"La la la la la la la…"
A soft, melodious voice echoed through the broken altar.
One figure knelt, humming a low tune, while the other stood, head tilted skyward.
The two stood within a roofless tower—though from within, it resembled a deep well. Only for a brief moment each day did a single ray of sunlight shine down from above.
That fleeting moment was sacred. It was when the people of Loulan offered prayers to their guardian deity.
"I still can't sense the dragon vein..." the girl whispered, lowering her head. She sighed quietly, then glanced toward her mother—the Queen of Roran—who waited at the altar's end with serene patience.
Living amidst the desert's constant assault of wind and sand, this small oasis had long been Roran's only source of life. For that, Sara was deeply grateful to their guardian.
And yet… Roran itself reminded her of this very tower: a deep, isolated well in the desert—beautiful, yet confining. The people inside, like frogs trapped at the bottom, never seeing the wider world.
Since she could remember, Sara had longed for the open sky beyond.
Maybe it's that quiet desire that keeps me from hearing the guardian's voice, she thought.
Just as her thoughts drifted, the light around her began to fade. Surprised, Sara looked up.
"That was fast… Is it already time to adjust the sky mirror?"
The sun moved with the seasons, and the Roran people had designed a massive, adjustable mirror to direct sunlight precisely onto the altar. Yet these adjustments happened only twice a month, and the last one had been recent.
Before she could consider further, the Queen—still kneeling—suddenly stopped praying. Her eyes opened, sharp and alert.
"A sandstorm… is coming."
She hadn't seen it yet, but something in the air had shifted.
"What? But there was one just recently…" Sara's eyes widened in disbelief.
Desert storms were fierce, unpredictable, and deadly. While the dragon vein's protection allowed Roran to endure, the desert's wrath was still not to be underestimated.
"Experience can guide us, but we must never grow overconfident," the Queen said gravely. "Issue a full evacuation immediately. This storm… is unlike any we've faced. Even the guardian feels uneasy."
"Yes, mother!"
Sara turned and bolted toward the tower's exit.
This wasn't just a ceremonial site. It was also Roran's command center—any message issued here would reach the entire city within moments.
As she vanished down the stairs, Queen of Roran closed her eyes again and resumed praying.
May Roran survive this crisis too…
"La la la la la la la…"
The soft chant returned, echoing through the altar.
A faint white glow began to rise around the Queen.
---
The wind screamed.
Grains of sand swirled in the air as a massive storm gathered. Yellow dunes were lifted skyward, spiraling upward like a divine pillar.
The heavens darkened. Rare desert clouds swelled into vast mountain-like masses, racing across the sky, blotting out the sun.
The sandstorm twisted like a monstrous serpent. It clawed across the land with endless hunger. And in its path, Roran stood like a fragile sandcastle.
Yet at the eye of the storm, the winds were deathly still.
And there walked Orochimaru.
The serpent-like man moved slowly through the desert, his long frame leaving a winding trail across the sand. His skin glistened with sweat—thick droplets the size of fists.
Even for him, creating a disaster on this scale took a toll.
But what intrigued him most wasn't the cost—it was what came with it.
He turned to the being beside him—the lamp god. "How strange. It's going to rain?"
Rain, in the deep desert, was nearly unheard of—even in places closer to the sea. But here?
It wasn't coincidence.
Still, even with the sandstorm being enhanced by sage chakra, it shouldn't be enough to summon rainclouds.
"Actually, it makes sense," the lamp god replied, rubbing his chin. "Clouds and rain are formed when water vapor gathers around dust in the air. The sun heats it, it rises, then condenses—and rain falls when the atmosphere can't hold it anymore."
"Invisible as it may seem, deserts do have water vapor. The key is providing enough dust and movement to let it condense. Your sandstorm? It's doing just that."
"I see…" Orochimaru narrowed his eyes, watching the sheets of fine rain begin to fall around the storm's edge. "But this oasis… it has more water than I expected."
"Exactly," the lamp god nodded. "This area's different. Lots of underground moisture. Probably why Roran was founded here in the first place."
