The next day, they met up with the caravan inside the rustic city of Portsmouth, the rustic juncture of the city offering Joran some relief from the city life he had been accustomed to. However, Joran quickly realized the stark contrast between the Borderlands and the Metropolis as they made their way from the car Drekor drove them in, seeing the apparent group tending to dozens of horses Joran could now see, ornate red and orange wooden wagons lined up in neat files towards the direction of the gate out into Inven.

A stout, older woman, walked up to Drekor offering a strong handshake, “I assume you’re the Crown Prince and Joker?”

Drekor almost wobbled in the handshake as he composed himself after clearing his throat, “Y-yes. Are you Rhia?”

Rhia nodded, “Yep, you two are lucky there was any spots left.”

Joran blurted out, curious, “There’s others also coming?”

Rhia glanced over at Joran, unsure of how serious he was being, “… Not from the cities, no. I meant the produce we had organized left room for a few extra bodies. Usually we’re overflowing,” She turned to point at the wooden wagon all the way up in the front, “You two will be up there, in mine. We leave soon.”

Joran blushed as he cleared his throat, shaking his head as Rhia turned away to secure the load on her wagon. Joran glanced at the rest of the group. He realized that they had completely different wear as well. He had long since gotten used to suits and clothes of similar attire, the armor that the military wore being plates and straps over the robed garments that they otherwise only used in practice spars.

But not one of the people in the caravan were wearing anything other than sandy orange robes of different fits on them. He was suddenly reminded of the Central Districts. And then of Eliza.

Drekor patted him on the back, interrupting his thoughts with a smile, “You ready to go?”

“Erm, yeah. How long will it take?” Joran rubbed the back of his head, realizing he had never actually asked that question.

Drekor thought for a moment, “Well if we were using a car, it’d take maybe two days. So maybe four or five with them?”

Joran was taken aback by the estimate, to which Drekor laughed heartily, “If the two regions were so close to each other, I don’t think they’d be so different from each other. Or maybe they would be.”

With that, the duo settled into their spots that Rhia pointed out to them specifically, in a corner of the wagon that was somewhat comfortable. Until they began to move, that is.

The wagon creaked, freaking Joran out for a second until they began to fully move. Feeling the racket smooth out with momentum, he glanced over the back of the wagon, watching as the caravan tailed Rhia’s in two columns on the road. The two that were directly behind them had wheat, hay, and grain in one, various livestock in the other, such as chicken. Joran could piece the picture together and figured that the columns were one and the other. He turned to look around the forest next.

Joran had seen some of it after the Soma Lum, but he couldn’t get over the scorched earth, the charred remains of trees each time he did. A beautiful, lush forest that was green and vibrant was now only a phantom wreckage. Just the ash that tinged the air even now, caused Joran to grow pensive with each turn of his head.

Drekor looked around as well, sighing in lament, “To think this was once a rather beautiful forest.”

“It was calming to me when we had left to the Central Districts.”

Drekor looked over, eyeing his friend before asking, “Calming how?”

Joran chuckled and looked up to the midday sky, which was a deep blue with few clouds, “I didn’t think there was anything worth living for after the fire. I mean, my parents were dead, and the ‘family’ I was sent to for the few months before going to the Central Districts didn’t care for me. Not that I cared about them either. But this forest,” He gestured around them, as if he could almost still see the greenery, and he smiled distantly, “This forest’s soothing beauty. The rolling plains beyond them. They offered solace in their peace.”

Drekor thought to himself, staring into space, “… It’s already been nearly a year since the Exam. I still can’t believe you managed to cram as much information as you did in those 6 months with Teacher Hando...”

Joan harumphed, puffing his chest out, “It’s a mixture of how exceptional of a student and how good Hando is at teaching.... and mostly being patient with me.”

Drekor tilted his head, frowning skeptically, “I think it was all patience for him.”

“And yet look at how fast I learned the Sovereign Realm Arts! It’s barely been 4 months!”

