnomes were curious, often silly, earth elementals with a penchant for treasure and knowledge and an endless amount of time to collect both—though never steal, mind you.

Grnulf imagined the stories told of the gnomes. Their great deeds. He wanted to be a legend among gnomes. Someday, they would write stories of his incredible workings. But for now, it fell on him to simply record them.

He also wanted never to see another grain of sand as long as he lived. They were a week into the trek and still at least another week to go.

“I'd like to formally declare sand as an inferior material post-haste!”

Grnulf unwisely kicked at the sand, flinging it up into the air in complete agreement with Krinink’s statement. He spoke as if the sand could understand his insult. And when an earth elemental commented…the sand could probably comprehend to a degree. The wind promptly blasted the sand back into Grnulf's face.

“Ah, but you speak in haste. Sand is anything but inferior. A single grain might be inconsequential but whenever have you seen one individual grain?”

“Father, what does that even mean?”

“Patience, Grnulf. In time you too shall understand.”

Ugh. Another learn for yourself lesson. Grnulf’s father was big on those. Helps build wisdom or something like that.

“Oooo. You too shall see.”

Krinink nudged Grnulf and moved his hands in an arc, wiggling his fingers. Little green shoots of raw earth magic sparked from his fingertips—tiny magical fireworks.

Grnulf swatted the spirit fingers out of his face.

He looked around at their expedition team. Most wore protective face coverings to block the sand carried by that sylph-blasted wind—all except one.

Nithroel Sylhana—plus many other names; gnomes liked long names—was an interesting gnome. Very in tune with her earth elemental roots. And missing! Grnulf realized she wasn't with them.

“These cursed grains of misery have swallowed Nithroel!”

The others halted and whirled toward Grnulf, who was walking at the back of the group. But Widbi looked past Grnulf. He smiled and pointed.

“She was not eaten by an inanimate object, young Grnulf, she is simply an idiot.”

“You are too old to be so mean, Widbi.”

Nemzo chastised the research specialist.

“Everyone was thinking it.”

Krinink spoke under his breath and earned another bop on the head from Nemzo.

“Be that as it may, it is rude to say.”

But Nemzo chuckled despite himself. It was hard not to laugh a bit at the silly young gnome.

Grnulf looked back and saw Nithroel lying with her ear to the sand, trying to talk to it. They had covered a reasonable distance since she stopped without anyone noticing—if the light blanket of sand beginning to cover her was any indicator. She had meant it when she suggested checking with the earth to see if it needed something.

Wood elves definitely followed the Sylhana line of the original earth elementals. Like The Undine and the various waterkin species descendant from her, the gnomes were many species' ancestors. Dwarves, elves—woodland, and dark—goblins, the list went on.

“Grnulf, Krinink, please go collect Nithroel.”

Nemzo pinched the bridge of his nose and gave his fellow wisest, Widbi, a look of exasperated humour.

———

The gnomes had tomato-red cheeks and noses from sunburns. Krinink, with his already red hair, was a comedic sight. Grnulf could hardly remember what it was like to live without a fine layer of sand covering every part of him, but they had nearly made it. Tahir was finally visible in the distance.

Grnulf and the other young gnomes had devised a game to entertain themselves along the way. It all started when Grnulf began shooting rudimentary lightning spells at the sand to express his frustration with the gritty hellscape.

Nithroel noticed the glass tubes forming and spreading like branches under the sand first. Krinink found this intriguing and began to think of ways it could aid in pulling up the mana. Nithroel began growing flowers out of the tubes, and Grnulf magically mixed alchemical ingredients in some because why not? The wrong, or perhaps right, mix of ingredients caused a fountain of foam to shoot up from the sand.

“Whoa! Let's see who can make the biggest reaction!”

“That may not be…wise, my kin.”

Nithroel hesitated—the Sylhana line even spoke differently from the other gnomes with a slower cadence, ethereal and frequently too formal, though they were still gnomes and lived up to their reputation, and Nithroel was still young—

But Krinink rolled his eyes at Nithroel and started dual-wielding air and fire spells—weak ones since he was an earth elemental—burning through mana as he precisely added the elements to the tubes in hopes of causing combustion. Luckily, gnomes had a vast natural supply of mana.

Grnulf dug out some salt. He had a good feeling about it. It was a staple ingredient in cooking and alchemy, so they had a lot of the mineral—enough that he could experiment a bit.

He heated the salt to a liquid, making it molten. Telekinetically, Grnulf, sweating from the effort of maintaining the spell he recently got the hang of, transported the melted salt to the nearest glass tube.

While Grnulf tinkered with his idea, Nithroel thought filling some branches with water seemed like a good plan. The earth liked water, and this place was dry. One thought led to another, and Nithroel and Grnulf unknowingly targeted the same glass branch. The molten salt made contact with the water in the tube, and a thunderous bang preceded an explosion of sand.

Sand and glass blasted up and out of the ground. Widbi and Grnulf got the worst of the eruption.

One bit of shrapnel caught Widbi on the cheek before, as befits one of the HPL, he raised a thin sandstone wall—a simple enough spell to cast in the desert for someone with the know-how—just in time. Grnulf did not yet have the same spellcasting talents or reflexes. Instead, he threw his hands up to shield his face from the shrapnel. Thus, he suffered the consequences of his actions, blood leaking from multiple shallow cuts on his hands and forearms.

“Grnulf, you should not conduct such experiments in close proximity to settlements. Humans especially disapprove when things go BOOM! Skittish lot, like bolt bunnies.”

Nemzo gave Grnulf a pointed look while Widbi glared at Grnulf with the fire of a grand retribution prank in the works. A slight shiver ran down Grnulf’s spine. Gnomes could get nasty with their payback.

He drew his attention back to his father.

“It was an accident!”

“What if someone got injured, Grnulf?”

Once Krinink spotted Widbi's revenge stare, he tried to stir the proverbial pot of trouble. A reckoning was coming, and Krinink couldn't wait to see a master at work—Krinink was Widbi’s apprentice, afterall.

“That would be quite awful indeed.”

