Azmiyah, barely rested from her day’s effort, stood tall before them, her face shadowed by flames dancing behind the bodies of their fallen companions. In the thick silence of the desert night, each member of the Caravan looked at her, sensing the weight of the moment. She waited a bit in silence, face marked by sorrow and exhaustion, before speaking in a calm, solemn voice.

“My brothers and sisters, we gather here tonight to honor those we have lost. Those who walked with us under the scorching sun, sharing our dreams, our sorrows, and our joys. They were one of us, and now they rest beneath the desert stars, returning to the very earth that saw them grow.”

A sob escaped from the crowd, quickly lost in the crackling of the fire and the whisper of the breeze.

“Tonight, grief weighs heavily on our hearts. We have lost friends, family, and perhaps even a bit of our own life. They gave their lives so that we could press forward. So that the spirits of the Caravan, who have watched over us for generations, may continue to live through us. We must honor them by carrying their memory with us, keeping it as precious as the purest water.”

Several faces emerged from memory, lodging in Lysbelle’s mind. First, Rayssa—a friend she hadn’t even had time to truly call a friend, one who had given her life for Lysbelle and the others without a second thought. Then came Taaj, her Caravan’s cook, a kind old man who hadn’t been able to withstand the convoy’s torment. He had passed without ever knowing that help was on the way.

Next came Raaid’s quiet smile, a scout with whom she’d spoken a few times. A reserved man, yet with a humor she hadn’t expected. And then more faces surfaced in turn, each with its own story, its own personality: Araf, often in a bad mood; Saabi, a warrior even younger than herself with a gift for swordplay; then Awe, Bori, Aasha, and Toraan.

“We mourn their absence, but let us remember their bravery. They fought with the strength of the desert wind, with the will of those who know each day is a conquest. And today, despite our pain, we owe it to them to carry on, so their sacrifice is not in vain. They are gone, but they are present in every breeze, in every grain of sand slipping beneath our feet.”

More sobs echoed with each word. For the men and women who had given their lives to free those held captive in the convoy, no one remained unmoved.

“Let this night be theirs, a night of watch and remembrance. But when dawn breaks, we will resume our journey. For them, for those still with us, and for those who will walk with our Caravan in days to come. We will continue, together, and we will carry their memory as a guiding star.”

Lysbelle’s gaze fell on the bodies of the dead. Each bore a peaceful expression, each returning to the desert sands. With tears in her eyes, she thought of her mother and all those from her Caravan who hadn’t had the honor of such a farewell rite.

“May they rest in peace under this endless sky. And let us remember them not with sorrow, but with gratitude. For through their courage, they have forged the path that we will continue to walk together.”

In perfect harmony, everyone answered the Phoenix’s final words in unison.

“May they rest in peace under this endless sky.”

The leader inclined her head in respect, placing a hand over her heart and prompting the members of the Caravan to do the same. A solemn silence settled, with each person recalling shared moments with those who were now gone, each feeling their strength permeate their hearts.

After this moment of contemplation, Azmiyah turned to bid the fallen a final farewell.

“You who walked beside us, who crossed the scorching desert and faced the Devils of the vast sand at my side, now you find your rest. This desert that you loved so much and fought so hard, now opens its arms to you. May you find eternal refuge with the Lady of the Sands. This is not goodbye, but a return to the heart of the untamed land that forged you.”

From behind, Azmiyah seemed even wearier to Lysbelle. She still stood with exemplary poise, yet it was as though a sense of sorrow, fatigue, and palpable grief emanated from her, making her appear more vulnerable than usual.

“You fought with the honor and strength of the ancients. Though you are gone, your laughter, your stories, and your courage live on within us all. We will walk for you, as if each step we take in the sand is yours. Each breeze that brushes our faces will feel like a trace of your presence. You will be the whispers of the night, the song of dawn, and the gleam of stars guiding our way.”

A few Caravan members who had been closest to the departed stepped forward, each holding a handful of sand. Lysbelle hesitated before gathering her own handful and moving toward Taaj. Of those gathered, she had known him the best.

“We let you go, but we carry you with us. At every campfire, every rest, your names will be whispered, and your memory kept alive. May your journey be gentle and the earth hold you close.”

In a ritual both solemn and heart-wrenching, each nomad stepped forward, letting a handful of sand drift slowly over the face of a loved one. Maric, overwhelmed, let out a cry of grief before releasing his sand, and only the comforting presence of Toris kept him from collapsing in tears. Lysbelle opened her fingers, feeling the sand slide softly across her skin before the act was complete.

“Farewell, my brothers, my sisters. You have returned to the eternal sands, and with your strength, we will continue. May your rest be peaceful and your memory, immortal.”

Once more, every survivor echoed the Phoenix’s final words as one.

“May your rest be peaceful and your memory, immortal.”

The remainder of the vigil was more festive. Though the day brimmed with sorrow for the living, they honored the dead by celebrating in their memory on this last night by their side. Offerings of food, dried fruits, Orox meat, and, most importantly, water were made, to ensure that their journey into the vast desert beyond would begin in good conditions. Impressive, ephemeral patterns were traced in the sand, symbols of their lives, soon to vanish under the relentless desert wind.

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Much later, the dead were laid to rest beneath the fine sand of the Vast sand, ending their journey where it had begun. Watching their bodies slowly disappear beneath the handfuls of sand from the living, Lysbelle couldn’t help but think of her mother and her kin. They who had been denied such a farewell. Deep down, she felt a pang of sorrow for this injustice, one beyond mending.