They hit a hard bump, causing Joran to yelp in surprise. Rhia offered an empty apology, and Drekor could only laugh as they made their way through the scarred region. They eventually reached the plains that Joran only had ever seen twice. Now well past the forest, the sun had descended down to the horizon, and the caravan wordlessly broke the uniformed columns, setting up for the night away from the road. Out in the rolling grass, Joran took a deep breath as him and Drekor rolled out their bedrolls, the stars of the night sky now in full view. The rest of the caravan had taken spots that were at measured distances away from each other, each wagon’s riders bunking together in their respective spots.

Laying back, Joran could only sigh as he let the sight of the stars and the horizons of dark fields drown out his thoughts. He shuffled himself to look across the campfire, where Rhia was laying down for the night as well, her back turned away from the fire.

“How old are you?”

Rhia’s hard eyes scrunched up in wariness as she turned around, “… That’s not something you typically ask for the second conversation of the day.”

Drekor laughed and corrected Joran, “He wants to know what the Borderlands are like. If you’re older, you would have more experience and say on that, is why he asks.”

Joran stifled his rebuke as he shamefully looked back at Rhia, “I apologize for asking such an inappropriate question.”

Rhia scoffed in amusement, “Well, if it’s that, I don’t take much offense. But the night is waxing on. I will tell you about the Borderlands come tomorrow.”

Joran agreed as they hunkered down for the night, his eyes closing to the blanket of constellations as he descended into sleep.

…

Joran was confused as he found himself sitting down in a field, maybe the same he had been in just before. Or maybe not.

As he looked around, there was no way he could know for sure, aside from the fact that he was completely alone. The starlight in the sky bristled, offering him hardly any vision to navigate his surroundings, so he could only relax and continue stargazing.

“So this is where you went,” a calm, soothing voice emanated from behind him, as he felt his face go cold.

Turning to his side, he could see that familiar feminine face adorned with reddish scales looking up at the stars as well. The Siren.

Joran made no effort to move away as he scoffed, “Why didn’t you finish the Invasion? You easily could have with the chaos the Metropolis was in for the last few weeks.”

She turned and gave a sigh, that Joran could almost swear was laced with regret, “Because I’m not awake. I’m hardly even alive, no thanks to you, Joran.”

Hearing his name be spoken, he shook his head, “I tried to make sure you were dead.”

“So why not do it again? Right now?”

Joran looked back, realizing that he could have, but seeing that she was gone, he laughed coarsely, “Right, because you would have put yourself in that position again.”

Hearing her voice behind him, he shuddered, “I’m in a deep sleep, which has left the Beasts in disarray. Some of them have opted to wait until I return, while others decided to take the war on their own.”

Joran frowned, “The Horde?”

“That’s why you’re headed for the Borderlands, isn’t it?”

“…”

The Siren gently ran her hands along the back of his neck, along his head as she purred, “The shepherd has successfully safeguarded the Metropolis, and at the mere mention of the Borderlands being in danger, he moves to action. It’s quite charming…”

Joran woke up at the sun barely tinging the sky with orange, as he heard the rest of her words in a whisper that lingered like her touch, “… If it wasn’t so naïve.”

The rest of the caravan woke up after some time, Rhia especially surprised that Joran was up and already gathering their gear into the wagon before she had even woken up. Their breakfast was toast over the smoldering fire with eggs from the chickens that were on the caravan.

As was promised, on their trip to the crossroad Rhia talked about the Borderlands. She dispassionately illustrated the four major regions. The West and majority of the core of the Borderlands was entirely subsumed by the Raium Desert. Almost as bleak as the wasteland save for some sparse desert fauna and vegetation. To the north was a mountain range that varied in extreme peaks and rolling foothills. The East along the coast were swamps, marshlands, and one delta, where Seizo resided, in the south at the mouth of the inland sea. The remainder of the central region that wasn’t the Raium Desert was instead a large forest that swept from the mountains, meeting into the open steppes.

The most intriguing part of what Joran discovered was how discordant the clans were. The Terrene Metropolis was especially unified and interspersed at various levels of the hierarchy. However, each clan in the Borderlands was homogenous from one another. They each held their own territory, save for one city called Gaia. In Gaia, trade occurred, as well as the distribution of supplies. As a result, it had become the centerpiece of the Borderlands, where families usually reside until children go to the Central Districts. Obviously, Yamatsumi’s Guild Clan resided there, however they were there as the traders of the Borderlands, bringing in the supplies from the Metropolis in tangent to Seizo’s Guild Clan. The Serene Aery Sect, Shinatsu, was widely considered the caretaker of Gaia. The enforcers of peace in the neutral city.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

This meant for the caravan that they were headed for Gaia. Besides Yamatsumi and Shinatsu, each of the other clans built their own settlements that widely sprawled throughout the region, simply referred to as the city of those clans.

