The clash of metal resounded off the desert walls. The sharply textured mesa offered shade from the midday desert heat, but failed to mask the work of Echo and his teacher. At a steady, consistent pace, the metallic beat of a hammer beat against thin iron ingots brought from Arenite.

Lance had insisted they were joined by Echo’s newfound forgemaster; Tessa Gasheva. In fact, Echo, Tessa had spent the entirety of the morning building a makeshift forge from clay, stone. Then, proceeding to gathering the abundant supply of dried-up dead wood that littered the outskirts of the sections of mesa.

The Arkose Desert itself was beyond inhabitable. Yet somehow, Lance, Tessa, did not seem to mind the harsh environment. They read the pathways that scarcely revealed themselves up close, navigating the woven patterns through the rise, fall, of the reddened sands.

Tessa leaned over the clay furnace with both hands, instructing Echo while he worked. On a flat stone nearby, were three crudely made daggers. A work in progress for sure. Tessa herself caught his attention, while they worked. Deltanis stood leaned up against a rock formation, idly watching, eating a dried apple.

Her hair fell straight in darkened shades of plum, well past her shoulders from what can be seen behind the blackened cowl resting at her neck. Streaks of silver flashed through the black metal pieces that accented the form-fitting armor pieces, from extensive use no doubt. A single pauldron on her off-handed shoulder, thin vambraces, appealingly designed breastplate, all resting snugly over darkened shades of leathers. Clasped above her heart, she bore the sigil that Deltanis had become too familiar with. In darkened steel; the sigil marking her a ‘Daughter of Duharrae.’

Sliding his attention, Deltanis observed Echo work beside her. His armor pieces resting on a nearby rock. Quite different than I imagined beneath the rustic remnants of armor he carries with him. He was certainly older than Deltanis, but not my much. He was well-built, a feature well hidden from armor pieces that did not fit him.

A well-trimmed beard in the same cedar hue that ran through his thick hair, he kept swept behind his head. Not quite shoulder-length, but well past his ears. Wearing an old mahogany jerkin, with nearly ragged brown trousers, Echo toiled at his work under Tessa’s instruction. Hammer strike after hammer strike, Deltanis fell deeper into thought. There could be great utility in this, should he hone this craft.

Subconsciously, Deltanis worked his fingers through empty pockets, empty sheathes. Turning from Echo, Tessa, he rummaged through the backpack Lance had prepared for him. Moving aside the various survival tools, food, he found the long rectangular wrappings. Carefully unwinding the black linen, he held two medium-sized daggers in his hand, each less than a third a meter. The blades appeared sharp enough, the hilts slightly worn, but tis better than naught.

“I hope you know how to use those.” Lance snuck up behind him.

Deltanis placed each dagger through a pocket sheathe across his chest, folding the black linen, returning it to the backpack. “Will I be needing to?”

Lance conceded, “More than like not, at least until we make it past the Arkose. I don’t think those would pierce the skin of a desert anklo anyway.”

Deltanis finished closing up the backpack, sarcastically retorting, “Good to know.”

One of the carrienx yelped behind them, padding restlessly at the sand beneath its paws. “Keep an eye that they don’t tear through their reins. At least until, Tessa is ready for you.”

Deltanis repositioned himself closer to the roped off carrienx, carefully positioned at one of the upright stone formations. The leather reins on one shifted up higher against the jagged edges of the stone. He gently rested a palm on the neck of the creature. Petting it soothingly until the carrienx calmed down. In a deep rumble, the carrienx purred vibrantly. “Ready for me?”

Lance nodded. “Echo isn’t the only one that Duharrae has plans for. Until we learn the significance of yours, we have a Daughter here that can help untap that potential.” She glanced at Deltanis cryptically, “At the least, you’ll be able to hold your own once we reach The Antherope Sanctum.”

It was a matter of weeks ago that I thought I was to die within Andescion walls. Now, to not only step within the walls of another city, but within the lands of another realm entirely. “You must tell me more of the Invictus Trials.”