Nithroel dreamily contributed, not truly paying attention. She had found a small scorpion and was now holding it in her palm, level with her eyes. She whispered to it as it waved its stinger threateningly. The rest of the group ignored her.

“I got hurt! Can you heal me, Father?”

Grnulf held out the arms he'd used to cover his face. Showing Nemzo the cuts and scrapes.

“You still haven't mastered a healing spell?”

“…no.”

Grnulf knew that his father already knew the answer. This was not going the way he had hoped. Healing magic was hard work. He may have shirked his practice a wee bit. To be fair, Krinink hadn't mastered the spell either, but he was closer to doing so than Grnulf. Krinink could already heal bruises. Grnulf couldn't even heal a paper cut.

“This is an excellent moment to practice then. We are nearly at Tahir, attempt to heal yourself until we reach the city. If you fail, you will practise healing with Widbi for three additional hours each week, until measurable improvement occurs.”

Great. Another lesson. Grnulf glanced at Widbi, whose face was full of mirth and mischief. Double great.

Krinink opened his mouth to rib Grnulf some more, but Nemzo whirled on him as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

“If you have anything helpful to add Apprentice Krinink, please, kindly, keep it to yourself.”

Krinink opened his mouth again to reply but yelped and took off running toward the city when a minuscule fireball caught onto the beard he had diligently been trying to grow—gnomes who chose to grow beards were very proud of them, for they took a very long time to grow.

“This will set me back another four years, at least, Master Nemzo!”

The apprentice gnome with a smoking beard shouted at Nemzo as he smacked his beard.

“Oh, perhaps this will help, Krinink.”

Nithroel, appearing entirely sincere, thoughtfully waved a hand in a graceful motion, and a bucket's worth of water fell out of the air and doused Krinink. Being able to conjure water in the desert spoke to Nithroel's strong connection to magic.

Nemzo and Widbi doubled over laughing as Krinink rolled around in the sand, fighting to right himself. The young gnome was hard to see under the thick layer of sand clinging to his wet body.

Grnulf noticed Nithroel cover her mouth with the back of her hand and giggle exactly twice before composing herself perfectly. The Sylhana line was full of sly jokesters, preferring pranks of opportunity over a premeditated strike. They were also studious, if unorthodox. Nithroel, a year younger than Grnulf, could already cast a healing spell with ease. She was the best of the three at magic.

“Alright, alright keep moving you lot. I want to reach Tahir by nightfall. I abhor the thought of sleeping in the sand another night.”

Nemzo casually flicked a finger in Krinink’s general direction, and the apprentice was clean and dry in an instant.

The group got back on the road, which wasn't so much a road as slightly more packed-down sand than the rest of the sand surrounding them, but it brought them to their destination nonetheless.

———

Tahir was ancient—one of, if not the oldest, consistently inhabited places on the continent. Its undesirable location, in the dead centre of a vast sweltering desert, made it a bit of an enigma, as travel to Tahir was not frequent outside inhabitants of the Zahida desert. Mana was nigh impossible to maintain across the desert, especially for the primarily human population who didn’t conduct mana as well as, say, a gnome. The journey there was not for the faint of heart. Still, those who dare it might be rewarded with untold wonders and secrets of old.

The city structures were arranged in a crescent shape bordering the oasis. Grnulf could not see how far the city stretched out behind the oasis—being 107 centimetres tall could really hamper the view.

Buildings spread out before him, each with a very distinct square shape, giving the appearance of boxes stacked one upon another. The houses were all made of mud brick, presumably by magic and arduous labour—desert sand was not an optimal building material on its own. And each house a reddish-yellow colour.

There were no doors in the entryways, nor glass or shudders on the windows. Some houses did have curtains hanging at the entrance, providing a semblance of privacy. Canopies shaded windows and doorways, bringing colour to the sandy city. The flax fibre woven cloth was dyed in blue and red, a bit faded from the sun.

The small force that patrolled Tahir saw the group of five approach their city. At first, there was confusion. Was that a group of children that somehow journeyed through the desert? Then one pointed out a tall, ruby-red cone-shaped hat on Nemzo's head, and the confusion turned to excitement mixed with a tinge of apprehension.

A pair of guardsmen met the gnomes at the edge of the oasis. Grnulf’s enchanted inkstick—a recent invention from a gnome scholar who got tired of quills and ink pots, a refillable stick with a specially crafted tip to allow writing—was flying across the page as it documented his first impressions of Tahir. The enchantment allowed the inkstick to copy Grnulf’s thoughts and words.

“Iknara’s warm greetings, friends from afar.”

One of the guards waved in an arcing motion, stopped at the apex, then wiggled his fingers like falling rain as he brought his hand straight down.

“Iknara's cool water is well received, sir guard.

The gnome group had studied proper greetings before embarking, and Nemzo returned the gesture smoothly. A half arc to represent Tahir's crescent-shaped city and the hand sign for rain to honour the goddess's sacrifice—one of the stories the gnomes were here to document.

“What brings you to our sandy city, friends? May the Shield of Tahir escort you to greet the Grand Vizier?”

A titter ran through the gnomes. Grnulf was pleased to see these guards were no fools. They were conscious of the chaos the gnomes could cause running loose in the city.

“Ah, that would be most welcome guardsmen. Perhaps you can point out any interests along the way?”

Nemzo dipped his head gratefully to the two guards. They decided one needed to return to their patrol, so Nadeem, the guard who greeted them, acted as a tour guide.

“Follow me. It is a short walk to the Grand Vizier’s residence. There is not much to view along this path, but I shall point out what there is to see. I'll rejoin you when I am able, Hamad.”

Hamad nodded his agreement and turned to the gnomes.

“May Iknara’s great sacrifice protect you.”

The guard performed the formal waving gesture as he departed.

“And may her bounty never run dry.”

Nemzo completed the traditional farewell, and their group, led by Guardsman Nadeem, headed into the city to greet Grand Vizier Lugal-Zage-bāṣiš. All visitors were required to present themselves before the Grand Vizier unless they had a pass. Travel being limited as it was, unknown faces had to be formally welcomed.

