“Well student, are you ready for your first official mission?” Master Rogue asked.

Before us spread a vast desert landscape. Golden dunes stretched out as far as the eye could see,, dancing and shimmering under the intense sunlight. I had never seen anything like it in my life, having grown up in a grassy valley. Even the dry lands around Olerial at least had green grass. But here, there was nothing other than gold and brown.

I nodded, taking in the sights and sounds of the new place. Ahead, a large structure loomed, surrounded by numerous tents and a long wooden dock.

"That's our stop," Master pointed out, breaking my reverie. "Neutral ground. Traders, mercenaries, runaways... everyone comes here for business or sanctuary."

In front of me, the boat’s rower grunted, apparently agreeing with Master's sentiment on the place.

We finally pulled into the dock as more dark-skinned humans threw ropes to the dinghy's captain.

The sun hung high, casting a golden hue over everything. Even the very sand seemed to glisten. And man, it was hot. It was like I was standing near a fireball.

"Watch yourself, Erevan. This place, while neutral, is still treacherous. Trust must be earned here," Master warned, surveying the surroundings with a practiced eye. “Lord Timekeeper trusts you on this mission to watch and learn, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to babysit you. Look out for yourself.”

I nodded, holding the hammer closer to me, the touch of its leather grip grounding me. Without a weapon, the hammer would have to do. As much as I loved my Forged Bond skill, it required me to make weapons in the field to have maximum efficiency.

Plus, Master Blacksmith told me that it would keep me on my toes to only bring my hammer along. One of my tasks was to forge a weapon in the field from metal I found, not purchased, to enhance my training.

As the boat touched the dock, sturdy hands grabbed the ropes thrown from the dinghy, pulling us in. Their tanned skin, a testament to their life in the harsh desert, contrasted sharply with the deep blue tattoos intricately decorating their arms and faces. They looked at us with curiosity in their dark eyes, but no one spoke.

"Greetings, travelers," one of them, a tall woman with braided hair, approached us with a nod. Her gaze was sharp, taking in everything. "Welcome to the Oasis of Shadows. State your business."

"We seek refuge and information," Master replied smoothly as he jumped out of the boat and onto the dock.

The woman sized us up, her eyes lingering on my hammer for a second longer than I'd have liked. "Very well. Follow me. But remember, the rules of the Oasis are absolute. Break them, and the desert will be the least of your worries."

She held out her hand, and Master removed a slip of paper from his pocket, and then wrote something down on it. He flipped it over, pushed his finger down, and a rune appeared there.

He handed her the paper, then waved to me to get off the boat as the sailors bustled behind me. The woman read the front of the note, then flipped it over and pressed her finger to the rune. She nodded, then raised her hand in the air as she walked. "Follow me."

I recognized the rune as the one I had touched when the elf was killed in the duels. It must be how the Guild transferred gold to people. I had never been paid that way before I met Master, and the whole thing intrigued me.

As we walked behind her, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the sight of the Oasis. Amidst the vast expanse of desert, the Oasis was a bustling hub right next to a considerable town. Tents of various sizes dotted the landscape, each with its own unique insignia. Merchants called out their wares, warriors sparred in makeshift arenas, and children ran around, laughing and playing. At its center stood the massive structure, looking like a palace carved out of the very dunes it stood upon.

We walked in the sandy streets for a while before coming to a stone building with a sign hanging over the entrance. The woman bid us farewell and left without much fanfare.

"Looks like this is our stop," Master said, adjusting his cloak to shield him from the occasional sand gusts.

I looked up at the stone building. It was a stark contrast to the tents we had passed. Sturdy walls, weathered from time and the constant sandstorms, stood defiant against the desert. Above the entrance, the sign swayed gently, its symbols foreign to me.

"Do you know what that says?" I asked, pointing at the sign.

Master squinted at it for a moment. "It's an old dialect. Roughly translated, it means 'The Whispering Sands.' Seems to be an inn or a tavern of some sort."

Curiosity piqued, I approached the entrance, my hand instinctively going to the grip of my hammer. It was hard to shake off the events of the prison, even though I had been free for almost twenty nights by now. And in unfamiliar territories, I wanted to be ready for anything.

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Pushing open the heavy wooden door, a wave of cool air greeted us, providing a welcome respite from the desert heat. The interior was dimly lit, with candles strategically placed on tables and along the walls. A low hum of conversation filled the room. Locals and travelers alike sat on cushions, enjoying food, drink, and the resounding pluck of a stringed instrument being played in a corner.

Behind a wooden counter, a middle-aged man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed beard looked up and smiled. He spoke with a gravely, deep voice, with an accent that sounded like he knew multiple languages. "Ah, newcomers. Olerial, from the looks of it,” his gaze stayed on Master Rogue for a while, then darted to mine. “Welcome to The Whispering Sands. How can I be of service?"

