The reflection of the sun on the snow was burning into the eyes of the youth, his brows furrowed as he separated himself from the driver that wandered from one carriage to the other that remained parked on the other side of the mountain—Mount D'oiseaux was the highest peak of the chain of high-rising hills and rock that separated the water kingdom from the northern desert—stretching from the east to the west coast, the distance between these growing the more north one goes.
Midas was fortunate enough to be given a worn-out robe to withstand the cold, something he would have to sell once he'd arrived in Puertagua—the last northern city on the border between desert and grass plains. This, however, was easier said than done; the youth had to make his way down the cliff again, having to set his course to go southwest. The map he held in his hand fluttered around as winds blew against his robed body—the edges of his ears already numb from the cold.
Money became a problem too; the boy had only a spare amount of copper coins to his name—enough for the bare minimum—having no other choice than to sleep in the wild. Guild work wasn't an option here; the northern desert was too unstable to open up any big business besides trading goods. Hearing a loud shriek sound from one of the cliffs above his head, Midas froze amidst the snowy path he wandered on—three Oise'cracher were currently circling around his head, possibly looking for prey they could snatch with their grand claws.
Blinded by the direct view of the sun above, the youth narrowed his eyes—once able to make out their rough shape again, Midas quickly realized one of the three was swiftly shooting down onto him. Seeing the tucked wings of the pale grey bird, the youth wasted no time hiding between a set of tiny pine trees, lying in the snow. The crowns of the trees above his head were also covered in it. The youth stared at the predator, which dialed down its speed to gently place its claws onto the floor.
Watching it take a slow stride around the position it saw the boy, turning its neck fully to watch what happened behind it as well, the youth felt a sense of relief once it finally used one powerful flap to rise to the sky again. Standing up from the ground, Midas let the snow that stuck onto his old robe remain on him—seemingly able to avoid them the more he blended in with the blinding white of the snow.
At least two days of unending hiking eventually brought him to the outer gate of Puertagua—entering from the side of the water kingdom instead of leaving the town to head into the same direction earned him scanning gazes and confused looks—not only from the knights that stood at the gate to look at his plant kingdom guild card, but also from those who passed through the town from the desert. They had their reasons to look at him, a lone boy on his way to an unstable region on his own instead of fleeing it to live somewhere much safer; however, the urge to find out more about the sandstorm and stop its spreading only grew stronger with the conversation he had with Ajan.
It was him, after all, that gave Midas the map of the northern desert and the mountains he found himself in the midst of, as well as the robe he had no use for once he arrived at the start of the Shama Rift. The darkness of the light was only noticeable if the youth raised his head up; large wooden cranes and quarries similar to those of Baumfall made it clear that this settlement was not only used to control the flow of people entering and leaving the kingdom but also to make use of the sturdier rock found in the mountains.
Fahin hides were on the display of the market stand he passed by, his nostrils already picking up the sharp aroma of multiple spices. Once Midas knew it, he stood between colored striped cloth, stacked wooden crates, filled vases, and dried pieces of meat—the heart of Puertagua was a giant market lit up by an uncountable amount of lanterns and the voices of many more northerners and people from the desert, most of them wearing Gihin masks—metal that covered their entire face, only leaving holes for their eyes to look out through.
"How much for this robe...?"
"Are you kidding? This thing is barely holding together—maybe I could give you three bronze coins for it..."
"How about five...?"
"Five...!? Get out of here...!"
Seeing the masked man raise his tone at the boy, Midas's serious glance faltered slightly, having forgotten the way Gihin treated those who didn't follow the beliefs of the sun. Insistent on getting more than three copper coins out of the stand keeper, the youth glanced at him from beneath, leaning against his display board.
"Okay... How about three copper and two of these flatbreads...?"
Hearing him grumble back at him and laying down his used robe onto a stack of other garments displayed on the back of his stand, Midas eventually managed to get his three copper coins and two pieces of crumbly bread he was already used to eating during his first trip to the water kingdom. Finding a quiet spot on the edge of the town, the youth used his free hand to massage his own calf as he used the other to stuff himself full with the little amount of bread he had left.
In the darkness ahead, Midas was able to see makeshift tents on the edge of the town—most likely people from the desert trying to pass through here. The campsite was quite large; the youth couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed crammed—the living conditions of those trying to flee the clashes between the water kingdom forces and the Gihin troops were most likely not that great. The Gihin were a group of elites that stuck to the beliefs of the sun—unhappy with the choice of the rock kingdom on the southern part of the desert, on the other side of the sea that separated the north from the rest.
Ajan had told Midas about the Varni'i that lived on a separated desert continent westwards from the southern part of the desert—the sea that separated them was much broader compared to the body of water that lay between north and south. The rock kingdom used to have control over the entirety of the three parts of the desert—yet, ever since the great Fracture, this power had been divided, helping the Varni'i and the Gihin take over.
Another of these clans of dune walkers was the Brawlers that wore red and black—having spread on the east coast initially, fleeing to hide and pillage the hunters in the mountains once the sandstorm began to expand eastwards. Not even Ajan knew of their origins or why they were in the northern desert to begin with—mostly sustaining themselves by robbery, human trafficking, and mercenary work. However, similar to the Varni'i, they also seem to be believers of the moon.