On the way, the guard regaled them with stories of how the Grand Vizier had spent many years living and training with the Scorpion Men, which was how he received his unique name. At birth, he was Lugal-Zage. After earning the respect of the Scorpion Men, they added the addendum bāṣiš, meaning ‘like sand.’

———

The gnomes descended upon Tahir like a sandstorm—a comparison Grnulf was not pleased with his brain for making nor the inkstick for copying down; he'd have to edit it out later.

The gnome expedition was granted a spot near the oasis. They promptly set up shop—a trio of large canvas tents, two for sleeping and one for work, far more luxurious than the quick setup one they’d used through the desert—and got to business.

“Vizier Alif, it is our pleasure to make your acquaintance. With me is my fellow Historical Preservation Society, Master Researcher Widbi, and three of our brightest apprentices, Krinink, Nithroel, and Grnulf.”

Nemzo gave the second-in-charge a simple bow and the standard Tahirian greeting. As the group had now been officially welcomed into Tahir by the Grand Vizier Lugal-Zage-bāṣiš, the full formal greeting was swapped for the waving gesture and a simple introduction.

“Wisdom Nemzo and company, you honour Tahir with your presence. I welcome you to our humble city.”

“It is a marvellous sight, Vizier. We are quite excited to experience it.”

Nemzo gave Vizier Alif a broad, genuine smile that made the other man smile, as well. Such was the way of gnomes that their joy and excitement were infectious.

Grnulf noted the old address the Vizier had used for Nemzo—Wisdom. It was a title gnomes had done away with when they reorganized their leadership structure for a more evenly distributed balance of power. A recent change—only 200 to 300 years ago, so it was no surprise that the Vizier was unaware of the restructuring. Gnomes liked to try out different forms of governance and document their findings, like an experiment. They mixed things up every few hundred years or so—the anarchy phase was particularly…elucidating according to the history books.

“Excuse me. Terribly sorry to interrupt. May I ask, are you a Vizier by Class or occupation alone? How many years have you held your Class—or Subclass I suppose? Also, your level please?”

Grnulf's inkstick gave a slightly impatient wiggle as he broke into the conversation. Remembering to add these details later would be a hassle when he could just ask now.

“It is mine by right of Class, friend. Perhaps we can discuss some of the other questions later.”

Vizier Alif's voice was strained, and he frowned at Grnulf's lack of decorum. It wasn't that asking one's Class was an issue—that strange practice came many years later—it was just that Grnulf had done so in such an uncouth manner.

The young apprentice opened his mouth to reply, but Nemzo made shooing motions at Grnulf from behind his back. Widbi did everyone a favour and towed Grnulf to the back of their small group by his ear.

“My apologies, Vizier. Grnulf is still young, and sometimes, he takes leave of his manners along with his senses. We hope this will be an expedition of growth for these young apprentices.”

By the end, Nemzo was definitely talking to Grnulf and the others. Grnulf saw Krinink close his eyes and dip his head sagely as if he weren't included in the ‘young apprentices’ group.

Nithroel's expression didn't change from her default small smile. Just a quirk on one side of her mouth. It hovered perfectly between a smirk and a dreamy grin. Her relaxed gaze and laid-back attitude made her seem the least gnomelike of the lot. Until her mossy green eyes took on a more cunning light, and the dreamy smile slipped entirely into a smirk. But for now, she maintained her guise as the least troublesome of the group. Grnulf knew better, though. He watched each gnome closely, ready to capture it all.

“Your apologies are well received, Nemzo, may I call you such?”

“Certainly, and we might call you Alif?”

“That would be most welcome. Now, to business, is there anything specific that brings you to Tahir?”

“I learned many tales of Tahir from my father. He visited this land long ago, and I must admit my own personal desire to see the lands and people he spoke of so highly for myself. But in our official capacity as the preservers of history we have come to record the story of goddess Iknara and to visit the Paths. We should like to partake in other activities while we are here, but those reasons are what guide us to Tahir.”

Nemzo waved toward a statue rising from the sparkling pool of water.

“Ah, that is well.”

Alif gazed reverently at the statue with such love and devotion that it immediately piqued the apprentice gnomes' curiosity. Grnulf looked thoughtfully at the statue. What could invoke such emotion?

It was a beautifully sculpted piece—so realistic that it looked like the woman would walk out of the pool at any moment. The stone was dark, not the brilliant white marble used for many sculptures around the world. It was closer to black marble, but that wasn't quite right. The longer Grnulf examined the statue, the more real it appeared.

If Grnulf reached out, he swore he could run his fingers through her long, dark blanket of hair. If he focused his mind and mana—the strands appeared burnished, something more than stone. And as if the statue was caught in the transition from alive to stone—the ‘skin’ had a strange pallor, an almost lifelike vibrancy.

“We might begin with the tale of the goddess Iknara, if that would be agreeable?”

“Certainly. Grnulf, ready your inkstick!”

The young gnomes snickered at Nemzo's phrasing, trying their hardest to hold back any objectionable comments. Grnulf took a moment to compose himself, embarrassed by his father's words.

“Ready, Father.”

And the story Vizier Alif related was thus:

“The Zahida Desert did not always look as it does now. Once, life bloomed. The roads were well travelled, and oases abound. But above all, we were blessed. Iknara, Goddess of Sand and Sacrifice, walked on the very ground we stand upon.

Tahir was a prominent centre of trade in the Zahida region, rivalled only by Rishka, the largest port city on the eastern edge of Triahkel. Thousands would travel to and from Tahir daily to visit the Hundred Arches Market. And when a festival occurred—we hosted hundreds of thousands from across the world! On one occasion, Iknara herself attended a festival held in her honour. The stories tell of crowds so large they stretched 20 kilometres or more beyond the boundaries of Tahir.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

But our story begins at the end.

In a time long before my father's father, the town of Qutara suffered calamity. Upon daybreak, a child went to draw water from a well but found the bucket dry when it returned from below. For fear of angering his parents, the child ran to the town’s oasis, confident he could fill his bucket there. Yet he found a crater where once a refreshing pool had been.

