The race had come and gone.

He walked off to be alone after his loss, haunted by the look that his father had given him. The look of sheer disappointment at his performance. He was older, and he should have been capable of at least keeping pace.

After all, the use of one’s breath to call forth that explosive burst of speed was one of the fundamentals after the physical refinement of the body. The use of breath to release one’s inner strength to run faster. Jump further. React faster. Strike harder.

As one grew with training and refinement it would expand to where those became passive. Thus active use could instead purge the body of illness or the mind of fear or corruption. The possibilities were endless.

Yet he couldn’t even do the very basics of basics after all this time.

In hindsight, it was no wonder his father expressed his silent disappointment. The eldest child who was supposed to inherit every teaching he could offer was unable to. He had been hoping so much that he could but, in the end, he was incapable—so it would fall onto the youngest.

His father’s hopes must have been crushed in him.

“The birds told me about the race.”

His breath stalled as he twisted around. He had heard no footfall. He had heard no shuffling of the foliage or even felt another’s presence. Yet there she was.

The Elven Druid was standing behind him. Her auburn hair with cresting waves was tucked behind her pointed ears, revealing her emerald eyes that housed a look of reassurance. She did little to hide the fact that she came to comfort him over his loss when there was no one else who would.

“Let’s talk for a bit,” she told him as she made a gesture with her hands. The earth itself moved, rising and molding itself to form two blocks that then sprouted moss to act as cushioning. Then she sat down on one of them and patted the seat next to her. “I want to hear what’s on your mind.”

He… he didn’t want her to see him like this. But, at the same time, he felt the urge to talk about his frustration. About how he did his best and it still wasn’t enough. How he just couldn’t meet his father’s expectations, no matter how much he wanted to.

So he did.

And she listened.

<->0<->0<->0<->0<->0<->

A ragged breath clawed its way out of the monk’s throat.

His eyelids were heavy and strained as he opened them. The world in his view was blurred and distant. Yet the harsh and unrelenting sting of the Sun, the admonishment for daring to turning one’s gaze above, was absent.

Then his vision cleared to see a brick-laden ceiling. Not red or gray, but a sandy-toned ceiling. It had a lacquer coating that darkened them, allowing for the light coming from somewhere distant to paint it with a bright sheen.

Awareness returned to his senses. There was hard stone beneath a rough sheet on his backside. Shouts and whines reached his ears. The reek of stale sweat was abundant. He strained his muscles to sit upright and felt the tepid stone beneath his bare feet was laced with tiny grains of sand that nipped away at his sore soles.

There was no wall opposite him. Instead, there were bars of metal, a door present. And beyond that was another room that seemed to be a mirror of this one.

He was in a cell of some kind.

A spark of uncertainty was kindled when he noticed that he was down to just his tunic and pants. His belongings, from his cloak to his staff were missing. That spark turned into a flame that threaded his body and the heat drove off the ache in his body as he made to rise. Yet, he stumbled forward as he swayed on his feet and ended up being forced to catch himself on the gates that rattled loudly upon impact.

My body feels weak. He struggled to remember the last time he had been left in such a state or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was walking through the desert as the chill of the night constantly nipped at him, until the burning sun eventually rose from beyond the horizon as loose sand turned to hardpacked earth. And then…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps reached his ears and drew his eyes towards the left, down the corridor between the cells. There he spotted another full-blooded maui’en with fur that was a dusky color, dressed in a stylized tunic. In his hand was a waterskin, but there was a short sword sheathed on his hip by a belt.

Upon spotting the monk, he called out in the common tongue, “Get away from the bars.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He swallowed the dryness in his throat and spoke. “Where am I? Where are my things?”

“Be at peace,” he stated, gesturing with both hands and palms spread. “Our men found you close to the city walls, unconscious and with no identification. The procedure holds that we hydrate and monitor you until you are in a state to speak. And then question you—should you not be a wanted man your belongings will be returned, and you will be free to go. Now, step away from the bars and I will bring you some water.”

He did so, albeit reluctantly given that it had been supporting his body weight. He stumbled to the side, used the wall as a guide, and went back where he had been laying. When the guard finally tossed the waterskin underhanded so that it landed on his bed right next to him, he quickly gulped it down and felt the thirst clawing at his throat being washed away.

Gasping as he took a breath afterward, he shook his head as he tried to piece together the events in full as he awaited the questioning. He remembered the bone-biting chill of the desert at night as he crossed the sands, banking on the nocturnal period leaving the creatures beneath the sands to be dormant. He followed the cloth trails until they grew more distant before cutting off entirely. He could only speculate that she had run out of arrows.