Thinking about these dynamics helped Midas forget about his aching feet—luckily for him, he was able to refuel at a water fountain near the market. If he was going to run into another squadron of brawlers on his way through the Shama Rift, it would certainly spell an end to his attempt to reach the sandstorm, unable to tell if he'd even survive the initial encounter. Picturing such a fate in his mind, Midas forced himself onto his feet again—lumpily climbing down the wall he crawled onto, finding unsure footing on a pile of rocks as he glanced at a nearby set of rides parked outside the town's gate.
Wasting no time to climb into the back of the carriage, Midas's presence was directly noticed by five sets of glaring eyes—the ride was filled with Gihin soldiers and water kingdom knights alike. Directly able to feel the silent tension between them, the youth eventually looked up at the driver—his dim laugh trying to sound casual as he rubbed his palms together, walking between the two seating rows towards the youth.
"May I help you...?"
"Am I able to head to the Fort O'Jashae from here...?"
Instead of glaring at the opponent sitting in front of them, all of the masked men turned their heads to the youth in front of them—even the smile of the driver almost began to drop as he slowly wiped off the sweat on his forehead with almost a puzzled expression. Seeing their reaction made it clear to Midas that O'Jashae must be the fort to the east—he was faintly able to remember Almas's regretful tone when mentioning it to him all these sun cycles ago.
"I respect your courage, young man... but, you see, the storm is quite strong around these parts of the desert. I can't afford to lose one of my rides—especially in times like these."
"I can pay extra..."
Midas sunk his head; in his hand was his last silver coin, as well as his spare five copper coins—staring onto them with growing determination. Sighing awkwardly, as he heard the guard outside the long-opened gate complain at him, the driver eventually wiped his forehead off, taking the youths' money without further comment to hastily grasp the leashes of his Fahins and begin to take off. Relieved it worked, the youth looked past the silent stares that were focused on him, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the ride—his back rested on the wooden board on the back of the carriage that prevented any potential goods from rolling out.
The ride made its way through Entrepasto to drop off the two water kingdom knights that were most likely positioned in the setuptent at the start of the town, able to smell the scent of flesh blood from slaughtered Fahin. Midas's arms clutched around himself slightly, balling up as he grew ill—not used to the smell—simultaneously also suffering from hunger and slight thirst as well. Seeing the boy lying there on his own, one of the Gihin troops that remained eventually threw one of their flatbreads at him, watching the boy quickly chewing down on it, which worked as entertainment for them.
Living off of donations now, Midas got used to the hard wooden floor—almost missing the itchy hay of Graf's ride as he looked out of the back of the carriage—seeing the same giant rocks in the middle of the sand as they made their way to stop at Giv'Narva. After their stop at the port town, the driver took a sharp turn to head to the east coast—lending him the map that was given to him by Ajan, they turned near Samak'tir, leaving the ocean behind them as they headed inland. Their carriage was now replaced with a sledge similar to Graf's; however, instead of hay, Midas sat on a carpet made from dry plant fibers woven into each other.
Even though Midas was already sunburnt before, his forearms and neck area quickly began to itch with every sun cycle that passed on their way through the endless dunes—their last stop being Gip'din, being the only somewhat intact settlement in between the Northern and Eastern Forts. Unlike the last time the youth arrived here, light blue cloth hung from the now eerily dark windows of the sandstone buildings—the narrow pathways that lead up to the hill on which the central tower was built to rise over any other house were completely barren.
"A shame to see it like this..."
Hearing the driver murmur to himself as Midas sat beside him to hand out the map if needed, the youth couldn't help but think back to the first time he met the royalty—reminded of the time limit he was given by him to come back eventually to stop the storm. It was the royalty, after all, that had told the youth about the storm in the first place, yet he didn't say where Midas was supposed to meet him again once he did return—most likely waiting for him at Fort O'Jashae.
Once the sun rose again, Midas nearly choked on the water he sipped from his clay cup. A broad pillar of thick dust rose up from the horizon, spreading out as clouds accumulated around it, causing the air around their sledge to pick up, their intensity slightly increasing with every passing moment. A spiral of dust and sand was eventually lit up by striking thunder that brewed amongst the compromised clouds—causing the two of them to exchange an unsure glance.
Feeling a grain of sand graze the youth's neck, Midas realized it was a bad idea to have separated himself from his robe so early on already—the closer they came to the dwarfed silhouette of the Eastern Fort ahead of them, the more sand began to be picked up by the air—their vision of the distance grew cloudier the closer they came to the building. The hand of the driver slightly trembled as he held onto the sun shard slotted into his necklace—his head sunken as he tried his best to remain on the ground.
Stopping at the blast through the wooden fence, the wooden rubble was already submerged by a thick layer of sand—Midas was able to feel the howling winds blow against him; dust and sand were now sweeping over the ground, some of it already kicking up into the sitting area of the sledge. Bowing deeply at his driver to show his respect, the youth walked through the gate of the fort—in front of him was a building that nearly stopped itself from crumbling down, sand submerging most of the flat interior grounds between the walls and the central building.
If Midas doesn't continue, the Northern Fort, from which the rune might have originated, would end up like this as well.