You feel the weight of the moment pressing in.
The fire flickers.
The Magus waits.
Your guide, silent as ever, watches you with those sand-worn eyes.
And suddenly—clarity.
You turn away from all of them.
—No,— you say.
They all look at you, startled. Even the fire seems to lean in.
—Not this path. Not yours. Not anymore.—
You take off your satchel and your coin pouch and hand them to your guide, along with the reins of the dromedary.
His brow furrows.
—What are you doing?
—What I must. I came here to find truth, not carry messages for men in cloaks or thrones.
—And where will you go?—
—Into the desert. Alone.—
—That’s death.—
—No. It’s the only place left where I might find life.—
The Magi do not move. They do not protest.
A silver-eyed woman simply walks forward and presses a gourd into your hands.
—Then take this. It will be enough for three days. Use it wisely. May Asha walk beside you.—
You nod. And walk into the dark.
The heat swallows you whole. The world becomes sand and sky. You walk with no destination, no map. You walk because the alternative is submission—to the Magi, to the city, to the game they want you to play. But you are not a piece. Not anymore.
The sun hangs above like a god with no mercy. Sweat stings your eyes. You sip from the gourd only once, then stopper it. It’s all you have, and there’s no promise of more.
You walk until your legs burn, until your mind unmoors itself from the world you knew.
No roads.
No compass.
Only the sand under your feet, the water in your gourd, and the fire still burning faintly in your chest.
You sleep beneath the naked stars, no tent above you, no one to stand watch. The desert is vast and uncaring, but not empty.
That night, you dream again.
The crow circles above, black as midnight, its wings slicing through the sky with silent authority. It doesn’t gouge your eyes this time—it beckons. You follow it in the dream, past dunes and dead trees and bones that whisper in the wind. It flies ahead, unwavering, until a shape forms in the distance.
Ruins.
A city, broken and half-buried, swallowed by time.
Zalenice.
You blink and the dream becomes waking.
But the city remains.
You are standing at its edge.
Your breath catches.
You descend into the ruins, your limbs trembling. No illusions, no shimmering heat—just cracked stone and abandoned corridors. Time has frayed this place into a husk. You walk until you find the throne hall, a jagged colonnade open to the sky. The throne still stands.
You step forward.
You sit.
And a figure approaches from the shadows.
An old man, stately, dressed in simple imperial robes of black and garnet. His eyes are kind. His hair is silver. He kneels and kisses your hand.
—Welcome home,— he says.
—Emperor Claudius?— you whisper.
—Titles are echoes. I am Claudius. And I have waited for you.—
You want to speak, but your throat tightens. This isn’t real. It cannot be.
But it feels real.
You look around. You are alone again. The city is silent. The sun is dying in the sky.
Night comes fast.
The cold follows.
Desperation claws at your ribs as you scavenge through the city ruins. You find some driftwood and dry roots tucked in a half-collapsed storehouse. You carry them to the throne hall and build a fire. It burns weakly at first, then grows.
The flames soothe you.
But exhaustion overtakes you.
You collapse beside the blaze.
Now, awake, or still dreaming, Claudius sits beside you, no longer an emperor, just a man.
His voice is gentle.
—You’ve wandered long, seeker. You’ve seen through the lies. You’ve felt the sting of betrayal.—
—My uncle…— you murmur.
—He betrayed the realm,— Claudius says. —Zalenice did not fall to war. It was surrendered from within. He fled when duty demanded sacrifice.—
—But the Magi…—
—Were messengers. They showed you what needed to be seen. You are not their puppet.—
You stare at the firelight in his eyes. It flickers like truth.
—Why me?—
—Because you still carry the burden of choosing. I do not ask for loyalty. Only trust.—
—To what end?—
—Go to Palmyra. There, you will be protected. There, you will find what remains of Zalenia’s future.—
—How? I’m almost dead. I have no means of traveling.—
He smiles.
—Fate will provide. I’ve sent a delegation. They are near. They will find you.—
You reach for his hand, but the dream dissolves.
Morning breaks.
Boots crunch the sand.
You open your eyes.
They’ve found you.
Three riders dressed in imperial colors approach. Their mounts look well-fed, their cloaks freshly dusted. One of them dismounts and kneels.
—We’ve been sent for you, Your Grace. By command of Emperor Claudius. He foresaw your arrival.—
You can’t argue. Your lips are dry. Your limbs heavy. You nod.
They help you onto a mule. The fire fades behind you as the city of Zalenice disappears into dawn.
The journey is slow. You are wrapped in furs and held steady in the saddle. You ask, between shivers:
—Why are the Emperor and my uncle at war?—
—Your uncle escaped before Zalenice fell,— the man replies. —He ruled it through cruelty and deceit. The Emperor reclaimed it. Your uncle still has allies—but fewer now.—
You barely register the words. You drift in and out of waking.
But the desert does not allow direct paths. By twilight, you arrive in the city of Al-Mirkat. A sprawling trade city built around a crescent oasis. You enter through the southern gate and find an inn tucked between spice merchants and stables.
They lead you to an inn. You collapse onto a cot, drifting between pain and numbness.
But not for long.
A hand shakes you awake in the dark.
You sit up.
A woman stands in your room. Hooded. Pale eyes.
—Wake up,— she says. Her voice is urgent. —I come from your uncle.—
You blink, disoriented.
—What?—
—Whatever they’ve told you is a lie. The Magi. Claudius. All of it.—
You sit up.
—Who are you?—
—One who still remembers the truth of Zalenia. Your uncle is alive. He is hiding nearby. The Magi have turned traitor. The emperor poisoned them with promises.—
—What?— you manage to rasp.
She removes her hood. Her eyes burn with desperation.
—We have people nearby. Loyalists. If you come now, they can take you to him.—
—Why should I trust you?—
—Because you don’t know whose dream you’re in anymore. And if you wait too long, you won’t wake up at all. You knew something was wrong. Even before they spoke. Come with me. Now. His retainers at the temple of Al-Mirkat can lead you to him. But we must leave unnoticed. The emperor’s men will kill you if they know.—
Your heart hammers.
The room is still.
Outside, the city murmurs its nocturnal breath.
Inside, your heart pounds.
The fire of the desert still burns within you—but now it splits, drawn in two directions.
One path leads through a dream, toward an emperor who speaks gently but traffics in shadow and magic.
The other follows a stranger’s whisper, a promise of loyalty to your uncle—the man who raised you, the man they call a traitor.
The night waits and fate holds its breath. You make up your mind:
You accept. You follow the stranger, slipping into the night under the gaze of imperial spies.
You stay in the safety of the emperor’s shadow, unsure if it shields you… or blinds you. You ask the woman to leave you immediately.
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