Lance shook her head, holding in laughter. “It still never ceases to fascinate me how isolated Andescion has made itself.” Lance positioned herself closer to Deltanis, resting upon one of the flatter rocks.

“The Invictus Trials is the one time of cycle that the three realms come together. Guilds from all over come to compete for favor of the wisps, a boatload of coin, amongst other things…that vary cycle to cycle. The point is, Melacalya, The Antherope Sanctum, and Novus Terros, gather at the mark of Lughnasadh to demonstrate their prowess in their learned crafts. Save for Andescion of course.

“Each cycle, participants are put through four different trials, unknown to any of the participating guilds beforehand. Only five members from each guild are allowed to participate each cycle.”

Lance held an outstretched palm before Deltanis, fingers grasping openly at air. “However, the overall mission is the same each cycle. Each guild is given a glass orb, hand-blown by Arbhants of the wisps. For no mortal-made forge could harness eneryia in its purest form.

“Each trial, though different each cycle, revolves around charging the orbs, harnessing eneryia that the wisps are willing to offer.” She clenched her fingers tightly, “Should the orb break during one of the trials, all is lost. Victory can only be obtained by being the first of the guilds to make it through all four trials; obstacles of unfathomable proportions.”

Deltanis smirked, “All this for a ball of glass?”

Lance drew closer, “The eneryia charged within those orbs is an extension of the wisp’s own flow. An essence more powerful than what flows through any of us. It is the embodiment of the eneryia that flows through an ‘instrument.’ Skills untaught by any of the wisps.”

Deltanis pursued the conversation, further questioning that would fall upon deaf ears, for Lance’s attention was drawn to the approach of Echo and Tessa. “How’d we do?”

Echo lightly tossed one dagger after another on Lance’s crossed leg. Crude iron daggers, narrow, triangular, each less than the spam of an outstretched hand. Lance picked one up, running a finger along the edge. “Not bad, not bad at all.” She nodded to the rustic plates of armor that still lay arranged by the forge, “We’ll have you properly armored in no time.”

Lance handed off the daggers to Tessa, who brought them back to Echo in an open palm. “For now, these are yours. Clean up the workstation, prepare it for a cookfire.” With a nod, Echo turned back to the forge, hammer in one hand, two freshly made throwing daggers in the other.

Tessa’s attention shifted towards Deltanis. “Plenty of light left in the day to see what you’re capable of.”

He rose from where he sat, “You’re not the first to make a claim to see eneryia within me.”

Leaving Lance behind, the two walked off, past the forge, into an open clearing. Tessa circled Deltanis methodically. “Before we see what eneryia capabilities you have, we need to see if you’re worth your weight to defend yourself to begin with.” She took two throwing daggers in one hand, similar in design the ones she had Echo forge, unsheathing another dagger with her other hand.

Glancing over his shoulder, “Do you mean to cut me down right here?”

“If I have to.” The first dagger came whipping past his right cheek, freezing him where he stood. “Now, fight.”

Turning his head back to face Tessa, Deltanis unsheathed two daggers of his own, adrenaline launching him away from Tessa’s next throw. Going for a full sprint he made to get within melee range of Tessa, sidestepping another dagger's toss. That’s three. On approach, he brought each blade aligned with his forearms, hilts held in a loose firm grip in each hand. An upward swipe for her shoulder, she easily pulled away from. His righthand uppercut was met with her own dagger. How many of these does she have? Blades catching each other, she kept for the melee encounter.

Deltanis crossed one blade after the other in rapid succession, forcing her backwards one step at a time. Keep her on the defensive. Come on. The rhythm became quicker, predictable, -

Swiping down at his next attack, Deltanis’ momentum halted. Immediately, Tessa followed up with a punch of her freehand to his sternum. Despite his best efforts, he staggered. Painfully, forcing breath inwards, he minimized the recoil, too late. Her freehand was armed once more, Tessa thrusted a throwing dagger in rapid-fire bursts at his chest. Deltanis pulled back, desperately, just barely.

