***

I look down at the shifting sands as the sandship flows through them like water. My legs dangle off the edge while I contemplate all that has happened to me.

My gaze wanders to the scripts inscribed on the sides of the boat. They are now buried in sand, but from what the elder thri-kreen told me, that's the way they are meant to be.

No longer does the ship float about an inch off the ground, now it flows through the sand with ease. The runes are pushing air katra into the sand, loosening the granules and essentially giving it the consistency of water. A truly ingenious creation. I wonder if I could be able to create something like this?

I look over to the front of the ship, where that pale yellow sashed thri-kreen is. He has his hand on a glowing yellow white core held up by a podium, his posture loose and relaxed. His hand moves around the ball, the sails shifting with it’s direction and the rudder in the back of the ship helping to steer.

That’s a very big beast core. From what I was able to gather, the yellow thri-kreen was a Spirit Smith, specializing in scripting. He was the one who enchanted this sandship, and was one of a few of the Spirit Smiths of the Va’ura.

Pale yellow scripts glow along the length of the podium, different ones pulsing when the thri-kreen steered the ship in the desired direction.

The beast core is connected to the scripts, and allows for both a battery source and a steering wheel.

The thri-kreen enchanter moves his hand to the left of the orb, the sails creaking in the wind and guiding the ship between two dunes. The night sky twinkles high above, a endless cosmos of white light. The half moon sits high in the sky, glowing down and illuminating the sands.

I look over to Kamar, who is snoring soundly. His large frame expands and shrinks with each breath, and his beige clothes rustle quietly with the fabric of the sail.

Turning away from Kamar, I gaze back out at the dark night. My night vision cuts through the darkness, everything illuminated to me.

I finger the goggles in my hands, so that the lenses catch the moonlight. These should help me. At least, I hope

It was a strange gift, but it meant alot to me. This is the first time someone’s given me a gift selflessly.

Sure, the Head of the Ventos had given me that fine spear. But he had done that in the interest of getting me to come back to him.

No one in Amia had given me a gift, and frankly they didn’t care much for me. They cared enough to make sure that I didn’t die and had enough money to eat, but that was it.

I blink, surprised by the tears starting to well up in my eyes. I wipe the water from the corners of my eyes, reining in my emotions.

Sucking in a deep breath, I hold it in for a second, then exhale slowly.

I should turn off my night vision now. Closing my eyes, I will the adaption to stop.

There is a burning in my eyes, a spike of pain. Tears of irritation well up from the corners of my eyes and I blink rapidly.

Then the pain is gone and my eyes adjust to the new darkness that now surrounds me. It takes about a minute, but then I am able to see a bit better in the night. Though not as well as I did before.

I bring the goggles up to my head and put the band around it. I leave them up on my forehead, deciding that I would like to be able to see in the dark.

The wind ripples gently across the dunes, accompanied by the shifting of sands. I listen to it, the occasional creak from the ship or a snore from Kamar. It’s peaceful here. I wish it could stay like this.

I gaze over the night shrouded dunes, knowing that this was a moment worth savoring. I don’t know what the road has in store for me, or where it might take me, but I should enjoy this moment.

It’s not going to stay this peaceful forever though. Eventually we will reach Parasan.

From my chat with the elder thri-kreen while he was painting my likeness, I had been able to gather some information about Parasan.

It is the capital of the Rhia clan, adjacent to the Tuskite slaver’s territory. As such, slaves are a common occurrence and their labor used just about everywhere in the city.

Parasan is built on the beds of a river, next to and on a large plateau. From what I gather, there is an underground river that bubbles up from on the plateau and streams down into the desert, where it forms a river that eventually runs into Tuskite territory.

The river is both used for crop farming and trade, the most common of that trade being supplies and slaves.

Parasan and the Rhia clan are run by one head figure, the Warlord Isma. He acts as both the leader of the Rhia clan and of Parasan. He’s like the Head of a House, only the House being a giant Clan.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Normally in Traezar, a clan would be a large group of people, usually headed by a council. The clan would mainly have a wide reach over an area, as opposed to a House, which is more like a singular group of people, nobles if you will.

But clans in Rua work differently. There are no Houses, all of them having merged into clans to consolidate their strength and help them keep more territory. It is common for clans to make alliances or go to war with each other, the latter being most common.

Rua is a land embroiled in war, it is practically part of the culture. Clans compete for resources, trade and territory, making war common.

I shake my head. Just my luck when I want to go to Osmun, a land of peace and strength. I instead end up here, in a land of bloodshed and war.

My focus draws back from my thoughts, and I look at my right hand. It is wrapped in the beige cloth and you cannot see any of the black wrappings.