Orochimaru considered probing deeper but gave up when the lamp god raised a hand. "Don't ask me more. If you're that curious, do your own research—or get some assistants."
In truth, the lamp god didn't know much more than that. He'd been an ordinary graduate, then a drifter. He'd never expected such scientific trivia would matter.
Still, his experience in this world was different. Unlike past worlds dominated by magic or decay, here—he could feel the power of both civilization and nature. This time, knowledge might matter.
Orochimaru gave a small nod. "I'll remember that."
He wasn't the type to pursue vast knowledge alone. Even with an immortal lifespan, he preferred results over philosophy—and gathering others to do the work.
"The desert's too limiting," the lamp god mused. "If you really want storms, I know a few other ways to call them…"
As the sandstorm raged forward, Orochimaru guided its path calmly, listening with interest.
---
But others weren't so calm.
In Roran, the sirens began to wail. Fear spread like wildfire.
The winds howled. Thunder cracked. The skies seemed to split open. In the face of that approaching force, panic overtook the people.
Anxiety, terror, confusion—it spread like ripples in a pond, feeding off itself.
Left unchecked, they might break before the storm even arrived.
But then… a voice rose.
It was gentle, almost a whisper. And yet, every citizen heard it clearly.
A simple tune. No lyrics. Just soft, rising and falling notes.
The people stilled.
The chaos faded. Order returned. Guided by the voice, the townsfolk fled swiftly into the underground shelters.
Once there, they knelt in silence. The song continued.
And one by one, soft white lights bloomed above their heads. Thousands of glowing motes gathered and merged, forming a shimmering barrier over the city.
Within the altar chamber, Queen of Roran exhaled quietly.
Normally, the protective veil signified that the storm would pass safely.
But not this time.
With her mind now linked to the dragon vein, she could feel the terrible power approaching.
I'll need more power.
She turned to her daughter. "Sara, come with me."
"Me?" Sara froze. "Can I really help?"
"You can," her mother said firmly, extending a hand.
Sara hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and taking it.
At once, an immense will surged into her mind—so vast it nearly overwhelmed her.
Her thoughts blurred, on the verge of being consumed. But a familiar warmth anchored her—the presence of her mother.
"Remember the melody," came a soft voice in her mind. "Focus."
Sara pushed away her fear. The sense of impending death forced her to clear her thoughts. One by one, her emotions faded, until only a quiet, singular purpose remained.
The lullaby she had heard since childhood echoed in her heart.
Her lips began to hum.
And the dragon vein… responded.
What had once felt distant and unfathomable now pulsed with innocent energy, like a newborn child reaching for her hand.
With its protection, Sara's mind stabilized.
Queen let out a breath of relief.
The dragon vein wasn't a sentient being like a tailed beast. It was a pure reservoir of ancestral power, born of countless generations of sacrifice.
Only with proper rituals—and a bit of luck—could one reach it.
If unwelcomed, any mortal mind would simply dissolve.
But Sara had been part of this tradition since childhood. She carried the Queen's blood, and her aura resonated with the dragon vein.
And in this moment of crisis, that connection had been forged.
Perhaps… with her, we stand a chance.
With that hope, Queen joined her daughter, and together they began to draw deeper from the dragon vein.
---
The storm struck Roran like a hammer.
Sand and gravel swept through the streets, tearing doors off hinges and hurling entire structures into the sky.
The city was shredded in moments.
But the underground shelters stood firm.
Their design and the shimmering white barrier absorbed most of the storm's force. Only a fraction of the destruction reached below—and even that was barely felt.
---
Orochimaru walked through the storm, yellow sand curling around him like mist.
He peered through the dust, scanning the shelters one by one. A smile tugged at his lips.
"So… this is Roran's secret."
Though the phenomenon was slightly different, to his senses, the white light was unmistakably natural energy.
But this energy—channeled and used by ordinary people—was something else entirely.
Something perfect… for a Sage like him.
_____________________
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