As the battle wound down, the group moved swiftly toward the main base’s entrance, dragging the five captured guards and the Soulweaver behind them. Rowan, Layla, Luther, Krave and Danny cast Soul Bind on each of the guards, silver light flashing as the spells took hold, locking them down. Dean stepped forward, his expression cold, and cast a Soul Shackle on the Soulweaver, a thicker, blackish chain of ethereal energy wrapping around the man’s body, binding his spirit.

Watching from above, Silas let out a long breath and signalled Breeze. “Bring me down,” he muttered, his voice drained. The Wind Spirit complied, lowering him slowly to the sand below. But as soon as his feet touched the sand, his body wobbled, and the facade of calm he had maintained through the battle finally cracked. His face turned pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Silas!” Rowan was already at his side, catching him just as he stumbled. “Are You alright?”

Silas nodded weakly, though his trembling hands betrayed his condition. “Yeah… I might have pushed myself a little too hard this time.”

Layla stepped closer, worry evident on her face, while the others eyed Silas with concern. He had been a force during the fight, but now they saw the toll it had taken.

On the other side, the captured guards—the ones who had surrendered—exchanged glances, their faces ugly. They had assumed Silas to be in complete control, capable of more devastating attacks if pushed. The sight of him faltering twisted their expressions with anger and embarrassment. “Fuck! We surrendered to a brat who can barely stand,” one of them muttered under his breath. The others grimaced, but none dared speak louder.

With Rowan supporting Silas, the group finally entered the main base. Inside, the scene was unexpected—the dimly lit entrance opened into a vast chamber. Soft light illuminated the cavernous space, casting shadows across the cold stone. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of damp rock and alcohol.

“Where are the kidnapped people?” Layla demanded, her voice cutting through the tension as she turned her gaze to the captives.

Shaking under her glare, one of the guards pointed towards a dim area at the far end to the right. “There… they’re in a cage there.”

They advanced cautiously, every step echoing off the stone walls in the dimly lit chamber. Their eyes darted to every shadow. The cage was massive, crudely built with thick metal bars. Inside, the kidnapped victims huddled together—eleven women and three men, their expressions vacant and hollow, as if they had given up hope. Many of the women wore little more than torn rags, their bodies marked by bruises and other unspeakable cruelties.

Outside the cage, a young woman sat on the ground, weeping softly, her sobs the only sound in the stillness. Her body quivered, her shoulders shaking with each suppressed sob. Her hands gripping the sand as if it were the only thing grounding her to reality.

Layla’s eyes darkened with fury, her grip tightening around her chained morningstar. Her gaze fell on the captured slavers, and one by one, they recoiled under the sheer intensity of her anger. She barely held herself back, the air around her practically vibrating with malice.

One of the guards cracked under the pressure, his voice trembling as he stammered out, “It—it wasn’t us! It was the boss! He… he’s the one who played with them and broke them.”

Layla stepped forward, but Rowan grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Let’s focus on the people we came here to save,” he said quietly, though his voice carried an edge of barely contained rage.

Luther found the keys quickly, tossing them to Layla, who unlocked the cage with shaking hands. The survivors barely reacted, most of them too far gone into their trauma to realize they had been saved. Despite his exhaustion, Silas stepped forward, doing his best to offer some comfort, though his voice felt hollow in his own ears.

“We’re getting you out of here,” he said softly.

One of the women, slightly more aware than the others, looked up at Silas, her eyes filled with tears but also a flicker of hope. “Is it… really over?”

“Yes,” Silas said firmly, as he helped the captives out of the cage, guiding them toward the light of freedom.

The group quickly gathered clothes and food from the slavers’ supplies, dressing and feeding the victims as best as possible. Their dark expressions lingered, each of them knowing that while the physical chains were gone, the mental scars these people carried would remain long after this ordeal was over.

“We need to get them to safety,” Dean said after a long silence. “The caravan’s not far. We can rest once they’re with the others.”

With a nod, the group escorted the rescued men and women out of the base. Still leaning on Rowan for support, Silas looked back at the now-empty cage, his heart heavy with the weight of what had happened here.

As they emerged back into the desert night, the cool air a sharp contrast to the stale, oppressive heat of the base, they began the long walk back to their caravan. Each step took them further from the horrors of the slavers' den, but the shadows of what they had seen would follow them for a long time to come.

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After a few hours of walking through the cool desert night, Silas, Rowan, Layla, and the others returned to the caravan. The survivors they had previously rescued were standing guard with weapons in hand. Their faces were tense, eyes scanning the horizon, and their vigilance was palpable. But their collective relief was evident when they saw the group approaching. Some even slumped to the ground, letting out long-held breaths as the weight of fear temporarily lifted.

