The small rocky hill, nestled amidst the desolate expanse of the Western Deserts, offered a brief respite from the relentless sun overhead. Hidden near a rock formation, a man and a boy, dressed in worn rags, prepared their modest weapons. They could see the ground, so they had the advantage in case of a possible confrontation.

"We have no chance once they arrive, so every shot must count," said the man, his voice laden with determination. "If we use the element of surprise, we'll make it out of here alive."

Their chosen weapons were two small crossbows, crafted from rusted and worn metal. The space in the center of the rocky hill was where they had parked their aero-car. It was recharging with its heat absorbers. If they tried to flee, they couldn't go to Camelot without stopping in the middle of the wilderness. That meant certain death.

"Do you remember how to reload the bolt?" the man asked, seeking reassurance in the boy's worried expression.

The boy nodded. The art of firing a crossbow was easy to master within the safe confines of the city. Hitting the target was one thing, but everything changes if what you're trying to kill is shooting back at you. They didn't know how many were coming after them, but they expected no mercy after what they had done. Anyone from the Far West, where raiders were rampant, could kill them for the bounty.

"Dad," the boy asked with a mix of uncertainty and fear trembling in his voice. The man's gaze momentarily shifted from his crossbow as he checked that the discarded metal bolt didn't jam.

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"Yes?"

"Will the Dust Knights come to help us?" the boy asked as his eyes scanned the horizon.

To the west, several vehicles were speeding towards their location, leaving behind a trail of stirred-up dust. To the east... silence prevailed.

"Of course," the father replied, invoking every bit of strength and determination to offer a reassuring smile. "Don't worry."

"I've never seen a Dust Knight. What do they look like?" the boy inquired, curiosity tinged with a touch of fear.

"Well... you'll find out soon," the father responded with a reassuring smile, his gaze fixed on the western horizon. "Remember the stories? Well... they're better than that. They're strong. Powerful. And good."

The sight of the approaching vehicles was the harbinger of certain death. The emptiness of the east, where the Dust Knights should appear, nullified hope. A feeling of unease took hold of the boy, his eyes reflecting the uncertainty in his father.

"Dad, are we going to die?"

Although weary from the persistent questions, the father recognized the fear gripping his son's heart. After spending years as a spy in the cities of the Far West, he himself had harbored doubts about the pact, unsure if a Lo-Tech life was worth the risk for the Dust Knights, or if they could be banished, unable to enter the safe embrace of Camelot, the underground city where life thrived.

"Remember our training," the father reminded, his voice tinged with solemnity. "Once I shoot and start to reload, you make your shot. Understood?"

The boy nodded. In that solemn exchange, the weight of an imminent fate heavily pressed on their souls. Still, the father clung to the belief that a better life awaited them, sheltered under the protective embrace of the Dust Knights.

"After they save us, we'll go with them. They have the antidotes for our Withering," the father assured, instilling a glimmer of hope in his son's eyes.

"Really?" the boy asked, his voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and lingering doubt.

"Yes," the father replied, his eyes stained with dried blood, fixed on his son's. "We're going to be okay."

"I miss mom."

"Me too, son," the father sighed. "Me too."