Nevertheless, it had brought him from that nest of sand back onto the hardpacked soil as the sun rose. At that point he remembered the direction they had been heading from the map and, working on the basis she had been keeping him along that path, he continued to move along as the morning sun gradually rose higher and the sweltering heat began to bake his skin.

The lack of water turned out to be a bigger threat than the Monstrous Jackals or even the Sandworms. Running out had left him to the desert’s non-existent mercy. The uncaring sun stripped away every last drop within his body as he pressed on, knowing he wouldn’t survive another night at the rate things were going.

The last thing he recalled before collapsing was seeing something in the distance, a shimmering silhouette beyond his reach. Had that been their destination at the very end? It had to be if someone found him on the outskirts and dragged him inside to this place.

But how long had he been here?

Creak.

His ears perked as the sound of a steel door opening was followed by metal rings clattering like keys. Footfalls accompanied them. Foreign words were threaded between all of that as the voice of the guard mingled with another feminine voice. They were both heading this way.

He sat up straight as they both came into view. The Maui’en Guard from before was now accompanied by a female maui’en with white cloth veiling her visage. Her feline ears were pointed as they were fitted through a headdress that fell down to a broad collar with a colorful pattern adorning it. And beneath that was even more white cloth that flowed down her body towards her ankles, a sash tied around the waist that left ruffles running down it.

Coming to a stop in front of the cell, her yellow eyes fell upon him. The gaze was analytical and judgmental. Her veil shifted as she stuck out her chest and reached up to touch an amulet around her neck, a precious gemstone that was yellow with a black slit threading it, before uttering words in that foreign tongue.

Then she spoke aloud. “Can you understand me, Traveler?”

“I can,” he said. “Are you to question me?”

She nodded. “I am a chantress, a priestess who acts in service to one of the Temples for the sake of maintaining the peace of our home. In a moment, I will cast a spell that will ensure that all lies are revealed if spoken. Should your words be only the truth and you mean no harm, we will see to it that you can go about your business as a welcomed guest that braved the desert. Should there be falsehood in your words, suspicion will befall you and you will remain detained until the truth can be ascertained. Do you understand?”

“Do what you must,” he expressed without any hesitation. Though he had not experienced such a spell beforehand he was no stranger to the fact that such workings were possible. And he had nothing to hide.

The Maui’en Chantress muttered foreign words once more. This time he felt as the air around him prickled with a charge that seemed to seep into his skin as it filled the space. He couldn’t tell if the area of the spell’s effect naturally encompassed the entirety of the cell or if she had purposely shaped it so, but he could tell it was present.

It was not subtle nor pleasant. If not for the warning beforehand he might have reacted poorly. He suspected that was likely the reason he had been informed of its purpose as the guard’s hand was half-extended as if he had been prepared to tell him to remain seated. But with the zone established and no signs of hostility, the questioning began.

When inquired, he gave a direct answer. His name. His purpose for travel. His method of travel. The journey that led him to end up where he did and in his current state. At some point the priestess produced a pad and writing implement to record his answers, only to stall when the topic of the monstrous jackals came about before she continued with pressing on about the stay in the Oasis and then the trip through the Sandworms’ hunting grounds.

By the time he was done, a low rumble could be heard from her throat as she simmered on the information. “Are you absolutely certain that these creatures you faced were that menacing, Traveler?”

“I am,” he answered. “You would know if I were telling a falsehood, correct?”

“Yes, but one’s truth may not be what it is in reality,” she alluded to before her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to face the guard. “Has the presence of such creatures been reported before?”

“I had never heard of them prior and would have to check the records,” he answered dutifully. “But if the caravan he had been on prior made it here successfully, then they likely would have also filed such information. If such creatures have made the route their hunting grounds, it would explain the surge of missing caravans better than the work of bandits.”

“Then do so and contact the caravan’s leader, as well as any others you can to verify the information,” she commanded before turning back to the monk. “I will also go speak with the Head Priestess about both this omen and if she expected your arrival, given your claim that a message may have arrived. Rest until then, Traveler.”

And with that statement the spell lapsed. The charge within the air vanished as she began to walk away with purposeful steps while the guard followed. Left with his own thoughts, the monk leaned his head back against the wall as he became aware of how lethargic and weak he felt once more as the room slowly spun.

Just a little more rest, he told himself, repositioning on the bed and bringing his arm over his eyes. Just a little more rest, and I’ll be fine. Then I’ll complete the task you set out for me, Master.

His consciousness slipped from him again moments later.