“During initial conditioning, subject X714 demonstrates exceptional control over the intensity and direction of the heat she produces. Her psychological resilience and capability to learn suggest significant potential for deployment as a powerful asset in the assigned designation’s political and military landscape. Recommend increased intensity in personality reformation sessions.”
– Elevated training report #6B27, Lhasa, Year 303 of the Age of the Tetrarchy
With the sun already climbing toward its zenith, Lithas decided to call for a halt for the day.
The first two days of her eastward journey had passed by quickly, the proximity of the Selvian desert forcing them to mostly travel between dawn and midday. Their progress would be faster once they reached the edges of Sariz Bay and veered south. For now, between the overwhelming heat of the desert and constant incursions of memories from Sariz’ bazaar—of blood and fire—Lithas yearned for a rest.
She urged her horse forward, riding past the wagons to survey the surrounding terrain. The landscape here was smooth and flat, offering little cover for potential ambushers. That was good. Of course, it also meant that anyone who cared could spot them from miles away. Armed men and women had been spotted around these parts recently. They would need to be careful.
Satisfied with what she saw, Lithas slowed her steed and made a sharp turn, circling back toward the convoy. She had to admit that she really liked her new Tibaran horse, despite the thoughts every look at her steed summoned. One hand raised, she signaled to the caravan and pulled up alongside the first wagon.
The driver, an older man sporting a sparse crop of greying hair, turned to her expectantly. “We’ll halt here for the day,” declared Lithas offhandedly.
Accepting her command silently, the man turned and shouted something unintelligible toward the back of the wagon, where people were emerging, preparing for a break. Other drivers quickly mirrored his actions, and soon the whole caravan was busy arranging itself into a protective semicircle.
Satisfied, Lithas dismounted and walked around the wagons. A pat on a shoulder here, a nod there. It all carried unspoken words of assurance. She recognized the flicker of relief in the eyes of her people; leadership had its own, silent language. Soon, she reached her guard captain, Kellen, who was busily driving posts into the packed earth.
“Captain,” she greeted him. “All goes well, I take it?”
Kellen straightened, eyes squinting against the sun as he wiped the sweat from his weathered brow. “All quiet here, my lady. The caravan’s safe, for now.”
“Good,” said Lithas. “We’ll need to be extra vigilant now that we’re this far out into the desert. You know how it is, it’s flat as glass out there. There may be raiders watching us, so stay sharp.” She cast a fleeting glance over the caravan before focusing on Kellen again.
“You’ve done well, Kellen, I see that,” she said, leaning in closer, “but I fear the real danger will not confront us during our journey. When we reach Demis, I’ll need your assistance more than ever—can I rely on you?”
Kellen locked eyes with her, his face a map of old scars and hard-won battles. “I’ve seen worse than desert raiders, my lady. They won’t stop me. When the time comes, I’ll stand my ground. Anything you need. You have my word.”
Lithas studied his rough face intently. Satisfied with what she found there, she nodded. Not that she really needed any guards to begin with. But they did cut down on the robbery attempts. Those grew tiresome after a while. And, though she was reluctant to admit it, she did like to flaunt the open display of power that a battalion of armed guards tended to project. We all have our weaknesses.
Shielding her eyes from the blinding sun, Lithas continued her inspection of the caravan. As she neared the final wagon, she noticed one of her guards, a young man named Kael, sitting by himself with his head downcast. He was new, probably his first expedition in her retinue. She remembered Kellen picking him from their latest round of applicants.
Acting on an impulse, Lithas sat down next to him. “What’s troubling you, Kael?”
Kael looked up, startled by her proximity. It would have been amusing, had it not been such a common reaction to her presence. Initially, guards in her entourage maintained a respectful distance—like the citizens of Sariz did in general—but, over time, a certain familiarity was inevitable. She sometimes idly wondered whether any of her guards was assigned to her in more ways than one. Would not be the first time that someone tried to be as close as possible to their god.
“Oh, it’s really nothing, my lady,” Kael stammered. “Just thinking about my family back in Sariz. It’s my first time outside the city. But I’ll get used to it.”
“I understand.” Lithas placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling the thick muscles tense further under her touch. “It’s not easy to be away from loved ones, especially on a dangerous journey. I’ve had a very similar situation in my youth, in the south. But remember, we’re all in this together. We’ll watch each other’s backs here and make sure we all make it to Demis safely. And back home of course.”
Gradually Kael seemed to relax. She waited a while longer before she removed her hand again. Lithas considered him. The boy must be around my age, come to think of it.
“Thank you, my Lady.” Kael offered a grateful smile. “I’ll do my best to keep myself focused on the mission. It’s an honor to serve you.”
Returning his smile warmly, Lithas whispered, “Sometimes leadership means carrying the weight of others’ fears. Keep that in mind.” She rose and returned to her horse.
