He'd left without telling his comrades where he was going. Two days into the desert, the weight of that choice still hadn't hit him.
Raiden clutched his shadowy sword, his fluffy white hair moving with the desert wind along with his ragged clothing as the sun hung threateningly in the sky above.
He swayed, limbs protesting. Regeneration knit his flesh, but it couldn't patch the hunger that gnawed his strength away beneath the noon sun.
At night, he was filled with energy without feeling the slightest hunger, but with the sun directly overhead, it was as though his energy had vanished. Perhaps this was the price of being the moon dragon.
However, Raiden, in his zombie-like state, had zero interest in stopping. Though Noor's deserts were incredibly dangerous and he'd experienced their threats before, his broken mind couldn't retrieve those memories.