He glanced down at cuts in his leather. Screw this. Deltanis pushed the offensive, absorbing a cut at his side to get within range again. He slashed one blade after another, forcing Tessa on the defensive. Finally, now keep her there. Thrusting forward with each step, he drew the gap. One more.

Backed to a small ledge in their makeshift arena, Deltanis lunged for a slash at Tessa’s side. With a sinister grin, she dissipated from her physical form, the tip of his blade cutting through air instead of the leather at her ribcage. What the –

She reappeared in a blackened cloud five meters behind where she stood. No matter, Deltanis drew a dagger in by the tip, hurling it full force at her. With her own dagger she knocked his down, nearly effortlessly. “Now you have one left.”

That’s all I need. Tossing the dagger to his main hand, he strafed his way towards Tessa. She held two melee daggers in her hands, she did not dissipate this time, rather met him head on. She spun each hilt backwards upon his approach, blades running along her forearms.

Blocking her swipe for swipe, he used his free hand to grab her forearm, she pulled back for him only to grasp at air. With the other hand, he made to slash at her leg, with another unsuccessful landing.

The two circled each other, Deltanis taking on heavier breaths with each lap in their circular movements. Deltanis felt the points of exhaustion, dare not stop now. Parrying a blow meant for the side of his ribs, he leapt at Tessa shoulder first, knocking her backwards off her guard. Finally. She staggered backwards, catching her step, spinning the daggers in each hand by the hilts, then throwing them at either side of her.

She pushed at him dead on, taking quick jabs at his chest, shoulders, then she went for his face. The chest, shoulders he absorbed, but when she went for his face, he knocked her forearm down with ease. Tossing his own dagger aside, he took a defensive stance, endure. His breath had no flow, running rampant, desperate to keep him moving.

Pushing forward, he took jabs of his own, forcing her backwards. Her strength alone is no match. Her skill, endurance however, I won’t last much longer. With a deep breath he leapt again, with a full swing intended for just under her ribs. It would never catch –

Tessa pivoted forward, into him, versus retreat, pulling herself into his swing, using the momentum to swing him past her. His foot caught in the accelerated step, catching stone, sending him sliding on his side into the sands.

With exasperated breaths, he lay there. Tessa came into his line of sight with an outstretched hand. After recovering a bit of air, he rose, pushing her hand aside. “You used eneryia.”

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“Odds are never even, in life or war. If you can match your opponent without using your eneryia, you will outpower them with ease once you learn to harness it.”

Hands on his hips, he nodded, “Still would have been a better fight without it.”

Tessa nodded at the cuts in his armor, “If I wanted to cut you down, I would have. Brute force alone won’t win you battles against those with cycles of experience. You need to be more than what your limits tell you to be.”

“All in time.” He subconsciously ran a finger along one of the cuts at his side. No blood. The dance repeated itself a multitude of times, until Deltanis could barely stand. Followed by one more run after that point.