Trotting around the camp, Lithas spotted a minor ridge, not far from their resting spot. While it was not exactly a commanding position, it would afford her a pretty good perspective to oversee the surrounding flatlands. She mounted her horse. Maybe she would be able to see something, or someone.
Lithas directed her Tibaran steed up the rocky incline and dismounted. She discarded her cloak, spreading it over a boulder before settling down on it. From here, she could see the caravan below, crawling with figures as they prepared camp, and the lands stretching out beyond. Not a soul in sight, except for her party.
Perhaps there was time for a bit of calm then. Seeking a moment of solace, she raised her hand, and the surrounding air shimmered as if touched by a mirage. A soothing coolness engulfed her—a fleeting luxury. Maintaining this would drain her too swiftly to be sustainable, but occasionally, she liked to indulge herself.
Eyes closed, Lithas drew in several deep breaths, savoring the distinct aroma of the desert. The smell of sand and sun-baked earth was almost all-encompassing by the time she felt another presence.
What…
“May I join you?” A raspy voice, gentle as a desert zephyr. Somehow, she knew that she was in no danger.
Lithas opened her eyes to find an old man with wispy hair before her, dressed in a worn-out yellow robe. “Who are you?” she asked, her brows furrowed.
Ignoring her question, the man interpreted her response as consent and gingerly lowered himself beside Lithas. “Did you know,” the man began, his gaze fixed on the caravan, “that Selvi himself built the road you’re following? Planted the date palms down the road? The god-king’s imprint is evident all around us.”
“Yes,” Lithas replied sardonically, “his marks truly are everywhere. Especially above places. Nisur, Qamir, Ubarah. Every grain of sand, a blessing from Selvi.” She lazily traced letters into the sand before her as she spoke. “You still haven’t told me your name, old man.”
Turning his aged face toward her, a pained expression etched in his pale gray eyes, he sighed. “You can call me Avila,” he half-whispered.
“The philosopher? He’s been dead for a century.”
“I’ve immersed myself in his studies so deeply throughout my life that the lines have blurred a bit, I must confess.” He seemed to contemplate his next words. “‘Desert’s flower,’ that’s what he called Sariz, did you know? If you pour enough water into the desert, a splendid flower will blossom, if you allow the paraphrasing.” Avila fixed her with an odd look. “I know your name, Lithas ak’Var,” he stated. “I know what you want to do.”
Lithas arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I follow.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Not yet, at least. Perhaps never.”
Growing impatient, Lithas motioned for him to elaborate. Avila seemed to scrutinize her caravan, taking a moment before speaking. “What is the purpose of all this? Tell me, Lithas. Why are you traveling down this road?”
With an inscrutable expression, Lithas stared back at him. “I’m not even sure how I should get started on answering this. You seem to know quite a lot for a lonely wanderer, ‘Avila’. What is it that you want?”
“Countering questions with questions.” The old man chuckled, a dry grin forming on his lips. “You would’ve made an excellent scholar, Lithas ak’Var.” He scooped up a handful of sand, allowing it to slip through his fingers. “This isn’t about me. It never was. I just wander and learn. Humor an old man’s curiosity and let him wander with you. I would so very much like to see how this all unfolds.”
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Lithas studied Avila for a moment (great, now she was really calling him like that in her thoughts), trying to gauge his intentions. He seemed harmless enough, but she knew better than to take anyone at face value in this area. She could not quite put her finger on it but something about him was off, something unsettling. What was that old saying again, she thought, keep your enemies closer than your friends? Lithas leaned back, her posture subtly shifting to a more relaxed stance—though her eyes remained vigilant. She would have to see what this new surprise would bring.
“Alright, old man,” she said finally. “You may travel with us for a time, but don’t interfere with my mission or my guards.”
Avila nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Of course, I won’t get in the way. I merely observe.”
Shifting her attention back to the caravan, Lithas scanned the horizon. Still nothing. She could not shake the feeling of being watched, yet all she could do for now was stay alert. Rising from the dusty ground, she collected her cloak and took her horse by the reins. Behind her, Avila wordlessly followed along.
Together, they walked back to the caravan, with Lithas’ mind being fully occupied with imagining what kind of trouble they would encounter on their journey. Her caravans sometimes took this route, on their way to Tibara in the east. It was the same route her parents had been traveling on, when they were murdered—so many years ago. She had heard rumors, recently, of desert tribes—or soldiers, depending on the tale—ambushing unwary travelers on this route, but she hoped they would be able to avoid them. She had enough of fighting for a while, after that encounter with the sandwyrm. Now, with Avila’s presence adding to this bag of mysteries, she was beginning to worry. Too many uncertainties. Something had to give, eventually.
“Kellen,” she called out, motioning for him to join her. “We need to talk.”