Their source of life had run dry overnight. Those who lived in Qutara waited one day, then two. By the fourth day, the meagre remnants of water were all but gone. The first death occurred that day. And the oasis—it withered in the unforgiving desert climate.

Survival motivated the people of Qutara to leave their homes. As one, they began their trek toward Tahir, yet the drying of the pools continued, spreading through the desert like an unnatural blight. Tahir was known across the Zahida for its prosperity. So, as each oasis grew barren, the towns and cities evacuated, all flocking to Tahir.

This unnatural event greatly concerned the goddess Iknara, who held a deep fondness for the resilient people of the desert. She vowed to save the Zahida, to stop the blight.

Iknara left in search of answers. It took many years for her to return to us, and when she did, she found the desert much changed. Iknara shared suspicions, recorded in our history books, of another god's involvement, but she had returned to Triahkel empty-handed.

Few civilizations remained in the western Zahida. Tahir accepted everyone they could, and the rest continued to Rishka. Our oasis held on longer than most, an anomaly attributed to the high concentration of ambient mana in Tahir at that time. But that mana did not halt the blight, only delayed it.

When the oasis of Tahir began shrinking, Iknara grew desperate; even a goddess did not have all the answers. Our people despaired, sure our end was upon us.

And the great goddess Iknara—she wept. For her people. The lands. She wept such that the oasis began to fill. The Goddess of Sands and Sacrifice performed a great ritual, born from a deep love for the people she saw as hers—desert dwellers.

There she remains, forever frozen in the Great Sacrifice of Tears. To this day, she fulfills her vow to save the Zahida in the only way she could.”

For most of his story, Alif stared reverently at the statue in the water, only glancing at the gnomes once or twice as if he had forgotten he had an audience.

“Hold on. You're saying that is the goddess in the flesh? Er…stone? What is she exactly?”

“Indeed, friend Grnulf. Our great saviour and protector always watches over us, ensuring we never know great thirst like the many who perished. She guards the true heart of our city. We believe she exists in a type of half-petrified state.”

Vizier Alif's miffed tone was lost on Grnulf as his mind flashed back to the magic trapped under the sand, but his inkstick, and thus his thoughts, were flying faster than he could process them. He refused to miss a word of this story, for that was their purpose here. Listen and record, be present but not interf—well, interfere only slightly. They were gnomes, afterall.

“Thank you for sharing Iknara’s tale with us, Alif. We are honoured to preserve and share the history of the enduring people of the Zahida Desert.”

Nemzo gave the Vizier a slight bow of his head in thanks.

“It is our privilege to spread the story that all may know of the great goddess Iknara.”

“Might I send Krinink and Grnulf to follow up with you later about further details?”

Nemzo’s request prompted Alif to eye Grnulf, the relatively rude young gnome, with thinly veiled apprehension. Nemzo hurried to reassure the Vizier.

“I will hold a lesson on tact first. They will be on their best behaviour. I swear it.”

“A strange promise for a gnome to make.”

Nithroel whispered to her scorpion tag along a bit too loudly. The Vizier’s increased sweating had nothing to do with the heat.

———

From a bit of a remove, the city's streets looked like packed sand. Stomped down over thousands of years—sandstone, lovely and glittering in the bright, unimpeded sunlight. Only when you got closer, taking your first steps onto the fiery orange roads, did you notice the carvings in the sandstone beneath your very feet.

“Look closely, Apprentice Krinink. This is the Path to Memory. These streets are paved with the most famous stories of those who have walked it, preserved and displayed for all to read at their leisure. Important moments of history, things that shaped these people—tales of great heroics, devastating loss, wars that all should learn from, adventure and discovery.”

Widbi and Krinink, with the occasional help from Vizier Alif, gradually made their way down street after street. Widbi lectured the entire time.

“Take note, Krinink. This is the wonder of Tahir. Once, before the sands consumed the towns and cities connecting Tahir to the rest of Triahkel, people from across the continent would travel to see these streets. The city used to employ story guides, who would escort tourist groups down the Paths while sharing the stories with a flair befitting the most skilled storytellers.”

“How do you know all this, Master Widbi?”

“My Master told me these things when I was an apprentice. He witnessed these streets in their infancy. That expedition made note of the Path to Memory, but there was not yet enough of the roads complete to properly research and document. Now we return to carry out the job set for us many years ago.”

But it was a slow process. Widbi would study the text, pointing things out to Krinink—like a word that translated to multiple meanings, which meant they would have to conduct further research and consult different people throughout the city. Krinink was responsible for documenting whatever Widbi told him to. Later, when they returned to Gnomeland, his notes would be given to Grnulf, who would then send them to another scholar for peer review. Any necessary edits would take place and it would then be added to the recount of their expedition through Triahkel. A separate collection of the stories would also be produced and added to the Grand Archives.

"Master Widbi, why are those streets in another language?"

Krinink had noticed some side streets written differently from the others. Thus far, everything had been in a smooth, flowing language—the script a work of art in and of itself. However, the lanes perpendicular to where they were working were written in a separate language. The letters were in complete contrast to the elegant text on the other roads. This language looked harsh with all its hard lines and sharp angles.

"Those are the stories of the Scorpion Men of Tahir. They once lived in vast clans on the periphery of this city until the Qhul began to resurface, and duty called them away to the mountains that skirt the Zahida desert. We will learn more once we reach those streets. Now focus on the task at hand."

Widbi was a no-nonsense gnome when going about his work, which meant the days were dull for Krinink. Not that he didn't enjoy their research; he was merely young—relatively speaking. After the first, oh, 8 hours straight of staring at the sparkling orange text—blending in so well with the sandstone it was carved into—that he had to squint to read any of it. Then, he got a headache from straining his eyes; you might say he was ready for a day off after the first two months of headaches.

To make matters worse, Widbi was an early riser. They were back out on the streets as soon as the sun was up. And Krinink would get a thwack if he grumbled too loudly.

They had been at work for 4 hours, and the sun was high in the sky now. Widbi had invested in a hat with a brim wider than he was tall, something like a farmer would wear with a flat top and made of a tightly woven straw-like fibre. Krinink expected his master to lose his balance and topple over at any moment, but he never even teetered—he did purposefully turn his head to smack Krinink in the face with the brim a few times, though.

