# Chapter 747: The Guide's Arrival
The first pale light of dawn was just beginning to creep into the waystation when a figure detached itself from the morning mist at the edge of the ruins. He moved with a practiced, weary gait, his clothes a patchwork of scavenged leather and sun-bleached cloth. A dead lizard, its scales the color of dust, dangled from one hand. It was Kestrel Vane. His eyes, sharp and cynical, scanned the camp before landing on Nyra. "Heard you were looking for a way into the deep wastes," he said, his voice a gravelly rasp. He tossed the lizard onto a low stone table. "Bad business in there. Even for me." His gaze then shifted past her, to the silent, giant-like form of ruku bez, who had materialized from the shadows to stand guard. A flicker of something unreadable crossed Kestrel's face. "But he wants to go," the guide said, nodding toward the big man. "And when he wants to go, I go. So, tell me, Nyra Sableki. Where in the seven hells are we headed?"
The name landed like a stone in the quiet air. Nyra's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her stiletto, her exhaustion burned away by a surge of adrenaline. Kaelen, who had been checking the straps on his pack, straightened up, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Elara, who was tending the embers of the fire, froze, a piece of wood held aloft. Cael and his few followers, now awake and stirring, watched the exchange with a mixture of fear and curiosity. The scent of damp earth and ash filled the morning, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of Kestrel's presence.
"How do you know that name?" Nyra asked, her voice low and steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. Her Sableki training took over, a mask of composure settling over her features. She had operated under false identities for so long, the sound of her real name from a stranger's lips was a violation, a threat.
Kestrel let out a short, humorless laugh, a sound like stones grinding together. He leaned against the crumbling wall of the waystation, his posture deceptively casual. "Information is the only real currency out here, Lady Sableki. You think a name like that stays secret for long when you start throwing Sable League coin around for whispers of a guide?" He gestured vaguely toward the east. "Your spymaster, Talia Ashfor, has a long reach. She pays well. I listen." He kicked at a loose stone with the toe of his worn boot. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. My loyalty is to whoever pays me, and right now, you haven't paid me anything."
Nyra's mind raced. Talia. Of course. The spymaster was playing her own game, using Nyra as a piece on her board. The favor she was owed was a chain, and Talia was just beginning to pull it. This was her doing, a solution delivered, but one that came with strings attached. Kestrel Vane wasn't just a guide; he was Talia's eyes and ears on this suicidal mission.
"You came all this way on a rumor and a promise of payment?" Elara spoke up, her voice laced with skepticism. She rose from the fire, brushing ash from her trousers. "That doesn't sound like the shrewd survivor we've heard about."
Kestrel's sharp eyes flicked to Elara, then back to Nyra. "The rumor was interesting. The promise of payment was standard. But this," he said, jabbing a thumb toward the hulking form of ruku bez, "this is different. I've known the big guy for years. He's the best tracker I've ever seen, can smell a storm a day away and find water in a salt flat. But he's never been… insistent. Not like this." He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to the silent giant. ruku bez stood impassive, his gaze fixed on the distant, hazy horizon, as if he could already see the place they were destined to go. "Two days ago, he just stopped. Stood up, packed his gear, and started walking. I had to follow. He led me here. He hasn't said a word, but I can feel it. He's pulled by something. A string only he can see."
The camp fell silent, the weight of Kestrel's words settling over them. The idea that their quest was being guided by the mute intuition of a man from the wastes was both terrifying and strangely comforting. It was a sign, a validation of the path Nyra had seen in her vision. The Bloom-Wastes were calling, and ruku bez was the one who heard it.
Nyra stepped forward, her decision made. The vision had given her a destination, and now, providence had provided a guide. She could not afford to be cautious. "We're headed to the heart of the wastes," she said, her voice clear and firm. "To a place where the light never fades."
Kestrel's cynical expression faltered for a fraction of a second. A flicker of genuine, unguarded surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a mask of professional appraisal. He looked from Nyra to ruku bez and back again. "The heart," he repeated softly, as if tasting the words. "You don't mean the Sunken Quarter. You mean the Core. The Bloom's Grave." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, letting out a long, slow breath. "That's not bad business, Lady Sableki. That's no business. That's a death wish. No one goes to the Core. The magic there… it's not just poison. It's alive. It gets inside your head."
"We have to," Kaelen said, his voice a low rumble of support. He moved to stand beside Nyra, a solid, reassuring presence. "It's the only way."
Kestrel studied them, his gaze lingering on the determined set of Nyra's jaw and the unwavering loyalty in Kaelen's stance. He saw the desperate hope in the eyes of Cael's followers, the quiet strength in Elara's posture. He was a pragmatist, a survivor who had spent his life weighing risks against rewards. This was the riskiest proposition he had ever heard. But the reward… the reward wasn't just coin. It was whatever was pulling at ruku bez. And a guide who ignored his companion's instincts didn't stay a guide for long.
"Alright," he said, his tone all business. "If we're doing this, we do it my way. No arguments. My word is law out there. The wastes don't care about your titles or your destiny. It cares about where you step, what you drink, and whether you're smart enough to get out of the way of a cinder-storm." He pointed a calloused finger at Nyra. "You're the client. You tell me the destination. I'll get you there. Or I'll get you as close as possible before we're all turned to ash. My price is double the standard rate. And I want half up front."
Nyra nodded. She expected nothing less. "We don't have much coin."
Kestrel snorted, picking up the dead lizard from the table. "I don't want your coin. Not yet." He tossed the lizard to Cael, who caught it awkwardly. "Food. Good food. Dried meat, hardtack, whatever you can spare. And water. As much clean water as you can carry. And I need three of your people to help me gather supplies from a cache I have a day's walk from here. It's hidden, and I don't want to lead your whole parade to it."
"You'll have it," Nyra said without hesitation. She turned to Cael. "Give him what he needs."
Cael, after a moment's hesitation, nodded. He barked orders to his people, who began to unpack their meager supplies. The atmosphere in the camp shifted from tense confrontation to frantic, purposeful activity. The arrival of the guide had made the abstract terror of the Bloom-Wastes an immediate, logistical problem. It was a problem they could solve.
As the others bustled around him, Kestrel walked over to ruku bez. He didn't speak, but he placed a hand on the big man's arm. ruku bez finally turned his gaze from the horizon and looked down at the guide. There was no emotion on his face, but a deep, silent communication seemed to pass between them. ruku bez gave a slow, deliberate nod. It was enough.
Kestrel turned back to Nyra. "We leave at first light tomorrow. That gives you a day to get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes. Pack light. Only what you can carry on your back. We'll be moving fast, and we won't be coming back this way." He looked around the waystation, a place that had briefly been a sanctuary. "This is your last chance to turn back. Once we step into the deep wastes, there's no coming out the same way."
His words were a final, stark warning. But for Nyra, there was no turning back. The vision of the ghostly flowers and the constant, distant light was burned into her mind. The path was set. The team was assembling. The guide had arrived. The only thing left to do was walk into the heart of the world's greatest nightmare.