A mangy pack of wild sand dogs caught Jachai’s scent an hour out of town. One forward scout became two stalkers. Two stalkers turned into three hunters; three swiftly became a dozen.

“How long have they been following?” Jachai murmured, but he couldn’t recall when they’d shown up. His clock wasn’t useful in this situation. Usually, he did the stalking, setting up a mark for a job. It was an unsettling and unfamiliar sensation to have become the prey.

The dun-colored dogs swarmed now, slinking about on the edge of his vision. The predators darting out from rock formations to hide behind twisted, stunted trees. Now that he knew to look for them, Jachai noted several more of the sand dogs arrayed in a loose semicircle to his right and ahead of him, cutting off his path. Scraggly though the brush cover might be, they’d still managed to almost make a full ring around him, and now they drew their net ever closer.

He folded his map with deliberate care, tucked it into a pocket, and drew his knife. He studied the lean, agile beasts for a moment, tapping the hilt against his chin while he formulated a plan. They radiated hunger, but none stood taller than his thigh. Their strength lay in numbers and mobility. If he could isolate them, force them into costly fights, then he had a chance. Breathing slowly to prepare himself for the battle, he backed away with precise, quiet feet.

Ears perked up. Nostrils flared. The sand dogs seemed to pick up on his hesitancy. Sensing blood, the pack moved in for the kill with eagerness. Stealth abandoned, the dogs charged out from their holes and hiding spots, baying and snarling as they ran.

Jachai turned and fled toward his left, leaping across a narrow ravine. He ducked behind a boulder and dashed off course, not worrying about Tanngh City for now. Blood pumping through his veins, he weaved his way through an ancient rock slide, zigzagging to keep his path unpredictable.

The howls drew nearer, but he couldn’t afford the distraction of looking over his shoulder. Keeping his feet proved difficult enough with the uneven terrain and scattered stones. Trusting that the field of huge, haphazardly-scattered rocks twice his height would impede his pursuers, he pressed onward, searching for the perfect place to make his stand.

The massive jumble of rough red rock blurred together as he ran. The twisted landscape took on an eerie uniformity despite its bizarre properties. Strange, yet all the same. Don’t get sidetracked. Don’t get tangled up with the pack. Divide and conquer, Jachai told himself sternly. He’d been in enough scraps on the streets to know his mettle. He was a planner, a stalker, an occasional hit and run artist; he was no warrior.

There!

Jachai almost ran past a small cleft in the rocks that offered shelter. He dug in his feet, skidding to a stop, and dove into the opening of the small cave. He wrestled a rock as large as his torso over the entrance, closing the gap to create a choke point. He’d have trouble wriggling back out without moving it, but that was a problem for later.

He crouched down, breathing hard. Knife in hand, Jachai prepared to receive his guests. They’d soon discover exactly who was prey and who was predator.

Numbering between ten and fifteen—Jachai couldn’t count well while fleeing for his life—the pack of sand dogs found him a few heartbeats later. Their savage growls made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He licked his lips, adjusted the grip on his weapon, and growled back.

One of the dogs tried its luck, contorting its body through the obstructed opening. Foam-flecked lips peeled back to reveal long, yellowed teeth. Its bloodshot eyes gleamed with wild hunger, and it lunged at Jachai with killing intent.

His hand snaked out, delivering a thrust to the dog’s face. The sharp point of the knife bit deep into the gold-and-black eye, piercing through the beast’s face. A howl of pain cut off as Jachai strained harder, shoving the blade into the skull and ending the threat.

After he stabbed the first one in the eye, the others backed off. Jachai pressed himself against the opening, squinting out with one eye and tracking their movements. The pack continued circling and snarling, but for now they seemed content to wait him out. Stark ribs protruded from their chests. Long, pink tongues lolled out of their jaws.

“Cowards, one and all!” Jachai roared, urging them on. The irony of his statement struck him, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. He was the one huddled in a tiny cave of rock he’d found with seconds to spare, not them.

Jachai clutched the knife and hoped they were stupid enough to grow impatient soon. He set his mental clock to half an hour. If they were still camped out around him by the time his clock struck zero, then he’d try to force a fight. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time than that, or else he’d risk getting caught out at night without any light to protect himself. His alethial did him no good without light.

