The desert woke before the sun. Izan learned that when he was very young. Long before the heat rose and the dunes turned cruel, there was a small window of time when the world felt gentle. The sand still held the night's coolness. The wind moves the sand softly, not yet fast enough to sting one's skin. Even the sky seemed hesitant.
He stood barefoot at the edge of the encampment, toes pressed into the cool sand, and behind him the Regulus clan stirred.
Tents of dyed hide and layered cloth lay arranged in a loose ring around the center hearth. The layout was intentional, shaped by Generations of habits instead of particular planning. Life as a nomad was never permanent, but everything was familiar. A place used often enough that the land remembered them even if they never stayed long.
Izan breathed in slowly and let it out just as carefully.
Axiom stirred faintly inside of him, reacting to the waking world. Not enough to surface. Just a ripple, one that was uneven and uncertain.
"Izan."
He turned.
His father stood a short distance away, arms folded, posture relaxed in the way of someone who never truly rested. Kareth Regulus had the build of a nomadic warrior. Lean muscle and scars that spoke quietly. His red hair darkened into a crimson with age, dulled by sun and time, but his red eyes were as sharp as ever.
"You're up early," Kareth said.
Izan shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
"That's what you said yesterday."
"And the day before."
"And the day before that."
Izan smirked faintly. "Then it might just be true."
Kareth studied his son the way he always did, his gaze lingering a moment too long. Not suspicious. Not disappointed. Just watchful.
"I know you were training again last night," he stated.
Izan looked back toward the horizon. "Maybe just a little."
Kareth exhaled through his nose. "Your paths need rest."
"They need discipline," Izan replied
"And your body can break if you force them."
Silence settled between them, thin and heavy at the same time. The whistling wind was the only noise that could be heard.
"I'm fine," Izan said eventually.
"That's not what I asked."
Izan shifted his weight, sand pressing between his toes. "I don't want to fall behind."
Kareth's shoulders eased slightly. "You're fifteen."
"So? Some of the hunters are my age."
"They don't have fractured channels and oversized Axiom reserves."
Izan's jaw tightened. He hated the way it was phrased. Like something broken had been handed to him instead of something that lived inside him.
"I can handle it," he said.
"I know," Kareth replied. "That's what worries me."
Before either of them could say more, an annoying but authoritative voice cut through the camp.
"Kareth! If you're done hovering, I'm borrowing him."
Saira Regulus strode toward them, her spear balanced across her shoulders like it weighed nothing. Her braid swung behind her, beads clicking softly with each step. She carried herself with authority as if she were the queen of everyone.
She glanced at Izan. "Hurry up, cousin, you're on watch with Teren."
Izan groaned. "Again?"
"Unless you'd rather clean after the horses."
He straightened immediately. "Watch duty actually sounds perfect."
Saira smirked. "Thought so, punk."
She turned to Kareth. "Lina says he skipped half his meal yesterday."
"I ate," Izan protested.
"You inhaled bread and forgot the rest," Saira replied sharply.
"I was busy."
"With what?"
"Uh….existing."
Saira laughed once, sharp and approving. "Five minutes. Don't be late."
She was already walking away before Izan nodded.
He rushed over to the family tent. His mother was already awake, arranging cloth and tying small bundles with the finesse of a master. Lina Regulus moved quietly, efficiently, as if she and the camp shared the same rhythm.
She looked up as he entered. "You're pale."
"I live in a desert."
She reached out and touched his forearm. "You didn't sleep."
"I did."
"Not enough."
Izan smiled. " I'll sleep when the sun sets."
"That's not how bodies work."
"Mine's different."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's what worries me."
He ate properly this time. Bread, dried fruit, and meat. He listened as his mother spoke about small things. The weather. A trader she spoke to a couple of days ago, and a child who scraped their knee, insisting it was the end of the world.
Once finished, he grabbed his spear.
His fingers were tracing the handle. Axiom stirred again, responding to the familiar medium needed to channel its energy.
He clenched his hand and forced the sensation down.
Outside, Teren waited.
Teren was nineteen and built like someone who had never doubted himself. Broad shoulders. Steady gaze. He wore his confidence openly, without arrogance. He nodded when Izan approached.
"You're late."
"Oh shut up, I'm on time."
"You walk like you're thinking too much, red eyes."
"That's rich coming from you."
They climbed through the ridge in silence. The glass pass cut a pale line through the dunes, winding toward lands Izan had never seen. Somewhere beyond that horizon were cities. Stone streets. Walls. Freedom.
Terran spoke first. "Council's tense."
"What is it this time?"
"Traders are pushing north."
Izan frowned. "That's not their route."
"Routes can change."
Izan shrugs, "They change because someone or something makes them."
Teren glanced at him. "You listen too much."
"I live with the elders."
"Fairs."
They reached the ridge and stopped.
From here, the world felt never-ending. Empty in a weirdly comforting way.
"Have you ever thought about leaving?" Teren asked.
Izan hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Where would you go?"
Izan took a pause
"Somewhere loud."
Teren laughed, "You definitely would hate it."
"Probably."
"But you still think about it."
"Yes, of course."
Teren nodded, satisfied. "You won't leave."
"Why?"
"Because you care too much."
Izan couldn't argue that.
The day was passing quietly. Too quietly, perhaps, but neither of them cared enough to comment on it. When their shift ended, they headed back to camp.
Children were training with wooden weapons. Elders arguing softly about who would beat whom in their prime days near the fire. His mother waved him over.
Everything was as it should be.
Like every night, the clan gathered for dinner.
Stories flowing with the firelight. Legends wrapped in truth and repetition. Saira spoke of the old empire the clan once guarded, of red lightning that once bent the sky.
Later, as the camp slept, Izan lay awake beneath the stars.
Tomorrow, he will train again.
Tomorrow, everything will still be here.
The wind continues to shift.
The sky remains clear.
The clan continues to sleep.