"We need a room and some information," Master replied, stepping forward.

"Of course. We have rooms available. And as for information," the innkeeper said, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with mischief, "that, my friend, always comes at a price in the Oasis."

I tensed, but Master simply chuckled. "Fair enough. Let's start with the room, then. But I'll be back for the mainland chatter."

As Master engaged in conversation with the innkeeper, I let my gaze wander. The tavern was a melting pot of cultures and races. And while it seemed peaceful, I could feel undercurrents of tension. A smoky haze filled the small inn, and hushed whispers filtered to my ears.

Master filled out another piece of paper, handed it to the man, and then took the keys and nodded to the left. I followed behind, still on my guard.

We walked down a narrow corridor, the worn stone beneath our feet muffled by carpets filled with intricate designs of sand dunes and sunsets. Every few steps, there was a door, and as we passed, I could hear hushed whispers, soft laughter, and the occasional snore.

Master paused at a door near the end of the hallway. The number '24' was carved into the wooden frame. "This is us," he muttered, inserting the key and pushing the door open.

We entered, and Master immediately went to all corners of the room, looking into every crevice and opening the door to the closet. He nodded, satisfied, then fell backward onto the bed. He closed his eyes, his hands crossing over his chest.

It was a small bed, only the width of one person. "Wait, where do I sleep?" I asked, looking around.

Master cracked an eye open, smirked, and then threw a pillow onto the floor as dust billowed into the air.

***

Lord Timekeeper looked up as a bell tolled in the corner of his office. He leaned back into his leather chair, fingers steepled, lost in thought. His room was a panorama of cogs, wheels, and pendulums, filled with the constant ticking of countless clocks. Each clock, ranging from grandiose grandfather clocks to petite pocket watches, represented a mission, an agent, or an event, all perfectly synchronized.

His niche class wasn't just about time but precision and alignment.

He had just left the meeting with the elven prince, which was not pleasant. The destruction of the Heart had set a war in motion that he hadn’t see coming. The king would have to die in a new fashion, and Lord Timekeeper had given the prince a few ideas.

But the fates were still a tangled mess.

When he sent Master Rogue into the desert, it was for some fact-finding to ensure his group wasn't missing anything. He also wanted to check on the few escapees to see how they were faring. But as he closed his eyes and tapped into the Vail, some new lines emerged. They must have been the result of his meeting with the prince.

He opened his eyes, breaking the spell, and stood up, walking over to one of his larger clocks. This one had intricate carvings and symbols, with a golden pendulum swinging at its core. He touched a sequence of symbols, and a hidden compartment revealed his map of the region. Notes filled the margin, as lines of underground passageways coiled around the various cities.

"The desert is vast, but it has its secrets," he whispered, tracing a path with his finger. His green eye darted to the island of Altheria, thinking of a plan there as well. The Elder Council was set to meet in two nights, and he had his councilor spy prepared.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his desk and got a new piece of parchment out of his drawer. There would be a slight change of plans for his rogue and his apprentice down south. He dipped the pen in ink and began writing.

To the Esteemed Keeper of the Desert Shadows,

Our paths, though they seldom cross, have always been intertwined by the threads of time and shared goals. I trust this letter finds you well amidst the golden dunes and starlit nights of our realm's desert.

As you are likely aware, the prison has been compromised. Master Rogue, an agent of mine, along with a promising recruit named Erevan and several others of interest to our economy, have made their escape. The Council of Elders grows bolder with each passing day. Their objectives are shifting, and I fear we're at the dawn of a new challenge.

I have sent two of my Guild members into the desert for materials found only in your beautiful lands. I ask you to extend your watchful eyes and ears and, if possible, lend aid to my agent and his protege, who will request an audience with your organization to represent me and my needs. It is crucial they remain safe, for I believe my newest recruit is worth investing in to make things right.

Let bygones be bygones.

Furthermore, the Heart of the Forest and its guardian are now destroyed. I tell you this because you know what that will mean for the kingdoms around me. Your camel riders may have to be ready to head into battle.

Your assistance in these pressing matters would be invaluable. As always, our allegiance transcends mere trade and favors; it is an alliance for the greater good. I await word from you and hope the winds of the desert bring good tidings.

With respect and gratitude,

Lord Timekeeper

After finishing the letter, Lord Timekeeper sealed it with his unique wax emblem – an hourglass pierced with a dagger. He summoned a classed messenger trained to deliver messages with extreme haste.

An elven man, with two small wings protruding from the back of his shirt, popped his head into the office.

"Ensure this reaches the Keeper of the Desert Shadows before morning," he instructed. "And be swift; time is of the essence."