Waiting out the dogs only to die to a Deceiver seemed like a foolish way to go. And he didn’t fancy himself a fool. He ate a strip of dried jerky, took a sip of water, and recovered his strength while the seconds ticked away.

“It occurs to me that the rock I rolled into place blocks me in just as well as it keeps them out,” he chided himself twenty-five and a half minutes later. Less than five minutes remained on his self-imposed timer, but he still hadn’t come up with a plan that gave him confidence for success. As the minutes ticked by, he resigned himself to his fate. If all else failed, he’d charge out and take as many with him as he could.

Only thirty seconds left. Think!

Just as Jachai braced himself for a fight to the death, a high-pitched, rage-filled scream echoed across the rocks. He threw himself down flat, holding his breath and trying not to move.

The dogs scattered like Deceivers before the terrifying, righteous light of Glimmer. From his hiding spot in the tiny cave, with his face squished into the dust, Jachai watched them run, fleeing before a monstrous presence that swooped down from the skies on dark, leathery wings.

Cruel talons punched straight through a sand dog. With a beat of its massive wings, the bird of prey swerved to the side, covering two dozen strides in the blink of an eye, and picked off another dog. A meal in each claw, the enormous bird screamed again and soared back into the heavens, leaving carnage in its wake.

He waited an extra ten minutes in case it came back, no longer caring if it put him behind schedule, but silence reigned outside his cave. At last, he stirred himself, shoving aside the boulder and sneaking out of the hole. He glanced around expectantly, only relaxing once no further threats appeared.

“Better lucky than skilled,” Jachai whispered reverently. He’d take it. Surviving was far more important than playing the hero. No matter how it had happened, he was still breathing.

Jachai pried in the sand dog’s mouth with his knife. He dug out a few teeth from the dog he’d killed. Trophies of his hunt. He’d killed this monster with his own hands, and it felt good. Still. He pocketed the teeth, solemnly reminding himself that he could have—and perhaps should have—died during this encounter. Who knows how the rest of the fight would have gone without the bird? He’d keep the teeth as his own little memento of survival to remind himself not to get cocky.

He dusted himself off. Time was wasting. He shook off the thrill of the fight and resumed his journey.

Threats aside, Jachai dragged himself across the barren landscape. He checked his mental clock: two hours and ten minutes until Glimmer. This far from Esoptron, he had no chance of relying on the rites for safety. The time until nightfall lent him wings. Ignoring his bruises from falling on the rocks and squeezing himself into a cave, he moved with urgency, pressing toward what he hoped was shelter.

No one could make the trek to Tanngh in one day, not if the scale of his map was accurate. That meant someone had to have a place to stay during the long night, when Deceivers and Devourers roamed.

Esoptron had long since disappeared behind him. The only way was forward.

He kept up a rapid pace, somewhere above a casual jog, with regular breaks to walk and rehydrate. He’d packed enough smoked strips of meat to last for three or four days, double his estimated travel time. Despite the arid surroundings, water was the least of his worries.

His water flask was standard-issue for the arid Esoptron region, with a weak enchantment that trickle-filled it with water from the elemental planes. The bottle would replenish overnight, while he slept, assuming that he found refuge.

He drummed his fingers across the surface of his water flask, drawing courage from its very existence. He’d first hatched this plan after looking into the flasks. Officially, the wastes were off-limits. Citizens of Esoptron were barred entry into the vast wilds surrounding the sanctuary city, supposedly for their own safety. Yet the city merchants always stocked these enchanted canteens, even selling them at subsidy, despite Espotron’s lack of an Enchanting Guild.

Stolen novel; please report.

That meant that trade existed between Esoptron and Tanngh. Some enterprising souls braved the wilderness for the sake of profit. Jachai admired their courage. He was meant to be one of their number. Call it destiny, call it a dream—call it dumb luck. Lachlan surely would call me dumb, he thought, chuckling at the thought of his friend.

All he knew was that he’d carve an empire from the wastelands. He felt the truth of that in his bones.

Based on the map, the halfway point was coming up soon. He kept moving, trusting that he would reach safety before the time ran out and night fell. His golden mental clock filled him with equal parts fear and motivation.

At last, a smudge appeared on the horizon. Jachai shoved aside his weariness and picked up the pace, practically running now that he had a goal in mind. The low-profile building took on detail as he drew close enough to observe it. Thankfully, it seemed empty, but he still approached with caution, eventually stopping just behind a hardy, red-flowered tree half again his height to scope out the building.

