Dim stars twinkled against the dark blanket of night. They were holes in the dark curtain overhead, needle-thin pricks that some unfathomable being once poked out so that light could struggle through the thick cloth of darkness. As Imelda gazed up at the speckled dome, as obscured as it was by the constant swirling sand above her, she felt an indescribable feeling rise up in her chest, hazy but visceral. It was a restless anxiety for something she couldn’t name or grasp.

The young woman tried not to lose herself in the dazzling sight - there was still a ways to go.

Grumbling softly to herself, Imelda struggled onto her feet and wiped the sweat off her forehead, pulling away the strands of hair plastered to her face and doing her best to brush away tiny golden grains with it. Sweat and sand… she shuddered and tried not to think about the way sand stuck. Everywhere.

The girl looked to her companion, a hooded man wearing a thin cloak and silk garments. Imelda had stopped trying to hide her messy appearance, since she'd long since surrendered to the sweltering heat and vicious sands of the Bardenas Desert. The man next to her, Kemen, cast a glance towards her and frowned slightly.

“Toughen up. We’re almost done for tonight anyway. There’s a small village nearby where we can rest before we keep going. For now, try to keep up.”

Imelda bristled and pressed her lips together tightly. Kemen, in his uncompromising flatness, had ruined the atmosphere of the short break. She adjusted her own hood and replied curtly.

“Whatever. I still can’t believe I was sent here with you.”

Kemen didn’t bless her with a response and instead rolled up his left sleeve. Imelda’s dull grey eyes sharpened and her face grew serious as she focused on the vibrant Mark on his wrist: an earthy golden scale, so vivid it looked as if he’d plucked it off a lizard and burned it into his skin. For the first time today, Kemen pulled up his hood, revealing a face weathered by sun and sand and wind. The tight lines of his face hardened as he looked down, but Imelda had a tough time noticing anything but his sandy yellow pupils that matched the color of his tattoo.

Kemen kneeled, leaving much less of an imprint than Imelda would despite being much heavier. Imelda watched intently as the exposed Mark lit up. It seemed to solidify on his wrist, glowing like a golden ember with a speckled light that illuminated a three-meter area around them. The golden-brown shine reminded her of a well-baked pie crust. He'd kill me if I said that out loud. Nevertheless, the light seemed right at home in the Bardenas Desert. Then again, so did Kemen himself. In the desert, at least, it seemed impossible to throw the man off-kilter. No ambush by subterranean predators or areas of ether drought could shake him. If there was anything Imelda could learn from the quiet man, it was that attitude.

Kemen closed his eyes and gripped the sand, clenching his jaw as his shoulders tensed. Imelda could spot a little tremble in his brow as he focused, eyes squeezing shut, and his Mark brightened even further. The middle-aged man’s hands now, more than ever, resembled the claws of a lizard, and she could swear she saw illusory spines jutting out from his neck.

The Dune Rogue lives up to his name, Imelda remarked to herself. She could feel his power pulsing underneath her and her own Mark reacted. The brown feather emblazoned on her wrist, much hazier than Kemen’s scale, let out a weak light - the young woman could feel the imprint of Fe react as if sensing a threat.

She was careful not to miss a single detail of Kemen’s process. Imelda had been placed with him for this mission so that she could learn, and no matter how disgruntled she was at both the harsh conditions of the desert and the Dune Rogue’s inhuman stamina, there was no shadow in the Shroud that would stop her from taking full advantage of the situation.

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That meant trying to pick out any movements or techniques that she could take for herself, but Imelda knew it was futile. The real action was invisible, internal - she was sure Kemen’s ether was surging like a rapids of pure power within him right now.

Imelda noticed the way his lips moved, as if silently reciting something. The sharp particles of sand that constantly blew around them stopped for an instant, frozen in the air, and Kemen’s eyes shot open. Some invisible force exploded out from around him. It made the sand vibrate violently in the air and raised Imelda's hackles instantly.

Her hand was halfway to the sheath at her side, but Imelda managed to stop herself from drawing her sword as she looked into those brilliant golden eyes. There's no getting used to that. Ever. The Herald that had blessed Kemen lurked within the endless desert of his irises, and even though she knew the man couldn’t see her right now, goosebumps prickled at her skin. In his eyes, she saw Kalatos -- the Bearded Dragon.

No display of martial prowess that Imelda had seen thus far - and she'd seen quite a few - scared her more than this fairly regular technique of Kemen's. In fact, as his power power redoubled, Imelda could think of little other than either running away or taking advantage of Kemen's distraction to jam a sword into his back.

Imelda’s own Herald reacted indignantly at her deep-seated terror, as did Imelda herself. It wasn’t even a direct confrontation, and she was so completely suppressed? That was an insult to the grain of her character - as well as her potential. Yes, it was painfully clear that Kemen was, at least, in the Sky stage - he’d connected so deeply with his Herald that the two could almost meld. It was exhausting for all involved, but incredibly potent. It was also painfully clear that despite Imelda's rapid progress, she was barely halfway through Mortality. It’s still not right that I feel like… nothing in front of him.

Imelda instinctually moved to quiet the ether now frothing inside of her. At any other time, the violence and speed of its current would have been incredibly uncomfortable. Now, however, she felt its purpose in a way she never had before - the energy was there to be released. First and foremost, to be released against this man, and soon, all who challenged her superiority.

No. Imelda grimaced at the idea.

What her father said about Heralds was right: when one chose you, its blessing would try constantly to twist you, make you fit.

What Heralds see in you is potential, the possibility to fit them perfectly. At the very least, the ability to contain their power and further their influence. That means if you let them into your heart, they’ll mold you into the shape they want you to be. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes that’s bad - it’s up to you, but that’s just the thing. It has to be up to you.

Fe, the Hawk, had chosen her for her competitiveness and diligence. Her spirit. But what this Herald wanted had transcended her ambitions - it wanted violence. Ruthlessness.

There was a new sinking feeling in Imelda’s stomach. Being a Favored was no one-sided gain. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up bedeviled by the vicious desires of the being that had chosen her.

Imelda’s recriminations drew up short, interrupted by sand buffeting her face once again. The constant storm had paused briefly under the influence of Kemen’s powerful ether, but it started back up once he’d withdrawn his power. Her skin, toughened as it was by the influence of her Mark, felt slightly raw even through the protection of the hood. Imelda’s bad mood worsened.

Kemen also stood, pulling his hood back up. He stretched, a little worn out by the use of his powers.

“I found the village easily, but nothing else of note in a few dozen kilometers. I’ll check again tomorrow, but this was a pretty expansive search.”

The young woman’s face grew even uglier. What Kemen was trying to tell her was that the item they were looking for was still nowhere to be found, even after a whole week’s journey in the most unforgiving desert in the empire.

Before her ether started back up again, Imelda quieted her emotions and nodded gruffly.

“Lead the way. I need a bed.

Kemen chuckled with a hint of disdain that Imelda might well have imagined. Then, they were off.

“It’s all up to you.”

She glared at him and didn’t respond, just waiting until he rolled his eyes and began walking briskly on the sand once more.