It was in that point of the explanation Rhia had offered to Joran, that they had made it to the crossroads. The starkly different pavement of each road coming into view once more. As they began to turn onto the dirt road, which seemed to go on forever on the plain, rounding over the horizon.

The duo had listened intently to Rhia’s explanation until the mention of the cities, to which Joran asked the question on his mind, “… So where’s Eliza?”

Drekor shook his head, jabbing his friend lightly, “That’s not very specific, Jor-“

Rhia scuffled in her seat, turning around in disbelief, “What do you want to do with Eliza Narukami?”

Joran was confused, but Drekor went wide-eyed as he sighed in defeat, “Never mind, then.”

“… Eliza ‘Narukami’, sure, where is Narukami?”

Rhia cleared her throat, “Ahem… Well, they’re the clan in the steppes. To their north and west is the Virriben Forest, where the Druidic Woodland Sect is…”

Joran thought to himself, mentally mapping out the region, “So we’d go directly east of Gaia?”

“That’s… That’s correct, but I should warn you that—”

Drekor waved off Rhia, “Don’t worry about it. Eliza is a friend of ours from the Central Districts.”

Rhia eyed Drekor, before skeptically turning back to the road and continuing with the journey. The explanation awkwardly resumed. Since Joran had specifically asked about the settlements, Rhia went on to explain the others, relatively from Gaia.

The Frozen Storm Asgard, Mizore, resided to the far northwest, within the mountain range. Somewhere to the northeast, just outside of Virriben, was the Glazed Glass Palace; though Rhia, or anyone outside of the Mira Clan for that matter, has never been there, so no one really knew where they were. Between the Druidic Woodland Sect and Frozen Storm Asgard was the Darkened Lands Clan, Yagi. Also somewhere in the northern mountains was the Miasma Family, Mudoku. To the southwest, along the edge of the mountain range that rung the coastline further west from Seizo was the Luminous Heavens Clan, Hikari. They were atop a cliff with a river that turned into a waterfall into the inland sea, the same river ran through the mountains, up to where the Burning Skies Clan resided at a peak.

Joran’s face hardened as his voice went cold, “Hinoyagi.”

Rhia turned around and looked confused, “… Yes, Hinoyagi. Well. That’s about as much as I can tell you.”

At this point, they had entered the desert. Though it was getting dark, it was clear they weren’t stopping. With that, Joran decided to pry for more information.

“Well, what are they all like?”

Drekor chuckled to himself, “What, and spoil the fun you’re about to have in exploring the region?”

Joran shook his head, waving his friend off, “Please, I already told you I’m coming because of the Horde.”

“What?” Rhia was now flabbergasted, “What about the Horde?”

Joran frowned, feeling that something wasn’t right, “Rumors have been spreading in the Metropolis about the Horde attacking the Borderlands,” And he had just gotten doubly confirmation from the Siren, but he didn’t say that aloud.

“Is that right? You make it sound like we’re not always fighting them,” Rhia shook her head dismissively, adding much more to Joran’s unease.

“… You mean the Horde has always been attacking?”

“Of course. We always deal with them.”

Joran felt a prick in the back of his head as he recalled the Siren’s last words, ‘It’s quite charming, if it wasn’t so naïve.’

“I think we need to—” Was all Joran could say as suddenly over a dozen wagons had sand from the desert suddenly attack them.

Joran could hear them shatter like glass, as he could hear people’s screams before they were snuffed out. He could faintly see the sand move almost like viscous syrup across the barely visible path.

“Of course they wou- Hyah!” Rhia shouted as she whipped her reins to get the horse to start moving again as she jumped off the seat, launching a large piece of yellow rock in the direction the sand had swept from.

