Gusts of wind whipped the sandy surface of the Syrys desert. On the horizon, immense dunes rose and crumbled like waves of sand. At any moment, cyclones were born and died, swallowing everything in their path. In Syrys, a false step, a moment of carelessness, meant the difference between life and a lonely death under the scorching sun. The constant struggle to stand, to find one's way amidst the sandstorm, was an unending battle. Here, survival was not a guarantee; it was an achievement.
The desert carried a reputation, a legend of death for outsiders who dared challenge its sands. Under the merciless sun, the heat became an invisible enemy, draining the life from every living being. Within minutes, even the most resilient traveler felt their throat parch dry, their skin burn, their sweat evaporate as quickly as it appeared. Thirst became a constant companion.
Amidst the vastness of the Syrys desert stood Old-Ville, a city marked by contrasts. Surrounded by arid and desolate terrain, Old-Ville appeared as an oasis. The city's structure reflected the social disparities of its inhabitants; on the outskirts, the humble homes clustered together, sheltering those with limited resources. As one moved towards the center, the dwellings became more luxurious, flaunting the wealth of their occupants.
Curiously, despite its location in the heart of the desert, Old-Ville was almost a geographical miracle. Sandstorms, so common in the region, were strangely rare within the city's limits. Some theories suggested that the city's very layout created a natural barrier against the wild desert winds. Other legends spoke of an ancient blessing, a forgotten secret that protected Old-Ville from nature's fury.
On a sunny day, the streets of Old-Ville teemed with life, with residents busy in their daily routines. At the heart of this bustle, a young boy with dark skin and curly hair walked with a defined purpose.
"Good morning, Mr. Jamal!" exclaimed the boy, approaching the bakery counter where the local vendor, a robust and friendly man, awaited him.
"Ah, good morning, my young friend! What brings you here today?" asked Jamal, drying his hands on his apron.
"I've come to buy some bread for my family, sir." The boy, a bit hesitant, extended the coins he had gathered, counting them carefully. "Here are four silver coins."
Jamal observed the coins and then smiled kindly at the young customer. "Well, the bread costs five coins…" he began, but the smile on his face widened. "But for you, I'll make an exception. You're always helping everyone in town. It's the least I can do."
The boy's eyes lit up with joy and gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Jamal! I promise to pay you back as soon as I can."
"There's no need to worry about that, my boy. Your help around town is worth a lot." Jamal handed the boy a bag of fresh bread. "Take this to your family and tell them it's a gift."
The boy thanked him once more, holding the bag of bread tenderly. He set off through the city, his heart filled with joy and gratitude.
As he made his way home, the young boy skipped through the streets of Old-Ville. The joy emanating from him was contagious, affecting everyone who saw him. Merchants paused in their tasks to return his smile, while residents waved back at his vibrant energy. He held the bag of bread carefully, as if carrying a treasure.
Approaching a familiar alley, a shortcut he knew well that would lead him home faster, he hesitated for a moment. Looking at the narrow passage, he thought to himself with a hopeful smile, "If I go through here, I'll see my mom and sister smiling in no time."
Entering the alley, the young boy was lost in his thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. He had covered half the distance when a sudden crash made him stop. A trash can fell behind him, and startled, he turned around quickly.
It was then that he found himself surrounded by short-statured, green-skinned creatures, goblins, magical beasts of rank C. They emerged from the shadows of the alley like nightmares coming to life. Panic seized the boy, his heart pounding so hard it seemed to want to escape his chest, his thoughts scrambled in fear.
He clutched the bag of bread to his chest as if his life depended on it. With an agile leap, he climbed onto a trash can, his fingers found a hanging rope, and with a strong pull, he launched himself onto the roof of the nearest house.
Up there, without a moment to breathe, he resumed his run, feet pounding urgently on the tiles. Behind him, the sounds of goblins climbing and grunting filled the air. He ran towards the edge of the roof, his breath coming in gasps mixed with the wind whistling around him. With every step, he felt the goblins getting closer.
He could feel their malevolent presence drawing nearer, closer and closer, until, inevitably, he found himself cornered at the edge of the roof with no way out.
The boy turned to face his pursuers. The goblins, in a surprisingly organized move, stopped advancing. They spread out from each other, creating a space in the middle of the group. The boy, confused and still panting, watched as a hooded man slowly emerged, walking with authority among the creatures.
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The man raised his hand, commanding the goblins to keep their distance. A tense silence settled, only the sound of the boy's panting breath breaking the quiet of the moment. Then, with a firm and calculating voice, the man spoke: "Don't kill him yet," he ordered, his eyes fixed on the boy. "He would make an excellent slave. I can profit from this boy."
Hearing these words, the boy felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. He was surrounded, cornered at the edge of the roof, not just by the goblins but also under the predatory gaze of a mysterious man with clearly sinister intentions.
As the man approached the boy, he slowly removed his hood, revealing his true appearance. His face was marked by a scar, a burn that stretched from his forehead to his left eye, distorting his features in a sinister way. His hair was pure white with red roots. The most disturbing, however, was his smile - a Machiavellian grin that widened menacingly, reflecting a malice that seemed to emanate from him.