These survivors were in much better shape than those they'd found in the main base. Their clothes were intact, and though there was a lingering wariness in their expressions, they hadn’t been subjected to the same cruelties. Layla's jaw tightened as she glanced back at the group from the base. Her thoughts turned dark as she considered what Ariyeh Dam and his people must have done to the others. It took all her willpower to not march back into the den and destroy everything in sight.

Once everyone was settled, Dean called the group together. Glancing at the group he said "I’m going to send word for two more caravans. We can’t risk taking this many people back to Ironvale in one trip, not without raising suspicion."

Silas nodded in agreement. "We need to bring them somewhere safe before they return to the city. If the officials or guards involved in the disappearances find out we’re coming back with survivors, it could cause problems. They'll try to flee before we can expose them."

Dean’s face darkened at Silas's words. "Agreed. It’ll take a while to get things sorted, but no way we’re crossing that desert without someone who knows their way. I don’t trust those slavers to lead us."

Luther, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally spoke up. "Salma is still in the city for a few more days. She knows the desert well and can lead us to a safe town or city. She’s the best option we have."

Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his communication stone and spoke into it with authority. "It me, mission successful. Send two caravans along the Eastern Trade route and meet me midway. Bring Salma Masḥūr with you. We’ll be waiting."

There was a brief pause before a voice on the other end acknowledged the command. "Understood. We’ll meet you soon."

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The light on the stone faded, and Dean tucked it away before turning back to the group. "We’ll hold here until they arrive. Luther, Krave, and I will head out and meet the caravans halfway. The rest of you stay put and keep watch. It shouldn’t take too long."

Silas and the others agreed, their exhaustion from the earlier battle evident. "We’ll be ready when you get back," Rowan said, his voice firm despite the fatigue showing in his eyes.

Dean gave a curt nod before gathering Luther and Krave. The three of them readied the caravan, and after a few final words of caution, they disappeared into the dark horizon, their silhouettes fading into the dunes as they headed to meet the reinforcements.

Silas watched them go before turning to the rest of the group and sitting down, "Well... we should get some rest but stay alert."

The other nodded and sat down on the sand, their fatigued muscles finally getting some well needed rest.

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As the hours stretched on and the sky began to lighten with the early hues of dawn, Silas stirred from his light rest. He blinked against the soft rays creeping over the horizon and sat up, his body sore from the battle and the long night. The air was cool, and the group remained alert despite their exhaustion.

As the sun crested over the dunes, Rowan, who had been on watch, nudged Silas and pointed. "Look," he said quietly.

Silas noticed the silhouette of three caravans approaching from the desert's edge. Their outlines became clearer as they drew closer, but most of the passengers remained obscured inside. From his position, Silas could only make out one figure driving the front caravan—a man he recognized as Krave. His posture was relaxed, yet his eyes scanned the horizon, alert and cautious as ever.

Once the caravans reached the group, Krave slowed the lead caravan to a stop. The others followed suit, parking in a loose semicircle around the group of survivors. A moment later, the door of the second caravan swung open, and a woman dressed in traditional Solaran clothes stepped out. Her flowing garments fluttered gently in the breeze, and her sharp, dark eyes immediately began to assess the scene.

She approached the group, her gaze lingering on the rescued captives before shaking her head in visible distaste. "Solara’s filthy ways are reaching into Ironvale now," she muttered, her tone filled with quiet contempt as her eyes narrowed at the state of the survivors.

Dean, still inside the first caravan, leaned out the window and sighed at her words. "It’s not just Ironvale, either. This corruption runs deep to the roots of the kingdom." His grim voice carried across the desert air, weighed down with exhaustion.

The woman turned toward Silas’s group, her expression neutral yet appraising. Dean gestured toward her from where he sat. "Everyone, this is Salma Masḥūr." He hesitated, a flicker of reluctance passing over his face, but he continued, "She’s one of Countess Elara's informants and specialises in gathering intelligence on merchant activities across the Golden Desert. She’ll be guiding us to a safe town."

Salma raised an eyebrow, a faint smile curling at her lips. “If Dean’s sharing this, he must trust you all. That doesn’t happen often.” Her tone was light, almost playful, but her eyes had a sharp glint. “I may just perform raqs baladi for merchants at their celebrations, but when it matters, I keep my ears open.” Her gaze swept over Silas, Rowan, and Layla as she spoke, her relaxed demeanour masking a keen, calculating shrewdness.

Rowan tilted his head, curious. “Raqs baladi? What is that?”

Salma chuckled softly, her amusement evident. “It’s a traditional Solaran dance that men enjoy, makes it easier to slip into their pants… and then into their minds.”

Rowan gulped audibly, his face flushing. Silas let out a low whistle, impressed, while Layla shot Salma a wary glance and subtly pulled Rowan back a step.