Kellen nodded and jogged over to her side, snapping to attention. “Report, my lady. What’s the situation?”
“New addition to the convoy. Avila here will be riding in one of the wagons.” She half-turned, shielding their conversation, before she continued in a low voice. “I want eyes on him at all times.”
Kellen’s gaze flicked to Avila, sizing him up before locking eyes with Lithas again. “Understood, my lady. I’ll have someone detail him.”
Lithas nodded. “Good.” She turned to Avila. “We break camp early tomorrow, shortly before dawn.” Sniffing the air, Lithas immediately made out the goat stew that was already being ladled out into bowls. “You’re in luck. You came just in time for dinner.”
Throughout the meal, Lithas kept a watchful eye on Avila. He seemed at ease, engaging in polite conversation and enjoying the food. Then, one of her men, midway through his stew, turned toward Avila. “Old man, where did you last stop? Any news from the world outside Sariz?”
Avila took a sip of water before replying. “Oh yes, I’ve traveled far and wide, my friend. My last stop, many nights ago, was in Tibara. No happy news from there. Elevated Ifthal of Tibara drowned recently, with no word of replacement from Maht yet. The people there grow restless. It’s hard, not having someone to worship, someone to talk to, in the dark hours between night and dawn. Beyond that, there’s not much news to share, I’m afraid. Just the usual squabbles between tribes and cities in the desert.”
The soldier nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and returned to this stew. Lithas, however, had tensed at the mention of another Elevated, especially Ifthal. She’d met him once during a caravan journey. He seemed like a decent man; you’d almost forgotten that he was practically a god. She tried to maintain a calm façade, playing innocent. “Have you ever met an Elevated yourself, Avila?”
“Me? No, not personally,” Avila shook his head. “Not until today, at any rate.” His eyes glinted mischievously, “But their tales are woven into the fabric of our folklore all over this continent. Strange individuals, with powers beyond our imagination. All-powerful and yet they’re servants. It’s quite fascinating, really.”
“I’ve heard they’re the immortal children of Selvi,” Kael chimed in, eyes gleaming with excitement, as he shot a furtive glance in Lithas’ direction, “and they can move mountains with a mere thought.”
Avila rewarded him a knowing smirk. “Ah, but if that were so, young man, why would distant Ustil have Elevated, if they’d never been touched by the god-king?”
Kael continued without missing a beat, all the while nodding enthusiastically. “My grandfather told me that it’s the Tetrarchy who took Selvi’s power and scattered it all across the world. He’s saying that’s not fair as it should be ours, right?”
“I think that’s quite enough, Kael,” Lithas said quietly. Kael, as if suddenly realizing where he was, immediately blushed and raised his hands in apology.
“You can be sure that your grandfather isn’t the only man with such thoughts.” Avila looked first at Kael and then at Lithas, his expression asking for understanding. “Roots persist.” The young soldier continued his stew in silence, face flushed crimson.
Another Avila quote, she thought, that man is either a reincarnation or really addicted. Lithas stared into her bowl, trying to tune out the conversation around her.
Amongst the intensifying rays of sunlight, she finally retired to her tent, fleeing the bright heat. As she drifted off to sleep, Lithas made a mental note to keep a close watch on that old man during their journey to Demis. She just had this feeling, impossible to put her finger on it. Before sleep finally claimed her, the words of the Seeress found her. Something about steps and the echoes they caused.
The next day; dawn not yet gracing the dark sky.
Her body still felt exhausted from the previous day’s journey. Lithas rose, ready to start their routine of organizing the caravan for the day’s trek. Yet, as she emerged from her tent, she saw that the caravan was already bustling with activity. Grateful, she stretched her sore muscles and let her eyes catch Avila, sitting in a wagon, his eyes closed as if meditating.
Lithas shook her head, forcing herself to discard the doubts that kept creeping up on her. No point right now. There was only the path. Until they reached Demis, at least. She navigated her way through the thrum of activity to Kellen, who was directing the loading of the wagons. “Are the preparations complete?” she asked, taking in the state of the caravan.
“Yes, my lady,” Kellen replied, passing her a handful of dates and a chunk of bread. “This wagon’s about to roll out, just tying up the loose ends.”
Chewing on a date, Lithas’ eyes wandered toward the horizon, where the Bay of Sariz met the sky in a glittering display. Everyone in Sariz knew that its waters were notorious for the treacherous currents trade fleets faced. Yet today it was a tranquil contrast to the caravan’s hustle. She enjoyed it for a moment longer, before reality—and duty—called her away.
After getting ready, Lithas mounted her horse and the caravan lumbered onwards to Demis. They were faster now, having developed a routine of sort. The sun had yet to fully peek over the horizon, and so it graced them still with the lingering coolness of the night. In the vast openness above, dark shapes circled ominously. Through it all, Lithas kept a watchful eye on Avila, who seemed engrossed in the barren desert’s spectacle.