Now driverless, the wagon sped along the path, Joran bewildered while his instincts set him to high alert in the dusky light, watching swathes of sand whisk back and forth on the caravan that was abruptly ambushed.

“What’s happening?” Joran forced his question out to Drekor, as they both unsheathed their weapons.

Drekor shook his head as they both perched themselves on the edge of the wagon, “I’m… Not sure. I’ve heard of Dune Runners but.... Was that why we didn’t stop once we got in the desert?”

Joran then bleakly realized a truth that had slipped from his mind. Each clan in the Borderlands magicked some form of element. Yamatsumi being masters of Earth, for example.

Putting the pieces together in his mind, he stammered out, “S-so these Dune Runners are bandits from the guild?”

“Something like that! They’re- Watch out!” Drekor shouted as he tackled Joran off the wagon with him, as they rolled away from it.

Joran could see a wave of sand wash over the wagon, knocking it over, violently spilling the produce. He looked up, as he could see a tall figure wrapped in cloth that had been dirtied by sand. They had a thin beige mask covering their face as they cackled in a deep voice.

“Aww, little Prince and Joker. Didn’t you know there’d be a welcoming party?”

Drekor frowned as he instantly appeared by the sandy man, slashing him across the torso, instantly ripping a wound open, to which the man shrieked in pain to. Drekor kicked the man down, now waving Joran over to the wagon.

“Come on!”

They grabbed what they could, hearing the struggles of the caravan slowly but definitively dwindling, and took off into the desert. Under the night sky, they ran as far as their feet would let them, and then even more as they dealt with a couple more Dune Runners similarly as Drekor had done to the first one. They came across a stone formation that reached towards the sky, holes perforated along its surface, where they settled into one and tried their best to recover what little they could of their energy. They sat out on the opening of the hole, looking out onto the desert, the path barely visible from there.

Not risking a fire, the two ate raw corn and beans, when Joran finally spoke up, “… Why did we leave them?”

Drekor looked at his friend as he took his last bite of corn before chucking the cob into the cave their bedrolls were in, “Dune Runners wield sand, while Yamatsumi wield stone. Where we were, I think it wasn’t a safe bet to assume they would win.”

Joran sighed as recalled the ambush in his mind, Rhia jumping straight into the Runners, “Do you think they made it out alive?”

“I can hope.”

The duo fell silent as Joran looked back out to the landscape. Although they could barely see the road from where they were, he could easily see the start of the northern mountains that sprouted and spanned along the entire right side of his view until the horizon. He recalled Rhia’s surprise at the Horde being mentioned as a concern, and he furrowed his brows.

“This just doesn’t add up.”

“What, the ambush?”

“What Rhia said. How is it that the military spurred on rumors of a Horde attack when it’s just the status quo for the Borderlands?”

Drekor frowned, “Someone might’ve caught wind of a specific attack from a caravan and exaggerated it?”

Joran fell quiet, the uneasiness he felt until they had completely exiled the Bloodhound Clan away gnawing back at him propped up, and he shook his head, “This might’ve been set up.”

Drekor looked out from their perch in the formation, and sighed as he nodded towards their bedrolls, “Well, we have a long trip ahead of us now, without the caravan.”

“Why not make our way back home?” Joran was confused at the notion they’d continue into the Borderlands under these circumstances.

Drekor scoffed, “On the little provisions we were able to get? We’d have to hope we could make our way to Sentinalus from here, and I don’t think you’ll convince me to go back there with just us two...”

Joran frowned, his silence all but agreement to what Drekor stated, and they silently went to bed.

…

Joran opened his eyes once more on the grassy field, as he became exasperated.

“I really don’t want to be here, right now,” He groaned as he grabbed his face.

“Even though it’s your place?”

Joran sat himself up, looking at the Siren who was resting underneath a new tree, his face extremely soured, “My place? It’s not my place that I end up getting whisked to when I just want peaceful sleep.”

Her eyes were quite brilliant even in the dim starlight, a faint shadow casting down from the tree as she almost smirked, “But it is. It’s your place, just like the lake is mine. A Sanctuary.”