Anyone who traversed the barrens had to possess a gifting. Whether that was manipulation of time to speed up a caravan, a minor body enhancement to run faster than the monsters, or strange weapons powered by enchantment, he expected a caravaner to have access to etheric talents. And they may not take kindly to strangers sneaking up on their domain.

He flitted from bush to bush, taking cover behind stunted trees and slanted rock piles as he drew near. The parallel to the sand dogs was not lost on him, but he mastered himself and refused to chuckle. If he secured himself inside safely, then he’d let out a laugh.

Fifteen terrifying minutes and eight seconds. According to his mental clock, that’s how long it took Jachai to travel the few hundred strides between the tree and the building. He lifted the heavy latch, shoved open the door, and slipped inside after ensuring it was all clear.

He shook out his tense muscles, locked the door from the inside, and slumped down a bed in the corner of the room, utterly spent from the day’s adventures.

“Proper planning prevents poor performance.”

The quote was a favorite of old Guildmaster Keo; he always grandly stated aphorisms like that in class, when he taught the gifted youth of Esoptron how to grind and polish alethials. They never got to do any real crafting work. Keo only brought them in at the end to fancy up the completed product, but he still liked to strut around and dispense words of wisdom. As a rule, Jachai agreed with this statement more than the other useless phrases.

Some days proved the exception.

Jachai shook his head, wondering if he’d fallen victim to pitiful planning, although he’d pulled off his heist flawlessly. The day had been more difficult than anticipated after that, however.

Jachai had trotted through burnt-orange hills and across wide grasslands for the last five and three-quarters hours since his escape from Esoptron, according to the passage of time since he set his etheric clock. During that time, he’d narrowly avoided stepping on a scorpion, gotten cut up on a tangle of brambles, almost fallen into a sinkhole, and barely warded off a vicious little Deceiver with his alethial.

Watching the wretched illusionary beast burn, consumed by the hungry mirror, had been deeply affirming. Humans weren’t prey. They had a place in the world. He had a place in the world.

Jachai repeated that thought to himself like a mother singing a lullaby. He belonged out here in the wilderness. He was on the right path.

He leaned back against the wall of the hovel, dangling his feet off the side of the bed. Night would fall soon. He gave himself ten minutes of laziness to enjoy the peace, then got to work preparing for his first night away from Esoptron. Soon, crackling flames rose from the dried, brown discs that the previous traveler had left in the fireplace. He had a suspicion about where they came from, but he tried not to think about it.

Fire meant light, and light meant staying alive. Without enough light to reflect the world back on itself, his alethial was nothing more than a pretty trinket. He’d burn anything to stay alive.

Before he settled any further into bed, Jachai got up and banked the fire, adding an extra dried disc to the side of the coals, angled so that it would fall down and ignite once the slow-burning fuel was fully consumed. A series of mirrors reflected the light from the little fireplace, ensuring that the room remained illuminated.

He shook his head as he slipped under the blankets. Wouldn’t do to die because he ran out of light and a Deceiver spawned in the house. Lips curling up in amusement at the thought of not even lasting his first night in the wilderness, Jachai finally drifted off to sleep.

The next morning came all too soon. The bed was too lumpy to truly make himself comfortable, but Jachai didn’t mind. The fire still glowed, on its last embers. It has served its purpose, although it likely wouldn’t outlive the dawn. He needed only a moment to collect his gear, tug on his boots, and chart a course on his map.

Jerked meat didn’t taste bad, but it was tougher than Jachai liked. His jaws ached by the time breakfast was over. He stretched, drank from his water flask, and set out on the next stage of his journey. Yesterday had been a trial by fire, but he’d come through fully convinced of his path. Today was still a mystery, but he intended to turn it into a resounding triumph.

Three monotonous hours later, he matched his map against a landmark he’d always dreamed of seeing with his own two eyes.

“The Tripartite Towers,” Jachai breathed. He wet his lips, over-awed despite steeling his heart against rank sentimentality.

Claw-like, the three massive rocks jutted up from the ground, grasping toward the sky. According to the old stories, this place was once a single mountain. Centuries ago, a blazing star had fallen from the heavens, piercing the rock. The blow had sundered apart the mountain and stained each tower according to the color of the heavenly blessings: the cobalt blue of time and space, of viridian green of body enhancement, and the rusted-red hues of the language of enchments.