Salma merely smirked at their reactions before turning her attention back to the caravan survivors. Her expression softened, sympathy creeping into her eyes. “The closest town is Asyut. It’s safe. We can get these people there.”

Layla stepped forward, her gaze focused on the weary survivors. “Then let’s not waste time. They need safety, and we need to move quickly.” Her tone was firm and determined as she took the lead, spurring the group into action.

Krave, who had been quietly observing, finally stepped down from the caravan, taking charge as he organised the rescued people, his commanding presence calming their uncertainty. Some of the captives, those with more strength and resolve, assisted in loading some food supplies from the main base while the rest gratefully climbed into the caravans for rest.

Silas climbed into the back of the third caravan with Rowan and Layla. The soft, rolling dunes stretched before them as they set off toward Asyut, the morning sun slowly warming the desert air.

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After several long hours of travel under the steadily climbing sun, the caravans rolled into the outskirts of Asyut. The town was larger than Silas had expected, with sandstone buildings spread out beneath the shimmering horizon.

Small market stalls and tents crowded the narrow streets, where the air buzzed with the shouts of traders and the soft murmur of haggling locals. The dry desert wind carried the scent of spices and sweat, blending with the faint aroma of roasted meats from nearby grills. Asyut was a vital stop for merchants in the Golden Desert, a safe haven for those who dared to travel the treacherous sands.

Salma led them through the town with practised ease, navigating the winding streets and alleys until they reached a quieter area. Here, she gestured toward several modest inns. "These should do for a few days. The owners are discreet, and the townspeople won’t ask questions as long as you keep a low profile," she assured the group.

With her help, Silas, Rowan, and Layla focused on getting the rescued people settled. Many of the survivors were still dazed, but the promise of safety brought a faint glimmer of hope to their eyes. Silas spoke briefly with the innkeepers, ensuring they would be well cared for.

Rowan and Layla helped guide the survivors inside, offering encouraging words as they handed out food and blankets. Many of the rescued people were still in shock, their faces gaunt with fatigue, but the sight of warm beds brought relief. One woman grasped Layla’s hand, whispering a tearful “thank you” before collapsing onto the bed.

Dean and the others kept watch over the captured slavers as the last survivors settled in. Standing near the entrance of the inn, Dean gathered the group together. His voice was steady but carried a hint of fatigue. “We’ll head back to Ironvale tonight. Luther, Krave, and I will sort things out with the officials in the city. We’ll have help from the Bailiff of the city, so, the cleanup shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

Silas exchanged a glance with Rowan, both silently acknowledging the grim task ahead. Silas shifted his stance, glancing at the survivors resting inside the inn. “What about them?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “We can’t bring them back until the situation in Ironvale is resolved.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, his expression hardening as he met Silas’s gaze. “Exactly. Once we’ve dealt with the corruption in the city, I’ll communicate with Danny and Cudgel. They’ll handle the rest. You just make sure the survivors are escorted back when it’s safe.” He hesitated, then added with a faint, weary smile, “In the meantime, you can get some rest here.”

Rowan nodded thoughtfully, his attention shifting to Layla, who had remained quiet. Her shoulders sagged, and her breaths had grown slower as if the weight of the past few days had finally caught up to her. She sighed deeply, slumping against Rowan’s side without a word. “I’m so tired...” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyelids drooped.

Rowan chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her. “Rest up, you’ve earned it.”

Watching the scene unfold, Luther crossed his arms with a huff. “Damn, I’m so jealous right now," he groaned, flashing them an exaggerated pout before turning to the captured Soulweaver with a slap. "What the hell are you looking at, huh?"

The slaver winced, and glared back at him but didn’t respond.

Dean and the others burst out laughing at the scene, while Salma shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Is he always like this?" she teased, glancing at Dean, who only shrugged in amusement.

"All the time," Dean replied, still chuckling. "Come on, Luther. Let’s get these idiots to another place for the night." He gestured for Krave, Luther and the others to take the slavers to a different lodging, ensuring they would be well-guarded until they could be dealt with properly.

With that, Dean and the others disappeared down the street, their laughter trailing behind them as they secured the slavers. Silas, Rowan, and Layla were left alone in the quiet evening, the warm desert air bringing a calm that felt almost surreal after the chaos of their recent journey.

Rowan shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Layla, who had drifted into sleep against him. "For now... let’s just take a moment. We’ve earned it." He glanced at Silas with a faint smile.

Silas nodded in agreement, glancing at the inn where the rescued survivors were resting. The weight on his shoulders lightened for the first time in what felt like weeks, even if only for a moment. They had made it this far and would soon return to Ironvale to finish what they had started.