“Help your Andescion brother in preparing for the night to come. Tomorrow we will try again.” He glanced up at the forge where Echo was rearranging the firepit for the approaching eve. Brother. Hmm.

~~~

A deep blue fell over a cloudless sky, while specs of starlight covered nearly every centimeter of the horizon. Deltanis rested himself besides the firepit while Echo dropped the last of the dried wood they had managed to gather. A surprising abundance for a desert. What the Arkose lacked in flora, it gladly made up for in dried out bushes, dead trees hidden by the mesa walls, and twigs littering the area.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Deltanis leaned against one of the larger stones by the firepit, now blazing healthily.

Echo laid out the three skinny cottontails that they had caught taking refuge in the shadows of the mesa. Two of which nearly escaped through tiny networks of tunnels. In the pan, the three strips of meat were complimented with slices of potato, covered in flakes of oregano, basil.

Once the meat began to sizzle under the fire, he took a seat not far off from Deltanis. “That remains to be seen, no complaints so far.” Conceding, “Though I do have to share my mentor with you.”

Deltanis nodded, “A price to be paid, for sure. Though I’m not sure if that’s to my benefit or yours.”

Echo erupted in a contagious laughter that quickly spread back to Deltanis. They both gazed absently into the fire till all fell back to silence. Before another moment could pass, Echo nodded to Deltanis’ forearm. “Do you think it’s possible to remove it?”

Glancing down at his own forearm, Deltanis eyed the pieces of the Deathwalker branding. Cuts ran paths along all edges of the mark, leaving harsh red marks on the skin, but the mark itself remains unscathed. “I didn’t even realize I had it exposed. I’ve been conscious to hide it for so long now.” Deltanis sat in a tight-fit, short sleeve jerkin, with nearly the same trousers Echo wore. Not many options with so little coin. Now, perhaps that may finally change.

Echo took out two mugs from beside the firepit, poured each to the brim with something from a leather skin, handing one to Deltanis.

Deltanis took a swig of the cup, slapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Was hoping for something stronger.”

Echo glanced at his own cup, smiling ear to ear, before taking a swig himself. “She wasn’t kidding when she said we would be working nonstop.”

Deltanis’ smile faded slightly, “Do you think we’re any better than those that remain in Andescion?”

“Better? No. Better off, perhaps.” Echo eyed Deltanis curiously. “Did you mean what you said?”

Deltanis’ attention pulled to Echo, “I didn’t mean to imply we were any better than the Andescion people -”

“What you said, that night at the ceremony. Did you mean it?” The gravity in Echo’s tone left Deltanis silent for a bit. To be the lantern for those that cannot find their way…

Solemnly, Deltanis nodded. “Even after all these weeks, the necessity to act upon it burns fervently, deep within.” Deltanis took a drink of the water. “I’ve tried to suppress it, to no avail.”

Echo took another swig himself. “Good. Pursue it.”

With interest piqued, “Wherever this path leads, no matter which realm they may be taking us, I know where the path ends.” Deltanis raised the mug to Echo, “It ends returning home.”

Meeting Deltanis’ outstretched mug with his own, “That’s a path I will gladly walk.”

Deltanis finished his mug, tapping it down lightly on the stone in front of him. The fresh scent of the cooking rabbit had him salivating already. The spices filled the air around them. “To answer your question, Echo, about removing the branding… Not sure I want to.”

While Echo refilled the mugs, Deltanis added in, “What about you, Echo?”

He passed the mug back to Deltanis, taking a long drink this time. “Echo. Still doesn’t feel right.”

Deltanis heard the approach of footsteps coming from behind them, “The time will come where it will.”

~~~

The star of day may have been gone, but the sister moons offered more than enough light for Deltanis to find his way to his carrienx. Darkened shadows took hold wherever they could, but most of the campsite was lit in a calming pearlescent hue. Anything that could catch light from the sister moons, absorbed them, basking in a cloudless sky.

Deltanis unclasped the pieces of his tent from the carrienx, setting it up with the others along the inner wall of the mesa that rose above them. He looked up at the far-reaching natural phenomena. The grace of shade will not offer warmth tonight. Despite the cycle drawing upon midsummer heat, the Arkose Desert managed brisk winds after nightfall. The journey northward will only bring cooler temperatures.

The four stakes slid in easy enough, Deltanis eyed them curiously before searching for the right size rock to keep them there. A cool breeze swept over the campsite, brushing sand against the canvas of the tents. Deltanis whipped his canvas out flat in front of him before fastening the stakes on one end. The breeze swept through again. Deltanis lay a stone over the first of the stakes, turning his head over his shoulder. His face scrunched with curiosity, pausing with the second stone in hand.

Crouching over, he quickly aligned two more stones at the back, enough to hold down the tent for the time being. He remained still once the fourth was set. The wind rolled quietly, grains of sand brushed against the canvas, dune crickets chirped loudly, but even they fall to the back of the soundscape.

The breeze kept a constant pace, warm from the desert’s sands, yet brisk at the core. Standing up, Deltanis wandered past the campsite, winding his way through the flattened path alongside smooth hills of red sand on either side.