Widbi bent over a section of text with a magnifying glass. The shade provided by the hat actually helped the gnomes make out the words easier.

"How do the stories not wear away over time, with so many people walking on them, Master Widbi?"

Krinink had marvelled more than once at the scratch-resistant surface. When he rubbed some sandy grit on it, it didn't even scuff.

"They have been sealed with a cleverly crafted alchemical compound, it seems—I should like to see if they have the formula on hand. Likely something made of liquified quartz crystal—”

Widi rapped on the hard surface as if testing it, then continued.

“It would take a true force of destruction to damage these roads. Now, note this variation in the diacritical mark. See how it looks like the letter ta, but has the additional glyph?"

Krinink didn’t know what a diacritical mark was, but he wouldn't admit that to Widbi. Chances were Widbi had told him at some point, and Krinink hadn't been paying attention. He'd look it up later.

"Could you do it?"

"Do what, Apprentice Krinink?"

Widbi’s focus was dialled in on the writing.

"Damage the road?"

Each member of the HPL was powerful, not omnipotent, but capable of extraordinary earth magic and a fair amount of the basic [Mage] magic. But no one could really say how powerful they were; they were very cagey on the subject. Krinink was endlessly curious and always looking for ways to ferret out more information about it.

Widbi glanced at Krinink briefly, only considering the question for a moment.

"Hm. Yes, probably. Now focus. There is much we can draw from these stories: new perspectives, a deeper understanding of the culture that shaped the inhabitants of the Zahida region. Once, Tahir was described to me as a huge city, the commercial hub of the desert. It seems to have declined much since then, but this wonder remains.”

———

The gnomes got to know Tahir and its people in the following weeks and months. Even they knew not every story needed documenting, but just talking with a gnome meant your name would be remembered for as long as their species endured. Though their written tradition was strong, they loved good oral storytelling and had superb memories.

When the citizens' awe and apprehension wore off, the gnomes also learned that Tahirians could give just as good as they got.

Grnulf was in a meeting with a tough group. He’d sought them out as his father had wished. Less chance of Grnulf causing offence this way, or so Nemzo said.

He had found his quarry after getting lost many times. And now—

“Please, I just want to talk! Oh shi—[Simple Earthen Barrier].”

Grnulf took cover behind a very basic shield spell he'd been studying with Krinink as an equally basic hail of sand pellets was launched from the battlements. The sand may have dampened the access to magic in the desert, but it didn't block the flow entirely. And this particular spell tapped into his earth magic, drawing on the sandy soil below.

You may have felt bad for the 107-centimetre-tall gnome, facing down this new enemy alone. But his opponents were all of a similar height, though there was a disparity in numbers.

More pellets fell around him, and his shield flickered. But still, Grnulf refrained from returning fire.

“This is quite unnecessary! I mean you no harm!”

His pleas fell on merciless ears. The forces on the wall would not yield.

He doubled his shield, trying to push in further. His mana supply was draining faster than usual due to the reduced magic available and the effort of maintaining two shields against constant assault.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he considered accepting defeat and retreating. But then he heard the laughing, the sounds of overconfidence—the voices of people who thought victory was guaranteed. Did he just see two people high-five?

“This is becoming irksome. I advise you all to cease fire.”

It would be his only warning. In reply, the enemy switched from sand pellets to sand shards! Small, highly compact spikes of sand pelted the shield. It was still a weak spell. The infinitesimal mana cost was the only reason they could maintain their assault this long. The danger came from the sheer number of projectiles they could send.

“Surrender or perish!”

Someone on the wall called down.

Perish? That was going too far.

His final shield began failing as he cast a spell to end this all.

[Earthquake of the Gentle Giant], a spell fit for gnomes and one of the few intermediate ones Grnulf could cast.

The walls of the huge magically reinforced sand palace gently shook, and the attack faltered. The combatants toppled over, and Grnulf pressed the advantage, charging through the sandy archway as the troops tried to rally. But it was too late.

As he pointed at each offender, Grnulf’s finger sparked dangerously—primarily for effect. They glared back defiantly but didn't move.

One minute passed, then two—sheer stubbornness kept them from blinking for an impossibly long time. But his opponent didn't have the same force of will as Grnulf.

“Aww. Very well, we submit.”

Grnulf lowered the threatening finger as their leader stepped forward. A boy of about 125 years if Grnulf had to guess—or ten if you asked a non-immortal. He wasn't very good at guestimating age; the maturity rate across species varied greatly.

“Wise. I wouldn't want to resort to extreme measures.”

“Extreme measures! You almost brought the whole playground down!”

A girl protested from her spot on the ground. She grabbed a small handful of sand and tossed it with a frustrated huff.

“And you tried to kill me with sand shards!”

“Nuh uh!”

The little girl petulantly crossed her arms.

“Maszi, shut up!”

The boy took another step forward, drawing attention back to him.

“Why have you come?”

These kids were something else. Grnulf was trying to keep his cool.

“My duty is to record the words and wonder of Tahir's youth.”

Grnulf forced the words out, though they sounded less than pleasant.

“If you want to talk you have to pass a challenge first.”

The boy smirked, but Grnulf's interest was piqued, his competitive spirit already rising.

“What sort of challenge?”

“It's easy.”

Providing reassurance that a task was easy definitely meant it was hard.

“Let's see it then.”

“This way.”

The boy waved Grnulf to follow and headed deeper into the sand palace. To gnomes and children, the playground was huge, nothing compared to an actual castle. But it still had a surrounding wall, multiple rooms inside the palace, and a few slides coming down from the second floor.

The young boy held court in what could only be described as a throne room, complete with a rundown wooden stool for a throne. The other children filed into the room like proper courtiers as the leader of the ruffians marched Grnulf to the front.

“Let us make this quick.”

“Very well, what is the challenge?”

“Simple. Balance a glass of liquid on the back of each hand. If you don't drop either one we’ll talk with you. I'll even help place them on your hands, you just have to keep them up.”

