Across the diverse lands of Gaia, kingdoms and empires had risen time and again. Petty wars of conquest and divine right had grown into conflicts that redrew the maps, both figuratively and literally.

The Age of Desolation saw the immortals' sects sell their swords to noble lords, whose only purpose was to satisfy their ever more insatiable appetites.

This ended the era, the Age of Giants, in which the immortals' sects rose to glory in the honor of their founders.

Where, once, the privilege of entering the ranks of immortals had been sought by righteous aspirants, the wars of the Age of Desolation demanded conscripts.

Mortals by the hundreds of thousands were taken. Forced to cultivate their inner energies and refine the chi of heaven and earth. To ascend into the ranks of the immortals. But, this was no privelege.

The kingdoms demanded soldiers and the sects sold their own. While mortal armies clashed, immortal faced immortal.

From the sky rained the blood and bone of tens of thousands of ascended immortals, their centuries of life snuffed out in minutes.

The sands of the Desert of Desolation had once been verdant fields and dense woodland. But, under the onslaught of millions of chi bombs and the pollution of nigh-endless carnage, the green grass and noble oaks became dust.

What remained when the kingdoms died were the immortals' sects and the devastation that they had wrought.

The Desert of Desolation had survived the death that fell upon it due to humans. But, little survives the desert itself.

Among the sands of the desert, nomadic tribes scavenge for water and harvest the little food that can be found in the hot land.

Herod watches the horizon as the day dies. His lips are chapped for want of something to drink. He's been running and can't properly search for water.

He's been abandoned by his tribe, the only security one can hope to have in the unforgiving desert.

Without a tribe, one becomes prey to the marauders.

He chuckles to himself as he thinks about the savages of the wasteland. If he survives long enough, he might just become one of them.

But, at this moment, he's their prey.

Herod chews on his chapped lips. All he wants is water. But, there's no cactus anywhere in sight. And the hope to find an oasis is so laughable it's not worth considering.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

And yet…. he can taste it. He can taste moisture in the air.

He wonders in confusion. How can there be water in this place?

The light of day is dying as Herod walks on.

Even as night falls, he continues.

A rustling of leaves spreads across the cooling air. Palms come into his vision.

Herod swallows dryly as he thinks it impossible. But, his eyes and ears attest to the beauty he beholds.

An oasis in the desert. It's no mirage.

His eyes sting as they try to shed tears. And, with insane urgency, Herod races to the gently lapping pond.

As an animal, he falls to his hands and knees to lap up the life-giving element.

The water is sweeter than life itself. And soon, his belly is heavy with something more precious than gold.

"Hahahaha," he laughs with hysteria.

It doesn't make sense. But, it doesn't need to.

He's alive.

"Hello."

Herod tenses in alarm.

Hastily, he stands and faces the source of the voice.

What he sees makes him forget to breathe for a moment.

Even as night sets in and the light dies, he can recognize her beauty.

Black hair, like the abyss, cascades down her shoulders. Moon white skin with petite facial features. The woman is beautiful, as if carved from immaculate stone.

Her dress is exotic and expensive looking. It matches her hair in shade. It's sleeveless, showing more of her pale skin on slender arms.

She doesn't look like a tribal or a marauder.

"Wh-Who are you?" he asks uncertainly.

The beautiful woman cocks her head to the side as if deciding whether or not to indulge him in an answer.

Her head straightens as she says, "I'm Fang Xia."

Herod recognizes the name as exotic. But, has no idea who she is.

The man scratches his scraggly facial hair as he steps back.

"I-I see. Good night, miss Fang. I…. need to be going."

As he turns to walk off into the night.

He hears a snapping of fingers.

He swallows as he tries to put it out of his mind and walk on. But, his feet won't move.

Fang Xia, casually, walks up to just a pace or two beyond him and meets his startled eyes.

A smile that's not a smile touches her lips.

"I think it's only fair that you introduce yourself. Or am I the only one expected to do so?"

Panic fills the man as he tries, in vain, to move his body.

Whatever magic this woman has cast on him, he's lost control of himself.

"I…. I-I am He-Herod…. Mis-Miss F-Fang," he manages through his growing terror.

"Hmm," she smiles.

The beautiful woman, who looks more like a demon in the moonlight, reaches into her dress and pulls out a knife with a wave pattern blade.

"Mister Herod," she says. "You came at just the right time. My research materials were nearly used up."

Warm liquid runs down the man's leg as he watches the knife draw ever closer to him.

"You shouldn't worry," she says. "People of the desert, like us, never waste a single part of the animals we kill. I will put your every piece to good use."

"Please n-"

Just as he begins to finish his plea, the knife kisses the skin of his throat and slides across it.

Herod's eyes are filled with misery as his mouth fills with blood.

The spell keeps him standing until the last of his energy is spent and his body collapses to the ground.

Fang Xia looks down in curiosity.

"Thank you, mister Herod. You will help me more than you could ever know."

There's no remorse in her words. Just simple and pure gratitude.

With a wave of her hand, Herod's body stands with a will of its own and begins walking off to a destination only she knows.

Fang Xia watches the path Herod had come from, a smile touching her lips.

"I'm lucky tonight. More materials are coming."

Soon, more dead walk off into the night under their mistress' command.