The winds rolled over a dune not too far off in the distance. The soundscape from the campsite quickly fell from earshot, the pace of crickets chirping was replaced with a growing rumble of wind coming from over the next dune ahead. He subconsciously grasped at the hilts of his daggers, a desert anklo won’t be able to spectral step away from the blade’s edge.

Deltanis took large strides up the side of the sand dune. Boots sinking deeply beneath the surface of the reddened sands. Tonight, we finally see what lies beyond the ridge. Towards the peak, he fell to his knees, using his hands to peer over the peak of the hill’s rise.

Down below, in an open clearing between dunes, a traveler in ragged clothing staggered absently through the sands. The clothing loosely fit the person, face veiled from the sands, covered from head to boot in various shades of pale grey cloths. Can he see me? …is that a man or woman?

The figure breathed heavily, chest rising, falling deeply through the cloth’s protection. Deltanis made to rise, but remained still after a moment of indecision. His hand resting tightly around the dagger.

The wind picked up tempo, whipping around Deltanis, down to the mysterious person below. The person staggered forward, towards me, an empty gaze staring upwards where Deltanis hid. The shadows played games with the person’s features, a mere darkness revealed itself through gaps in the veil.

Deltanis froze still, forcing his breath under control. Continuing to roll down from the dune where Deltanis hid, the wind became visible, taking grains of sand in a large open swirl around the open space below. Around the person themself. Something is not right.

Before his eyes, with each blink, the sandstorm took more solid form. Grains of sand whipped into a frenzy down below, sending offshoots, residual tails of wind that managed to escape the growing gravitational pull towards the storm. Move, do something.

The person in the midst of the growing storm, began to panic, moving side to side, pulling back whenever they became close to an edge. Slowly the person was forced to the middle. A cone of sand painting lines to the wind that surrounded him, her - whomever it was, needs help.

Deltanis felt a light vibration at his fingertips. He glanced down to see tiny grains of sand rolling upwards, over the peak, down below into the cataclysm unfolding before him. What in oblivion is this…

The sandstorm swelled higher, growing in force, speed, ferocity. That person needs help… Deltanis rose against the harsh winds, now pushing out towards where he hid. He held an arm to the grains that clawed at his eyeline, the path towards the person was clear, but an instinct within remains frozen. The person within the eye of the storm was frantic, muscles tensed through the cloths… oh, no. Though Deltanis could not hear it, the desperate plea was all but apparent, screams that fell silent upon forceful winds, drowned in the growing chaos.

Deltanis pushed a step forward, panting heavily, one boot over the peak. This is unwise, but they need help. The figure within attempted to walk through a wall of the storm again, only to be knocked back to the center. They froze at the center, falling upon their knees, either in defeat or exhaustion one could only imagine… this is the moment, help them… Deltanis remained where he stood.

A light began to fade in, out, coming from one end of the storm. Gently swaying side to side, oddly tranquil, in the chaos around them. Deltanis watched, mesmerized, a strangely soft orange glow that pierced the severity of the situation. The light drew closer to the person within, remaining on their knees, the person watched the light approach. For a brief moment, all became calm within the storm.

Slowly the figure struggled to raise an upright arm, finger pointing towards the light…calm became calamity. The hand shook profusely… What the…

Either the winds screamed in agony, or the person within. Whichever, Deltanis flinched from the screech that erupted around them. He watched helplessly in horror while blood began to seep out from the person’s position. Slowly oozing, pouring from where the figure stood. The rags of grey cloth around the traveler were quickly being replaced by a deep hue of red.

The outstretched hand trembled, blood pouring in dense drops from every part of the limb up to the finger point. Deltanis winced glancing down at his own exposed hand, a clean red cut sliced across the outer parts of his knuckles. Staggering, Deltanis took a step back, retreating over the side of the dune again. He lowered himself, cowl pulled over, dust mask tightened, the grains move through the air like blades.

The orange glowing light stopped the swaying motion, holding still before the helpless person before it. The head snapped back; gaze unnaturally bent for the heavens above. Rags pulled away to the might of the storm, ripping and tearing into nothingness before hitting any of the walls. Flesh peeled away like leaves, blood became fodder for the storm, disappearing nearly the speed it fell from the knelt figure.