Grnulf looked at the boy suspiciously as he held out a hand to shake. It did sound pretty straightforward, but they were kids, so maybe this was the best they could come up with. Grnulf shook the outstretched hand and held his arms out, palms facing down.

The boy gestured to the side, and a younger child came running up with a potion bottle in each hand.

“Whoa, wait, what's that?”

Grnulf started to back up.

“You agreed. This is the liquid we have on hand. Tahir does not waste water for fun and games.”

The last part was said quite seriously, and Grnulf took it at face value. It made complete sense for a desert city to avoid water waste, especially after Iknara, so he stood still.

The boy delicately placed a wide-mouth jar on top of each hand.

“And how long must I balance these?”

“Mmm. Let's say…three minutes.”

Grnulf didn't like the way he said that. The boy sounded too smug.

“Three minutes should be doable.”

That's when he noticed the silence around him. Children were loud. Even when they thought they were quiet, they were loud. And a group of them? At least one would be making noise. But as Grnulf looked around him, he realized everyone was gone except the leader.

A giant grin spread across the boy's face—the smile of a mischief-maker eclipsing one of the best in the business.

“See you around, Gnome.”

The boy took off, leaving Grnulf alone in the sand palace, fuming mad while balancing potions on his hands.

He maneuvered ever so carefully so that he could read the labels. One glass jar was full of Tickle Elixir, and the other, An Itch to Scratch. Prank potions—not something he'd expect a pack of children to be carrying around in Tahir—were a favourite for tricksters.

“Oh…Ooooh. Of course. I see the trick here.”

Grnulf spoke to himself as he pondered his predicament. He would only move once the three minutes were up, and he'd technically won the challenge. But then he'd have a choice to make.

Did he want to feel as though he were being tickled for the next hour or as if his whole body had an unscratchable itch? It was a good prank, Grnulf had to admit, and his arms were already getting tired after the first minute.

———

A gnome with a mighty frown, laughing hysterically, stomped back to camp.

Nithroel, Nemzo, and Widbi came out to investigate the ruckus and found Grnulf clutching his stomach, raving.

“Hel—haha—p!”

Grnulf was kneeling in the sand, holding his stomach, and laughing uncontrollably between shouting words no young gnome should be using.

Nemzo grew tufts of cotton in Nithroel's ears and considered growing some in his own ears, too.

“Grnulf, watch your language! What happened, did you collect the children's stories?”

“Ha—I tried. HAH. But—ha haha—attacked.”

“What was that? You were attacked? By whom?”

“It's—HA—too much! Hah ha—Father! Hahahelp!

Grnulf tried to answer. He really did. But he couldn't even string together a simple sentence. Nemzo found it a bit difficult to understand his son's words and weighed the merits of relieving Grnulf of the potion's effects. He raised his staff to put Grnulf out of his misery when Widbi placed a gentle hand on the staff.

Nemzo glanced at Widbi and saw the twinkle of payback in his eyes. This had been planned. But not by the children alone.

———

The gnomes had fulfilled their missions in Tahir. They had stirred up a bit of ruckus amongst themselves and the Tahirians. Their chests were already filling with new stories, copied tomes, and even a few gifts granted by the Grand Vizier.

Only one task remained for them. They had yet to bestow their own gift upon Tahir. The gnomes had taken much, even if freely shared. And, as was customary, they had to give back to such welcoming hosts.

The gnomes had met in duos, trios, quartets, and quintets—which really just meant the whole group met. They had late-night debates, reviewed what they had learned, and devised the best gift they could give Tahir. And what they came up with was truly incredible.

“What if we pick the wrong ones?”

Krinink's eyes darted to the others nervously. This was their first time on an expedition of this scale. They had never contributed to a magical working this large, and each apprentice felt the pressure of their role like a physical weight. It wouldn’t be an easy task either, with the magic dampened as it was.

“The HPL has already narrowed the list down for us. I don’t think we can pick wrong, per se. This is a lesson, maybe even a test, as much as an honour. We must interpret the histories. What stories were the Tahirians most passionate about sharing? Which ones shaped their current society and beliefs most? We must review our notes and interpret history, as is our calling.”

Grnulf showed a rare moment of insight. He was learning from his father, though sometimes he didn’t act like it.

The apprentices’ responsibility was to pick the stories the gnomes would enhance. They could only choose a few due to the suppressed magic. Krinink, Nithroel, and Grnulf spent many late nights researching and debating before settling on five tales.

———

The gnomes presented their gift the day before they were set to leave Tahir.

A large group, much of the city and nearly all of its officials turned out for the unveiling. What had these gnomes been up to? The audience followed the gnomes as they walked down Path after Path to Memory.

They turned left onto a narrow street, practically an alley, yet just like all the other streets, this one had roads carved with stories. The people crowded into the cramped space, all vying for a spot to see best.

Grnulf noticed the leader of the sand palace kids perched on the shoulders of a man bearing a striking resemblance. They had the same burnt umber hair, brown eyes, and mirroring eager expressions. When the boy met his eyes, Grnulf pointed two fingers at his eyes and then pointed them back at the boy, glaring.

I'm watching you, you little sh—

“Grnulf. Grnulf it's time.”

Krinink nudged Grnulf forward—interrupting the silent threat—and the apprentices stood behind Nemzo and Widbi.

Nemzo cleared his throat, and heads craned in the crowd, trying to see the little gnome. Kids came weaving through the legs of the adults, snagging front-row seats.

“Grand Vizier Lugal-Zage-bāṣiš, Vizier Alif, citizens of Tahir. We thank you for welcoming us into your city these last few months and indulging our curiosity. We shall compile the history of Tahir as best we can and ensure your story is not lost. Ensure the world knows of Goddess Iknara!”

A large portion of the crowd actually clapped at that. Tahirians were proud of their Goddess, rightly so.

“Alas, on the eve of our departure, we must also ensure Tahir never forgets its own roots. History should not only bring enlightenment, but wonder, inquiry. It is a grand adventure into the past. We hope to bring some of it to life for the people of Tahir. Viziers, children, please come forward, about ten of you.”