Joran rolled his eyes as he flopped back on the ground, taking deep breaths, trying to will himself off the field somehow. After failing and grunting in frustration, he looked back up at the Siren, who was calmly laying back on the trunk, her eyes now closed. He stayed like that for a few minutes before he became sullen and dragged himself over and plopping himself on the other side of the trunk, looking out from where they were.

After some time went by, he had regained his calm, and bluntly spoke, “You said the Horde was attacking.”

“I did, yes. Like they always have.”

Joran rolled his eyes, and pressed the question, “So why am I naïve for wanting to go to the Borderlands?”

“You don’t have even the slightest of an idea of how wicked men can be, if you ask me that question.”

“… What do you mean?” Joran asked, but as he expected an answer, he felt himself shake violently as he was suddenly pulled out of his dream, his mouth clasped shut.

Above him was a masked man, holding up a finger up to his mouth, “Shhh,” until Drekor grunted and stabbed him through the chest.

As soon as he did that, Joran could feel the clamp on his mouth dissolve away into dry, bitter dust, Drekor yelling at him, “Guh… GO!”

Scampering up, Joran dropped down from their perch, seeing a group of about eight people circling the formation from all directions. He unsheathed Rulm in his hand, his sight fuzzy from being woken up so suddenly, and slashed towards the closest person near him. The person gestured their hands around, a shield of sand coming up and hardening before Rulm thudded into it. Joran roared, bringing his sword through the barrier, cleaving through the person’s chest with ease. They dropped without a single word uttered. Joran turned around, bringing his sword downward as he scanned the rest of the people. He looked up once he saw they kept their distance from him, seeing Drekor getting kicked out of the cave they were in, falling onto the ground flat on his back, coughing.

“DREKOR!” Joran’s eyes lit with rage, as he activated Sacred Sights Art as well, stepping instantly to the person to his right, cleaving them clean in half with a side slash.

“Enough, enough, boy. You’re souring the mood,” A deep hoarse voice called out, freezing Joran as he watched the man drop from the cave entrance, toiling the sand underneath Drekor, sinking him slowly, “At least let’s have fun, yes?”

Joran took a deep breath as he entered The Realm. He dashed towards Drekor, throwing him out of the sand as best he could before kicking the man in the abdomen. Exhaling his breath, he could hear the man grunt in disappointed shock. Drekor gathered himself slowly, his Dao now unsheathed.

“Ugh. Fine. Be like the Yamatsumi. Kill them, then,” The man, now suddenly disinterested turned around and waved them off.

“Yes Atani!” The group of half a dozen Runners spoke in concordance, and began to carefully close the distance on the Duo.

Drekor stumbled closer to Joran, whispering to him in a low voice, “Run.”

Joran went wide-eyed, and stoutly refused, “No!”

Drekor grunted as he took a deep breath. In the next moment, there was now only three Runners left, the other three completely decapitated.

“Idaten scum!” One of the Runners said as she began to lunge towards the duo recklessly.

Drekor heaved and panted, blood now pouring down his head, he grimaced as he glared at Joran, “Go, you dumbass!”

Joran watched as Drekor received a deep wound on the side of his abdomen from a blast of sand, forcing him to grab it, falling to one knee. He roared one last time, the next moment the last three Runners now on the ground, their heads rolling.

At this, however, Drekor collapsed onto the ground, completely out cold from extreme exertion. In horror, Joran pulled his friend up into the cave in the formation after seeing the man called Atani was nowhere to be found. He gave what little salve they had on the wound, wrapping it with a torn cloth from his suit he brought. When he tightened it, Drekor groaned unconsciously, but Joran was relieved to know he was still alive. With his Sacred Sights Art, he could tell he was stable, but the provisions they had meant they couldn’t stay for long. Joran closed his eyes as he jumped out, stalking his way towards the road, where the caravan was ambushed. Upon reaching the site, he could see numerous bodies, some bludgeoned grotesquely, but almost all of the bodies were the Yamatsumi merchants. Joran dropped to his knees as he saw each and every wagon looted and scoured of their supplies.

“What a smart boy you are, scavenging for scraps,” Joran could hear the same low hoarse voice from behind him, but before he could do anything, he was hit on the back of his head by something hard.

Before he completely passed out, he heard Atani wickedly cackle, “Shame I love smart boys.”