Each rock formed a sharp ridge pointing away from the gaping hole in the center. Following a line from the edge of a ridge would take him to the three cities on his map: Vebjørn, Sagrario, and Tanngh, where he was headed next.

He checked his mental clock and cursed under his breath. No time to stay and delve into the mysteries of the towers. Legends claimed that they were a boon from the heavens, given to all of humanity to balance out the rise of the fae. But if the heavens were so powerful, then why resort to such a roundabout method and weak, scattered gifts?

One day, he’d visit each city, learning their primary talents. One day, he’d be the king of both day and night, traveling without fear thanks to an army of underlings to light up the darkness.

He puffed up his cheeks and let out a sputtering breath. Fool. Get your senses together. No point getting ahead of himself. First, he had to reach Tanngh, home to enchantments and etheric contraptions. He trotted forward, reaching out a hand to touch the dusty vermillion tower, and set his course for the next sanctuary city.

Around lunch time, another pack of sand dogs approached him. The scrub brush had given way to a smoother sort of sand, which made each step harder than it should have been as he sank into the loose particles. The upside of this new terrain, Jachai mused, was that the predators had nowhere to hide. He saw this pack of sand dogs coming from a long way away.

There were only five dogs, each far more frail looking than the dogs in the last pack. Hunger made them desperate, if their taut skin stretched over ghastly bones was anything to go by. He withdrew one of the bloody teeth he’d wrenched from the jaw of the last dog he’d encountered and threw it at the pack, charging at them a moment later while yelling at the top of his lungs.

The scent of their kin’s blood had the desired effect. The dogs turned tail, whimpering as they ran off. No easy pickings here.

“That’s right! I’m the master of the wilds, not you,” Jachai crowed, fists on his hips as he struck a pose. He let out a hoarse laugh and swaggered on, marching with an iron will toward the city of Tanngh.

Jachai trudged onward without fanfare or any further encounters until mid-afternoon, when the first village sprang up just around a sand dune. Stone blocks the color of sand fitted together, forming thick, sturdy walls around the settlement, like a miniature city.

He halted, his body growing stiff with shock. How did they live without a Shrine? Who dared the dangers of the wilderness without any Glimmer ceremony to burn away the dark? As his mind came to grips with the marvel of small farms fed by water enchantments, he found himself grinning. Surely, he could find a use for such large-scale conjuration.

The verdant gardens thriving outside the city walls seemed like a harbinger of a brighter future. Although surrounded by harsh desert sands, the people didn’t huddle or hide. That suited him just fine.

Mounted patrols passed him several times throughout the next few hours, proof that humanity could survive outside a sanctuary city with the right preparation and stubbornness. They simply had to remain vigilant.

Jachai felt his spirits rising at the collective power and ingenuity of humanity, but the longer he thought over the details, the more he frowned. Even Esoptron didn’t dare expand beyond its walls, and it was the greatest of the four cities of mankind. What gave Tanngh such courage? Were they heirs to a grand secret, or was this hubris?

Something odd was going on. Honed through years of underhanded dealings, his sense of truth and lies tingled. The citizens of greater Tanngh were teetering on a razor-thin blade, poised to endure the censure of a righteous world. He hoped they hung on long enough for him to profit off their inevitable fall.

He reached Tanngh City just before the gates closed for the night. The guards waved him through with a friendly warning not to cut the time so close. He grinned at their good-natured teasing, but it was a good sign of the city’s strength. They were more concerned about Deceivers or monsters than whether or not he was a citizen of Tanngh.

He was human. That was enough.

Lanterns powered by strange scripts illuminated the entire enchanted city with a blaze of etheric majesty. It was an eerie and glorious beauty; a small part of him felt guilty to admit that he actually preferred it over Esoptron, as though admiring the city meant cheating on his hometown. He shook it off. His heart was not so small and shriveled as to have room for only one. He could love both.

Thirty-one minutes and seventeen seconds later, he rented a room in an upscale inn with the last of the coin he’d lifted from Keo alongside the key to the vault. With one last word of thanks to his former teacher, Jachai sank into a luxurious bed with a sigh of deep contentment. He covered his eyes with a scented cloth designed to soothe the senses. As much as he had enjoyed roughing it in the wilds and proving that he belonged, this night of sleep was far superior. He could get used to this kind of life.