———

Maszi had squeezed her way to the front with the other kids. But she was a bit hesitant to approach after the battle of the sand palace. What if this was revenge? The gnomes wouldn't include the Grand Vizier and Vizier Alif in a prank…would they?

Her friend, Hatima, linked arms with her, pulling Maszi forward, ignoring Maszi's whispered warnings.

The group called up by Nemzo walked to the space the gnome had indicated.

Hatima looked back at Maszi, but then she suddenly stopped, and her face went blank. And that was scary. Maszi started backing up, went to turn, and froze.

And there was Nithroel, standing beside her. Calm, easygoing, Nithroel. She smiled serenely and held out a hand not much larger than Maszi’s.

It was still scary. But the gnome had a soothing aura about her.

“Will it hurt?”

“The only place these paths might hurt is in our hearts. And that would only be from the beauty and heartache of the tale. This one is pleasant. Please, let me show you.”

The little girl slowly reached out and grasped Nithroel's outstretched hand. Together, they took a step forward, and the world around Maszi fell away.

Her heart raced, and for a moment, she was sure the gnomes had tricked her. But the warmth of a hand holding hers registered, and Maszi saw Nithroel, still wearing that easy smile, standing beside her. That gave the girl the courage to look around, and her jaw dropped wide open as she did.

“What happened?”

Maszi was no longer surrounded by the familiar box-like buildings that made up Tahir, nor was the Path to Memory there. Instead, she stood on the edge of an oasis in a place she did not recognize. The sand was the same orange-red colour she was used to, but the city Maszi stood outside was not Tahir.

A little girl, close to Maszi's age of eight, knelt on the far side of the oasis, dreamily gliding her hand through the water.

Maszi made to walk toward the girl, but when she took a step, she didn't move. She felt her foot rise; she could even feel herself moving through space, but the view around her never changed.

"Why can't I move?"

"You can. If you take a few steps the illusion will fall away, but I very much encourage you to watch. This young girl inspired our gift."

Maszi looked around skeptically but nodded her head, a determined expression on her face. She forgot her hesitation when she noticed the first shimmering shape.

The girl, kneeling by the water's edge, swished her hand faster as if she had decided to focus on the action. It wasn't quick enough to make the water splash, but if you listened quietly, you could hear the gentle ripple of her hand gliding through the water.

Then, a fish leapt from the water. Maszi watched the beautiful, shimmering fish until a bird, also shimmering, swooped out of the sky. Then she was watching a bird instead. More shapes appeared, lighting the water like a thousand glittering gems—rainbows zipping through the clear pool. The birds looping and diving in the sky were equally hypnotic, their colourful, glimmering wings dancing through the air.

"Is that girl doing this?"

Maszi didn't know where to focus her attention. There were too many animals to watch only one.

"Yes. She was incredible."

"Was?"

"We are experiencing history in a more immersive way."

"This is...this is the Path to Memory?"

Maszi put the pieces together. Nithroel called this an illusion. The gnomes had brought the stories to life!

"Well done, figuring that out so quickly. We can discuss it more after we watch if you'd like?"

Nithroel quietly offered while also hinting at Maszi to stop talking and watch. A hard task for kids sometimes.

The little girl with the magical fish and birds reached out as the spectral fish kissed her fingertips. The birds flew in circles around her, their wings creating prismatic afterimages in the air. She twirled, trying to follow the colourful streaks.

"Samareh! Samareh, where are you?"

An older girl walked purposefully toward the oasis, calling.

The little girl, Samareh, sighed heavily.

"I knew I'd find you here. Come on, we have chores to finish."

The other girl addressed Samareh authoritatively. It reminded Maszi of how her older brother spoke as if he could boss her around just because he was a few years older. Maszi felt for Samareh; being the younger sibling was tough.

"But, Sayeh I'm practising!"

Samareh stomped in protest, turning her back on her sister.

"No, you're playing. Come, now!"

The older sister quickly grew impatient and went to grab Samareh's arm.

"Don't grab me, Sayeh!"

As Samareh yanked her arm from Sayeh's grasp, the birds dove, the fishes jumped, and all of them went straight for the older girl.

Samareh's sister fled, the magical fish swimming over the sand, the birds flying low in the sky, all chasing after her. She had no chance of outrunning the shimmering creatures, and when they reached her—

Sayeh disappeared from view as the fantastical animals exploded in a shower of colour, raining down around her.

“Oh!”

Maszi gasped and grasped Nithroel's hand again.

When the firework-like effect ended, Samareh's sister looked like a rainbow of pigment had been tossed all over her. Her face and clothes were covered in every colour imaginable.

A visible heat haze radiated off Sayeh, her anger palpable, and she let out an enraged screech.

“Stop using your weird [Dreamer] Skills on me! I'm telling Mother!”

Samareh took one look at her sister's expression and booked it down the street.

The illusion faded to black as Sayeh chased after her sister. For an unsettling moment, there was nothingness before resuming at a new moment in Samareh's life.

“What's a [Dreamer], Miss Gnome?”

“You may call me Nithroel. [Dreamer] was a very special Class for a very special girl. One whose imagination was so wild, so mighty, she manifested it.”

“She whated it?”

Maszi's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She wished she knew the Paths better. It would make more sense that way.

“She could turn the things she imagined, ideas she dreamed up in her head, into reality.”

Maszi thought about this very hard. Then, she considered all the things she could imagine in her head. The longer she thought, the wider her eyes got.

“How is that possible?”

She had to know! Maszi would take the [Dreamer] Class and imagine endless desserts to fill her tummy with all day long. How much of the delicious semolina cake soaked in the orange blossom simple syrup—only served on special occasions—could she eat? Maszi wasn’t sure, but she would love to find out.

Nithroel gave a nonchalant shrug that almost looked like slow motion, and her tiny smile only added to the effect. She reached up and stroked the chitin of a small scorpion riding on her shoulder.

“Samareh was an outlier. An anomaly. A rare class at a rare age. Now let us watch.”

This time, Samareh was older, around 16, according to Maszi's best guess. And their setting was much more familiar—

“We're in Tahir!”