Deltanis remained frozen, staring at the emerging corpse before his eyes, you could have helped them… Before he could find his own heartbeat, what was left of the flesh dissipated into nothingness, the figure faded away entirely, in a brutal inwards deterioration.

In a surreal slowed pace, the orange light began to sway again. With the sandstorm raging harder, another whip of the wind, he collapsed on the safe side of the dune. Out of sight from the horridness lurking on the other side. Eyes wide, absently staring through the reddened sands that embraced his fall, he rested his head upon the sands. The warmth of day was gone, these grains were ice cold.

In the midst of following his thoughts into the void, a hand firmly grasped his shoulder, forcing him to rise. Deltanis turned in the midst of his daze. Echo was pulling him down from the mound. In a burst of encouragement, the wind swept over the dune’s peak, greatly reducing Deltanis’ desire to remain idle in his frozen state. Down below, Tessa, Lance watched from a further distance. Deltanis’ head continued to scan the reddened sands around him. No trace of the being’s existence remains.

At the bottom of the dune, Deltanis’ boots finally caught more solid ground, Echo guiding him along the path led by both Lance, Tessa, in a hasty retreat from where he had wandered off to. Such compelling desire… such destruction…

In a surreal haze, the campsite came back into sight. The sound of the sandstorm had faded nearly entirely, how far did I wander? Deltanis glanced back over his shoulder, scouting the path that drew him away from the camp. Futilely scanning the shifting sands, he turned towards the forge Echo had constructed with Tessa earlier, that also had managed for a firepit.

The flames did not rise past the stone enclosure, but a strong orange hue reflected off everything around the area, lightly reaching the nearby tents. Deltanis shuddered, taking a seat at a far distance from the fire. Not far enough.

Reluctantly, he became more aware of his surroundings, Tessa, Lance had sat opposite him, Echo at his side. Lance broke the silence. “What did you see?”

Deltanis heard the words, but failed to process them. Echo watched with growing concern, “Desert anklos, perhaps?”

Tessa gazed openly at Deltanis, pulling his absent stare from the ground to meet her own. “Unlikely.” …Or Duharrae’s sandstorms that capture your foolhardy path?

Deltanis turned to Lance, “Was that the disaster you spoke of, at the tavern?”

Lance’s face contorted quizzically, Deltanis added sternly before she could reply, “Was it Duharrae’s sandstorm that drew me in, to watch helplessly, while a soul was ripped from flesh to bone, to ash.”

Cutting him off, Lance jumped in, “The sandstorms are her embodiment, protecting those that carry out her will, from those that would wish to hinder her objectives.”

Falling into focus to the vivid imagery of what had befallen Duharrae’s victim, Deltanis recounted what he had seen. From the draw of wandering from the campsite, to the helpless person caught in the storm. Up to the moment of their demise. “I did nothing. I could have helped that person, and yet, I watched.”

Tessa cut through before silence could sweep in, “The life was not yours to save.” Her words cut through the air sharply, drawing the attention of all three of the others. “Lance’s words are true. The sandstorms are the embodiment of her will. They consume those the unwary, the naive, those that wish malintent upon her servants.”

She rose from her seated stance, the gravity in her tone echoed deeply, “Even towards you.”

It was Deltanis’ turn to gaze back quizzically, “What would that person have wanted with me?” Let alone for me to witness it.

She made for the tents, “Duharrae’s will has yet to be fully revealed,” Glancing between Echo and Deltanis, “for either of you.” Lance rose silently, but Tessa continued, “You both play a role she has deemed worth protecting. Let that alone, bring you peace in tonight’s rest.”

Lance finally spoke up, “You will need all the rest you can muster, we all will. There will be work to be done before the day breaks.”

Both Echo, Deltanis rose. Echo paused before joining the others, “What if more come?”

Lance gave reply, “I will take the first shift, there are only a few hours until the morning’s twilight. We will gather what we can then.”