At last, fatigue overtook the Caravan, and soon, silence settled under the watchful gaze of the stars.

_______________________________________________________________________________

The slope is steep. Steeper than the highest dunes of the desert. But Lysbelle presses forward, her gaze fixed on what lies ahead. Far above, a figure awaits her—a presence she can sense calling to her, though its form is indistinct.

She nearly stumbles. Recovering her footing, she can’t help but glance to her right.

The abyss.

She turns away, refocusing on her climb...

After a long struggle, she finally reaches a broad plateau. Here, awaiting her, stands that familiar figure she’s felt beckoning her all this time. A figure she knows all too well.

Her mother.

A caring smile crosses her mother’s face, conveying all her love before fading, replaced by another presence.

Rayssa.

The young woman nods, inviting Lysbelle to follow her, then turns and disappears into a cloud of sand.

So, Lysbelle presses forward once more. Time fades into an unmeasured flow of sensations she can barely grasp. The more she struggles to climb this immense mountain, the steeper the slope becomes. As she pushes onward, the weight on her back grows heavier. Now and then, she senses the figure watching her, only for it to vanish like the wind.

Lysbelle’s hands are torn against sharp stones. Still, she climbs.

Her feet are wounded on the harsh path. Still, she climbs.

Her back breaks under the relentless burden. Still, she climbs.

Finally, before her stands the reason for her ascent. A colossal gate, adorned with golden engravings and elaborate designs, massive and regal. It shines, as white as clouds. She knows she has reached the Dragon’s lair.

Yet, it isn’t the Dragon who greets her.

The figure has shifted once more. Now, a tall man with dark eyes and brown hair, dressed in unfamiliar attire, regards her sternly before his face changes.

Taaj stands before her, the old man always ready with a story. He opens his mouth to speak, but the figure shifts again.

Before her appear a woman of unparalleled beauty. Her eyes, two black diamonds, regard her with deep curiosity. A cascade of exquisite hair flows over her shoulders, and her flawless curves are draped in a mystical garment. The robe, woven of sand, envelops her in a royal attire. Her oval face, tender as a mother’s, carries traces of a firm resolve.

"You bear the Dragon’s mark, and this place will test you, but not yet. First, I would like you to answer one question: Who are you, daughter of the vast sand?"

Her voice, clear as a pure stream, carries the power of the desert wind. Gentle and comforting, yet with a tone that brooks no uncertainty in its unyielding firmness.

Unaware of her actions, Lysbelle tries to respond. Only silence comes from her lips.

And then, as if the void had seized her, she feels herself falling. The world stretches around her, distorting in one direction, fracturing in another. Blinding flashes break through her vision.

The lifeless face of her mother on the desert sands.

The triumphant sneer of her tormentor above her.

Her brother’s cries as he bore witness.

The helplessness that seared every fiber of her being.

A roar splits the sky, and the dragon devours her.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Lysbelle awoke in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. But although the ending had been like all the ones before, this time everything else had felt unfamiliar.

Around her, the other warriors slept deeply. Without a sound, she stood and made her way outside.

The night was well advanced, and the desert’s chill seized her, making her shiver. As she’d been taught, she tried channeling a touch of Îme through her body, having learned that the reinforcement bewitchment helped counter the biting night wind. No luck. Startled, she tried again, and when it failed once more, she lifted her garment to check her mark. Just like after the explosion that had saved both Tyrell and her from the Reapers, it had lost its usual milky white color, now blending with her skin. She suspected the two events were connected but knew she’d need to ask Azmiyah for the reason.

A movement caught her eye. Lysbelle turned toward the vast desert expanse, and as though conjured by her thoughts, her gaze settled on the Phoenix.

Azmiyah was whirling in the sand, executing spins, strikes, feints, small bursts of Îme, and repositionings in a mesmerizing dance. Lit by moonlight on silvered sand, the scene had the air of a ghostly duel.

Despite her clear exhaustion, the Phoenix was not resting. Her fierce, almost wrathful energy caused unease in her silent observer. Azmiyah’s every move was intense, each calculated action precise, each step a possible trap that could lead her to fall. Yet, her anger seemed to overpower any hint of fear or doubt.

Lysbelle felt a slight shudder at the sight—what could drive her to keep pushing herself, over and over, even though the immediate danger was gone?

Then, Rayssa’s words before the attack echoed in her mind, bringing clarity. “Her shoulders bear the weight of every life in the Caravan, as well as that of the prisoners.” Azmiyah was punishing herself. She felt weak for having failed to defeat the master of the Îme, for not being able to protect her own. She blamed herself for the same helplessness Lysbelle felt. And her self-reproach was so profound that she continued training, through pain and fatigue, without respite.

For a moment, Lysbelle stood frozen. She seemed like a goddess dancing across the desert sands. There was no doubt that she deserved her place as leader. Watching her, Lysbelle felt her own resolve solidify. She, too, would refuse to sit idle, waiting for the next threat to knock on her door. She would prepare to meet it head-on.

A cry shattered the night, a frightened wail that filled Lysbelle with dread. She turned toward the wagons where the convoy’s rescued victims had been laid to rest.

She would have recognized the voice that cried out from a thousand others. Lysbelle broke into a run, heading straight for the wagon from which she’d heard the sound.

It was Azel; he was awake.