Intrigued despite herself, she guided her unwilling horse alongside his wagon. “What is it you find so fascinating about the desert? It’s just sand and rocks.”
“Ah,” Avila glanced her way, eyes twinkling with something unreadable, “but my dear Lithas, that’s where the beauty of the desert lies. Each grain, each rock, is an unwritten chronicle, of struggle and triumph, of life and death. It’s a story that has been told over and over for centuries, yet it never grows old.”
Lithas found herself oddly amused by the old man’s words as she absentmindedly soothed her restless horse. “You have a gift for weaving words, Avila. Ever thought of writing them down?”
A sad smile spread on the old man’s face. “In another life, perhaps. It’s a tempting thought,” he chuckled, a sound touched with a wistfulness that Lithas sensed had deeper, perhaps darker, roots, “but one that may stir up more controversy than enlightenment.”
Lithas arched an eyebrow. “So, you’re like a rebel?” A gust of wind swept back her hair. Her horse was becoming unmanageable. What was wrong with the beast?
His gaze affixed on the sprawling desert, Avila nodded. “Let’s just say my travels have granted me sights, some of which many would prefer remain veiled. Secrets and lies that have been buried for too long. But perhaps that’s a discussion for another time.”
As Lithas gathered her response, her attention was seized by a breeze, gathering unusual strength, moment by moment. Curious, she turned. She spotted it immediately.
On the horizon, Lithas saw the first wisps of oncoming storm clouds above the hills. She carefully inhaled, confirming the faint tang of dust in the wind. There was a storm coming their way, and it would be bad.
Snapping her horse’s reins, Lithas pivoted toward Kellen, voice cutting through the noise, “Everyone! Secure the wagons and establish barricades on the northern incline.” She spurred her horse onward, halting only to issue further commands, “I want everyone inside those barricades the moment the storm hits.” Pausing to reassess the situation, she added, “We’re going to get some rough weather, so keep your heads low.”
Satisfied with the flurry of action throughout the caravan that her words caused, Lithas nudged her horse into a canter, setting out to evaluate their surroundings. Her gaze traced the ominous, inky clouds on the horizon, which seemed to edge closer with each heartbeat. The wind was increasingly fierce now, whipping up the sand around her into miniature cyclones. Feeling the tension in the air, Lithas watched her soldiers move, frantically securing wagons and erecting barricades.
She led her steed to the other horses reinforcing the barricades and swung herself down. Together with her soldiers, Lithas blanketed the horses as best she could. She caught sight of Avila, huddled against one of the wagons. A lone figure wrapped in yellow cloth. She lowered herself to the ground next to her guards, back propped against one of the wagons.
The faces around her were a stark canvas of steely determination and naked fear. She did her best to project a confidence she did not feel.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Hoping.
Then it hit them.
It was nothing like she ever experienced before. The storm’s arrival was sudden, taking Lithas by surprise as she struggled to keep her balance. Everything rattled. The wind howled in her ears, the gritty sand gnawed at her face. Her guards were hollering over the cacophony of the storm, their voices rendered near inaudible.
Lithas tried to maintain a squint, but the assaulting sand made it almost impossible. Vague outlines of the rocking wagons were all she could see. A flash of lightning cleaved through the sky, capturing the storm momentarily in a stark, eerie tableau. Lithas squinted as hard as she could, trying to see something—anything—through the storm.
“Kellen, status!” She could see that the grizzled soldier was shouting but did not hear a word, his voice lost to the storm. Cautiously maneuvering, Lithas made her way closer to Kellen.
Finally, his flushed visage emerged from the veil of sand and he started again, “We’re holding the line, my lady. No one’s down and the barricades are holding up.”
“That’s good,” she shouted back. “But I fear this storm is far from over. It’s still picking up speed. We need to—”
A particularly violent gust of wind interrupted Lithas. One of the wagons under which they had been huddling as a makeshift shelter started to topple. With a sense of dread, Lithas looked up to see a mass of wood and canvas come rushing toward Kellen and a group of her soldiers.
Time seemed to slow as she made her decision. Only it was no real decision at all. Everything seemed clear, like the shores of Sariz Bay on a sun-flooded day.
Raising her hands, Lithas poured heat out of her as fast as she could, creating a powerful thermal updraft. The sudden gust of heated air met the falling wagon, pushing against it. Of course, it was not enough to push it away. Not even she could do that. But the wagon wavered in mid-air—just for the tiniest of moments—but long enough to alter its course, letting it fall somewhere else and bypass her soldiers.
Yet not her. The chaotic wind had picked up the wagon, had flipped it partly and brought it up above her. Relieved but drained, Lithas even lacked the energy to move herself out of the path. The last thing she felt was the weight of the wagon as it descended upon her.
And everything turned black.