The toll was heavy; despite the mission’s success, many of the Caravan’s warriors had paid with their lives. Though she hadn’t known them long, Lysbelle felt deeply affected. Death was never an easy subject, especially when it came as violently as it had in battle.

The survivors split into two groups. One tending to the dead and the wounded, the other transporting the still-unconscious victims to the Phoenix Caravan. Meanwhile, Azmiyah kept watch over the remaining convoy survivors.

Lysbelle had been assigned to the second group. She began by helping them, taking the opportunity to search for Azel before requesting permission to inspect the convoy. When Basel realized her brother wasn’t among those asleep in the cage, he granted her permission to search the ship.

Lysbelle focused wholly on her little brother, blocking out all other thoughts. As a mental shield against the painful reality of the recent battle, she concentrated solely on her search.

She started in Kraast’s cabin. The relatively spacious room was optimized to save every inch of space, arranged for easy movement between sections. A copper lantern lit the room, casting shadows that danced on the walls with her every step. With only a large desk, a bed, some shelves, and a trunk, it quickly became clear to Lysbelle that Azel, or anyone else, was unlikely to be there. She moved on to the second-in-command’s cabin, which she inspected just as thoroughly, confirming with a deeper look that it, too, held no one.

After these two cabins, she decided to head down to the hold, where the convoy men slept. The place was gloomy and stale-smelling. A shiver of apprehension ran through her as she looked around. Only the faint starlight and moonlight, filtering through thin gaps in the hull and hatches leading outside, provided scant illumination in the hold. The heavy air and the mingling scents of wood, sweat, and steel made her exhale sharply as she moved deeper. Several sleeping bags used by the convoy members lay scattered around. All around, several crates of provisions were stacked haphazardly.

In the midst of this decrepit place, she resumed her search. The place, more cramped than what she would have imagined from the outside, was combed through. She couldn’t understand why her brother wasn’t with the others, and each passing minute increased her panic.

Though exhausted from the battle, her body drained, she kept searching.

At last, hidden behind two crates of provisions, she noticed a trapdoor she had overlooked. In the silence, she thought she heard a faint moan.

Her heart raced as she rushed to the latch, straining to lift the heavy wooden plank that served as an access point. Rusted and worn, she had to pull with all her strength until the latch gave way with a grating metallic sound. Sweating from panic, she pulled open the trapdoor, revealing a lower cavity—the bilge.

Only a sliver of moonlight, piercing through a crack in the hull above her, managed to cut through the darkness. Its pale glow faintly illuminated the bilge, just enough for Lysbelle to make out what lay within.

She saw three bodies. The first, the largest, lay motionless, showing no signs of life. The second, smaller, breathed with trouble, labored and raspy. Finally, the last one seemed almost peaceful. Asleep, like an angel amid the chaos. Illuminated by the faint moonlight, Azel’s face appeared, filling Lysbelle’s gaze. Her breath caught as tears brimmed in her dark eyes. Before she lost control and rushed to him, she called out for help. Though her sight was blurred, it was clear that the three prisoners she’d found needed aid and care as soon as possible.

Her gaze remained fixed on Azel’s face, pale and marked by invisible pain. A blend of fear and worry surged within her, granting her a newfound strength. She leaned forward, attempting to make out the other two bodies in greater detail, though her vision blurred again with tears.

Two Caravan members appeared behind her, having heard her call. They descended swiftly to see what was happening.

“What’s going on?”

The first asked before peering into the darkness. His expression shifting instantly upon spotting the three prisoners.

“They need help; we have to get them out of here!”

With the warriors’ help, Lysbelle jumped into the bilge. She leaned over her younger brother and listened to his breathing. He was alive. A sigh of relief escaped her as she tried, gently, to rouse him, but he didn’t stir. They had without a doubt endured the same treatment as those outside. She lifted him, passing him to the warriors above. Though she wanted to follow him up immediately to tend to him, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the other two behind.

She bent over the second body and, checking the pulse, recognized her. Lying on the hard ground, breathing painfully, was Seylin. The young woman who had bandaged her arm after Kraast had broken it. Her face, contorted with pain, bore traces of panic, and occasionally, trapped in a nightmare, Seylin released whimpers of fear and agony.

With difficulty, Lysbelle managed to lift her enough for the warriors above to retrieve her before turning to the last figure. She examined him briefly, searching for any sign of life, then resigned herself.

“He’s dead…”

One of the warriors responded somberly, “We should still bring him up.”

Lysbelle nodded, summoning all her strength to move him. It wasn’t easy. The man, taller and bulkier than her, was stiff. As she shifted him to lift him up, the moonbeam illuminated his face. At last, she recognized him: Taaj, a man in his fifties she’d known for as long as she could remember. He had been the Caravan’s cook, always kind to her and the other children when she was young.

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A memory flashed through her mind, an image of him by the great fire, doling out food portions and embellishing stories with grand gestures.

Her uncontainable tears splashed onto his still face. In a final effort, she managed to hoist him enough for the two warriors to take over and pull him from the hellish place where he’d been left.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"Are you holding up?"

Lysbelle didn’t respond right away. It was as if the words passed through her, unnoticed, her eyes lost in the vast emptiness of the desert, seeming to see nothing.