Maszi would recognize the crescent-shaped city of sand anywhere. Noticeably, the sacrifice of Goddess Iknara was missing from the oasis.

“Wait. Where does the water come from if Iknara isn't crying?”

“A story for a different Path. Observe, Maszi.”

Maszi side-eyed the gnome she had never told her name to. Nithroel winked at her.

They followed Samareh until she stopped in an enormous open space deep within the city. Maszi couldn't figure out where, though. She'd never seen a big empty area like this, and she had run all over Tahir playing games with her friends.

In the illusion, kids came pouring into the clearing. Samareh’s face was full of excitement, reflected in the expressions of the many children crowding her. There had to be at least 40 kids jumping up and down, running around Samareh, but they turned their attention from her the second the first shimmering bird was spotted gliding through the air.

These were a more refined version of the ones Maszi had witnessed from the younger Samareh. The rainbow animals moved with practised agility, dodging the kids with graceful maneuvering.

Children chased wildly after the spectral animals, and when they caught them, they would clap their hands as hard as they could, and the animal would burst into a shower of colours that covered the child in a fine layer of pigments. Maszi desperately wanted to join in the fun.

“Can we do this again tomorrow? Please, Miss Samareh!”

A young boy, covered in green and pink powders, tugged Samareh's sleeve, pleading with her.

“I don't know about tomorrow. My mother has received many complaints about children coming home messy. We have recently sought refuge in Tahir, I am to make a good impression.”

“Awww.”

A chorus of kids expressed their dismay, and Maszi found herself joining in before remembering it was an illusion.

Only a few shimmering fish and birds remained, and many of the kids were exhausted—tired from chasing the animals.

Maszi wondered if this was the end of the story. It was a pleasant one, just as Nithroel had claimed, but she couldn't help but think it lacked something. Why would it be a Path? To be honest, it didn't seem Path-worthy. Really cool, but something was missing.

Then, a bell rang through the city. Maszi looked up at the same time as Samareh. A [Flare] spell, flashing a bright red, hung high in the sky. When it disappeared, two more followed in quick succession.

It was an emergency alert all Tahirians were familiar with. This one indicated a sandstorm—coming in fast. Shelter wherever you can, immediately.

Increased winds rapidly followed the alarm, so fierce the youngest children struggled to stand upright. So strong Maszi swore she could feel it as though the Sylph herself was blowing it from her very lungs.

Maszi felt the strum of fear run through her. Tahir still used the same emergency codes. It was a lesson parents taught their children from a very early age—how to respond to common natural disasters that plagued the region appropriately.

She clung to Nithroel's arm and regretted thinking the story lacked something. It had been great before. Why couldn't it have ended there?

There was no way all the kids, especially the ones struggling to walk, would make it to shelter in time.

“It's coming!”

The child's shout of fear could barely be heard over the storm. The wall of sand rolled through the city, getting closer. The children crowded together, huddling on the ground. The wind drowned out the sounds of their crying.

Samareh shut her eyes. But—she did not look afraid. Oh, her legs shook. But her face shone with determination.

She didn't huddle with the children. Samareh stood, facing the storm, bracing against the winds.

Maszi clung to Nithroel so hard the gnome was losing circulation in her arm. She watched the illusion with one eye squeezed shut as if that would make it only half as bad.

As the first grains of deadly sand blew into the clearing, something…changed.

“[Grand Manifestation].”

Samareh muttered a Skill, a grand skill—the strongest tier—and the sand stopped its progress. The storm didn't end, but each grain that entered the open space was redirected. They began gathering and shifting, and as each new speckle of sand blasted into the area, something formed.

A shape rose from the ground. Each and every piece of sand adding to the structure, making it stronger and taller. A fortress against the storm. The safest place a child could imagine when facing down a deadly sandstorm.

Maszi stopped clinging to Nithroel, her arms going limp as she watched, enraptured. Both eyes opened wide now. This was a twist Maszi had not expected.

Samareh stood down the storm as she imagined a safe haven built of hardened sand, so superior to regular sand that sandstorms could not damage it—a sand palace. As she imagined it, her dream became reality.

The playground Maszi spent hours playing at with all her friends—it hadn't been meant as a playground at all. But it had always been a place for children.

As the last grains of the palace fell into position, the Skill ended, and the storm resumed its normal behaviour, ripping through the open space. The high speeds would have killed many of the children, but the fortress didn't falter. The storm parted around the palace.

When the danger passed, and she knew each child was safe, Samareh fainted, and the Path ended.

Maszi was rooted in place. She looked down the road, which she knew led to the playground. Then she looked behind her and shuddered as she pictured a sandstorm of that size blowing in. Finally, she looked at Nithroel with that tranquil smile that never seemed to leave her face—the gnome's green eyes twinkled merrily. And Maszi—she exploded.

“She's a hero! How have I never heard of Samareh before? What happened to Sayeh—nevermind she was a turd. Was Samareh okay? And what was that Skill? She wasn't…dead, was she?”

“No, she merely fainted from exhaustion. The Skill she used was not meant for a body so young. It required a fair amount of mana as well as energy…erm stamina might be a better term for it? The cost was more than she had within her. She spent some time in recovery afterwards. And was lauded as a great hero of children and Tahir, though parents still complained about their children coming home covered in coloured powder that got everywhere. The story is much more complete if you read the Path. We could only recreate so much of the story and each illusion was very taxing.”

“It was amazing, Miss Nithroel. Thank you.”

Maszi parted ways with Nithroel and wandered the streets, pondering her new idol. She was also vaguely looking for her parents, but Samareh took up most of her attention.

Occasionally, she'd pass someone with the sheen of wonder in their eyes. One street she peered down had people hugging each other and crying, seeking comfort from one another. Maszi had no desire to visit that Path anytime soon; besides, she had a new mission. She was determined to learn her letters even better so she could read all of Samareh's story. Could she get a [Dreamer] Class? Maybe she'd read about that, too.

In that way, the gnomes’ gift did precisely what it was meant to do. The illusions sparked curiosity and questions, motivating people to learn more and study history. Tahir’s modest library experienced a boom in visitors as the gnomes departed the city.