At that critical moment, as the boy stared into the scarred face of the sinister man, something unexpected and extraordinary occurred. A sandstorm, a rare and virtually unknown phenomenon within Old-Ville, began to form with astonishing speed.
Winds began to blow with overwhelming force, lifting clouds of sand and dust. In seconds, the environment transformed into a whirlwind with grains of sand slicing through the air like tiny blades. The hooded man and the goblins were equally surprised and disoriented by the sudden maelstrom.
Caught in the storm, he watched as the relentless winds lifted pieces of houses and a variety of debris, forming a vortex of destruction around him. Amidst this chaos, his attention was momentarily captured by a surreal scene, the hooded man and the goblins who had threatened him moments before.
Flames erupted around the man and the goblins. The flames enveloping them in a whirlwind of fire. The boy barely had time to process what he was seeing before the group disappeared completely, swallowed by the flames that seemed to consume them and, at the same time, protect them from the fury of the storm.
In the midst of the cyclone, the boy continued his desperate struggle to stay oriented and protect the bag of bread. The sand hit him relentlessly, each grain cutting his skin like tiny blades. He held onto the bag with all his strength, but the violence of the wind was overwhelming. In a moment of extreme turbulence, the bag slipped from his hands. He instinctively reached out to grab it, but then a wooden plank, hurled by the storm, struck him in the face.
The impact was sudden and violent, pulling him from reality and plunging him into the darkness of unconsciousness. His body was carried uncontrollably, spinning wildly through the air, as darkness enveloped him completely, silencing the storm and all his worries.
In the vast desert stretching towards Old Ville, a small man, wrapped in a blue cloak and hood, walked alone. His sharp eyes caught an unusual movement - the boy being thrown by the sandstorm and falling inert on the sand.
Without hesitation, he ran towards the young man, driven by a mix of concern and curiosity.
The man in the blue cloak lifted the boy and carried him back to the safety of the city. During the journey, he observed the boy, pondering the unusual circumstances that led a young man to be found in such a situation.
When the boy finally regained consciousness, he found himself before the small man, who observed him with a mix of relief and curiosity.
"Look who decided to wake up," the man began, a slight smile on his beak. "You're a lucky guy. It's not every day that I cross the desert to get to the city."
"Now, tell me, boy, what were you doing out in the middle of the desert? Owe money? Running from a loan shark? Am I right?" inquired the man, his voice carrying a tone of jest, but with a slight trace of seriousness, seeking to understand what had happened to the young man under such circumstances.
The boy, still somewhat dazed and sleepy, stared at the small man in front of him. In his confused mind, a question slipped out almost unintentionally: "Are you a boy?"
The answer came in an ironic tone, accompanied by a light smile: "What gave me away?" said Drake, smiling. "By the way, my name is Drake. And you, young man? What's your name?"
"I don't have a name, Mr. Drake... In Old-Ville, poorer people aren't allowed to have names," he revealed, unaware of the weight of his words.
The young man, still intrigued by the presence of the hooded boy, asked another question: "Mr. Drake, what brings you to Old-Ville? It's not common for us to receive visitors due to the difficulty of getting here, or leaving."
Drake looked at the boy, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "You could say I'm after someone. Nothing you need to worry about," he replied. "Now it's better to take you home, your parents must be worried about you spending the day out."
As the boy and Drake moved through the streets of Old-Ville, the young man, taken by a mix of anxiety and urgency, began to quicken his pace. Drake, noticing the growing concern of the boy, questioned: "Is everything okay? Is your home around here?"
The boy, with a trembling voice, replied as he continued to move quickly: "Yes, Mr. Drake. We live on the outskirts of the city. I... I just hope my family is safe."
The boy's words echoed in Drake's mind, who followed closely, observing the signs of destruction left in the wake of the storm. The buildings became increasingly worn and the streets narrower as they approached their destination.
Turning the last corner, a terrible shock hit the boy. Before them, the house where he lived was in flames.
"My house!" the boy cried out, running towards the fire.
Drake ran after him, shouting: "Wait, boy! It's dangerous!"
As the boy ran towards the burning house, Drake sensed an imminent danger. Quickly, he began to recite an enchantment: "Body enhancement."
As the words left his mouth, a soft blue aura began to envelop him. It wasn't a blinding glow, but a calm and steady light emanating from his body.
With agility enhanced by magic, Drake advanced and positioned himself in front of the boy, extending an arm to stop him from going further. He spoke with a calm, yet firm voice: "Stay behind me, boy."
The boy, taken by surprise by the magic before his eyes, immediately stopped, obeying without hesitation.
Fire House [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/979701081745530891/1204205060595384330/d41f4a7f-e6c8-49dd-ae94-16d3f1f2625f.jpg?ex=65d3e25b&is=65c16d5b&hm=81de33b87c38d7aac1538083b9feb549eedd93a178cf27545b7da19b203bfef6&]