"I don’t know..."

Toris, one of the Caravan warriors who had crossed the Desert Devil with her, stood at her side. The young man, with short hair, desert-darkened skin, and a sad smile at the corner of his lips, had come to check on her.

They had left the wreck of the convoy a few hours before. After transferring all the victims into the Caravan wagons and locking up the prisoners they’d captured, Azmiyah and Basel spent some time searching Kraast’s cabin and that of his second-in-command.

As if by some ominous sign, they came out a few long minutes later, their faces serious and without saying a word.

Just before they left, they released the restraints holding the Oroxs captive. Lysbelle watched them walk back into the heart of the desert. it was as if their imprisonment had been nothing more than a strange episode they’d soon forget.

None of the victims had yet woken up; a strong drug had been given to them, and Basel suspected they’d remain asleep for at least the entire day. More urgent care had been given to Azel and Seylin. Seylin, likely the most injured of all, was covered in bruises and painful injuries, her bones no doubt broken. Azel, though injured, had fared slightly better; his captors may have gone easier on him out of fear of killing him. Still, he was covered in bruises and scrapes that would make anyone wince in pain.

Seeing him like that, Lysbelle had erupted in fury. And only her younger brother’s presence stopped her from charging after Kraast and his second into the desert.

Since then, she had kept watch until, finally, she fell asleep by Azel’s side. Now, as the day waned and evening approached, she’d gone outside to breathe in the desert air and clear her mind.

“This evening will be the vigil for the fallen,” Toris said, leaning against the rail beside the wagon.

The Rhiloos pulled the Caravan at a steady pace, casting a slight breeze over those outside. Lysbelle stayed silent, and Toris went on.

“The Phoenix has been scouting the path alone since this morning; she hasn’t slept since yesterday. Since you're awake, you should go and help her. She could use an extra pair of eyes.”

With those words, he shook his head and returned to his post, watching over the victims and checking for any signs of their awakening.

Lysbelle lingered for a moment longer, staring into the distance before she made her way to the front of the Caravan. The mention of the vigil brought back the painful memory of Rayssa. She hadn’t known her long, just a few days, but Rayssa’s good spirit and their brief conversations had left a mark. The image of Maric leaning over her lifeless body, too. Her heart tightened as she moved forward to the lead wagon.

There, Basel was guiding the Caravan from the heights of the first wagon. When he saw her approach, he gestured for her to come up and join him.

A moment later, he pointed to a distant spot in the desert.

"Az is over there. Have you recovered enough to go assist her?"

Lysbelle nodded but hesitated to ask something. Seeing her uncertainty, he encouraged her to speak.

"What is it?"

“I… I’ve never been trained as a scout. I’m not sure if…”

The man cut her off with a wave of his hand and a smile.

“Don’t worry; you’ll manage fine. You’re a Mark-Bearer, after all.”

Not fully convinced, Lysbelle nonetheless followed his instructions and set out toward Azmiyah.

Lysbelle jumped from the wagon into the warm dunes and picked up speed gradually. Using the sands runs, she quickly left the Caravan behind, moving at a faster pace than the desert birds towing it at their steady, slow rhythm. Soon, she was fully focused on the motion. Halfway between gliding and sprinting, with a practiced anticipation. Though far from perfect, her skill was good enough to catch up to the Caravan leader without too much trouble.

Ordinarily, the scout position was handled by several rotating teams. The physically demanding work required going back and forth between the Caravan and their intended direction. No one could sustain such a pace for more than a few hours without exhaustion. On the way there, even Azmiyah had felt the toll. But today, the Phoenix had shouldered the entire role since morning, and according to Toris, she hadn’t slept all night. Unfortunately, the other scouts were either dead or too injured to take over. The leader had thus taken full responsibility for guiding them safely on course.

When Lysbelle finally reached her, she found the Phoenix drenched in sweat. The woman, utterly exhausted, her features drawn and her muscles aching, was staying upright only through the flow of Îme coursing through her body. The reinforcement bewitchment seemed to run nonstop, constantly drawing from her reserves. Even her gaze, usually fierce, appeared dimmed. She’d noticed Lysbelle’s approach but hadn’t waited for her. As if too drained for anything more, she gave Lysbelle a few basic pointers before resuming her routine.

Lysbelle did her best to follow her lead and understand what Azmiyah expected from her, but it was futile. Almost in a trance, it seemed as if the Phoenix didn’t fully register who had joined her.

After repeated efforts, Lysbelle resigned herself to doing the only thing she could. Her knowledge, insufficient for spotting the many dangers of the desert, meant she couldn’t fully take on the scout’s role. Instead, she decided to handle the back-and-forths between the Caravan and Azmiyah. This way, she would only need to relay Azmiyah’s information, saving the latter several trips.

It was only hours later, when Lysbelle was utterly exhausted and overcome by the exertion, that the Caravan finally stopped for the night.

The nomads arranged their wagons in a circle and lit a large fire in its center. Though she would have loved to sleep, Lysbelle couldn’t bring herself to rest—she wouldn’t have allowed it, even if it had been offered. The vigil was about to begin.