The cloth rustles for a second, a slithering shape under it.

I close my hand in a fist, It’s been doing that more lately, hasn’t it?

It is almost like it is reacting to something or senses something. Maybe it’s trying to adjust to my new body?

No, it was doing this before too.

I let out a long sigh, knowing that no matter how many questions I ask, I will not get an answer.

Let’s see what my new abilities can do.

I close my eyes and focus on my Gray katra, pulling it from my core. It travels to my channels, down my arm and pools in my hand. I push my will, and the katra exits from my hand.

I impress on it the image of a simple, plain spear.

The katra bends, a quiet crackling joining the creak of the sails and the shifting sand. I watch as it slowly expands itself into the shape of a shaft.

I keep pushing more katra into it, pressing hard down with the image of a spear.

Quickly, the entire length of the short spear forms from the Gray katra, becoming more solid.

Then it all backfires.

I can feel for some unexplainable reason the katra unraveling itself, my image slicking off and my control of the katra vanishing.

A shot of flaming pain bolts itself through my head, and I groan quietly, watching as the katra in my hand dissipates. Flecks of it spiral off into the wind, eventually crackling out and leaving me with a handful of nothing.

I blink, pressing my palm into my forehead. Gods, it hurts!

The headache slowly fades, vanishing into the back of my mind. I take a few slow breaths, gathering my thoughts together.

I’m missing something, it’s like the katra is inadequate to make what I want.

A thought resurfaces, one that I had had eleriar when I was trying to figure out the many katra imprints on my world. Do I have to use those imprints to make what I want?

I close my eyes, and shift my mind’s eye inwards. I move to my core, and the strange membrane surrounding it.

Pushing through, I move down to my world.

My incorporeal body forms as I land in a dense forest. The branches of the trees shake in the strong wind, raining whipping their tops and lightning flashing in the dark clouds above.

I look up at the overcast and stormy sky. I am reminded of my time spent in the Jungle of The Gods and all those rainy days.

An absurd thoughts hits me. Could I control that lightning?

With a flick of my will, I float up till I am hovering above the treetops, my toes brushing the shifting leaves.

I reach up a hand, focusing on the sky.

The clouds flash and a few seconds later there is the booming of thunder.

Stretching my arm out as far as I can make it, I will. Strike.

There is that tingling at the nape of my neck, a crackling and popping running up and down my spine.

There is a flash, this one brighter than the others. A blue white light fills my vision and I can feel a tingling running up my arm from my finger, down into my center, my core. The roar of thunder fills my ears.

I am jolted out of my trance, back into the real world.

I blink my eyes, looking out my outstretched right arm.

There is a crackle of white light, and I can feel something rising from deep inside me. It pushes its way through my channels, down into my hand in seconds.

Panicked, I try to contain it.

The energy stops in my palm, and I breath a sigh of relief. That is when I feel more of it pulsing from my core and building up in my hand.

Panic once more comes over me. It’s going to explode!

My thoughts race for about a minute, trying to come up with some kind of solution. Then I start to feel the build up of energy becoming too much.

I release my hold on the energy, and I can feel it ripple in my hand. Then the build up pushes through my skin and out of my palm, twirling up my fingers. White blue electricity crackles along my fingers and fuzzes out.

A few seconds of baited breath, I release with a sigh. That could ha-

Then my ears drums ring with a roar, my vision flashing white. My arm is flung back, and so am I.

I skid along the boards of the ship, dazed.

My ears are ringing and my vision is filled a dissipating white light. I blink, the ringing in my ears fading.

Muffled shouts fill my ears, and I sit up with a groan. My nose stings with the smell of ozone, burnt hair and flesh.

A pain ripples up from my palm, and I drunkenly hold it up to look at.

My right hand is a charred mess, smoke wisping off it. The beige cloth is now completely incinerated, only a few black strings remaining.

The black cloth wrappings are gone, and I can see the cracking, charred flesh underneath.

I look at my hand in a daze, trying to comprehend what I am looking at. That can’t be mine… Can it?

My eyes wander down the length of my arm, the cloth having been completely shredded and scorched up to my shoulder. But the charred flesh is only around my hand.

My eyes catch on something, and I look closely at the burnt flesh.

The black wrappings are rising from my skin, coiling up my wrist and forearm, encasing my hand.

The burning pain that I hadn’t even known was there fades as my hand is rewrapped in the cloth gauntlet, not an inch of flesh remaining. The scripting on the cloth flashes silver, humming a little.

My eyelids feel heavy and I find myself falling backwards. I’m going into shock, and my body is putting me to sleep…