You don’t move.
Not a muscle. Not a word. Just averted eyes and a tightened jaw.
Robert looks to you for help—just once.
You don’t return the gaze.
The mercenaries close in like wolves. It doesn’t last long. A struggle. A yell. Then the dull sound of a blade meeting flesh.
You remain petrified as they wipe the blood from their blades like nothing happened.
Their leader rides beside up to you and remains silent for a time.
—We all pay tolls,— he says. —And you, at least, have the steel to pay them with something that matters.
You say nothing.
—You made your choice,— the leader says. —Now make another. Will you come with us? Or make company to this corpse?
You glance at Robert’s corpse.
—I’ll ride.
He nods.
—Then don’t look back.
You don’t. But something in you dies with him.
That night, the desert is silent but for the fire crackling low. You barely touch your food.
By nightfall, the mercenaries make camp on a bluff above the sand sea. The fire glows strange, yellow-white. The stars above are unusually still.
An old man settles beside the fire without a word, his presence quiet but heavy, like a shadow stretching at dusk. For a while, he only watches the flames, his face unreadable in their flickering light. Then, almost absently, he speaks—not to you, not exactly.
—The wind carries strange names tonight,— he murmurs. —And power stirs in your path.— His eyes meet yours, steady and knowing. —You may call me a magus, if names matter to you.— He smiles faintly, as if amused by some private joke, then lapses back into silence, leaving the words to hang and rot in the dark.
You say nothing. Your sadness absorbs you.
—I saw grief on your face. Even if you didn’t show it.
—He didn’t have to die,— you mutter.
—They all say that.
He leans closer.
—But some lives are just fuel for the fire ahead. Your name has reached our ears more than once. You will go far. You will do terrible things. That man was only the first.
You swallow.
He offers no comfort. Only prophecy.
—Tonight, you’ll dream of a massive crow, black as the void, gouging out your eyes with its beak.
You stare.
—That’s not much of a lullaby.
But when sleep finally comes—it’s there. The crow. The screaming. The pain. Darkness.
You wake gasping. Your clothes soaked. The fire nearly dead.
The magus watches, unmoving.
—You saw it.
—The crow,— you whisper. —How did you…?
—Because I saw it first. A few nights ago. A vision. A warning. Or maybe a promise.
You feel a cold weight settle over your chest.
—Now we share the dream. And the future it brings.
Your guide grabs your arm in the dark. Eyes wide. You look at him guide in disbelief.
—You saw the dream too?— you whisper.
He shakes his head, eyes wide with fear.
—No. But I heard you scream. And he was already waiting, like he knew. That’s magi work. Dark work. He put it in your head. We need to leave. Tonight. Before dawn, before he does worse.
You glance back at the magus—still cross-legged by the fire, watching the embers like a priest at prayer. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But you feel his gaze like a weight.
The dream still claws at your mind.
You nod slowly. You have to decide.
You agree to flee with your guide before dawn, fearing the magus’s dark influence.
You stay with the band, wondering if the dream was a true vision—and your fate is bound to theirs.
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