The heat finally broke after three relentless days.Not gently, but as if the world itself had exhaled after holding its breath too long.The air still shimmered with ghosts of flame, and every grain of sand radiated the memory of fire. Even when the sun finally dimmed, the ground pulsed with warmth like a beast that refused to die.
By dawn, Himmel led the group out from beneath their makeshift shelter, his armor streaked with soot, his face calm but unreadable. The others followed—Texan's tail dragged through the sand, Vanessa's hair stuck to her neck, Winter's bow slung loose across her shoulder, and Tyler's staff tapping lightly with every step. They were exhausted, but alive. That was enough.
The Wild Lands had changed since the last storm. The dunes had flattened into wavering plains—ashen beige and dotted with the skeletons of trees long burned away. The horizon shimmered, endless and uncertain, and the faint hum of magic buzzed beneath their boots. Himmel walked ahead, scanning the horizon, his blue lightning flickering faintly along his fingertips like restless thoughts.
After a few miles, he slowed and turned back to them. "I'm scouting ahead. Don't move from this area until I'm back. Use the meat we stored if you have to eat, but don't light a fire—it'll bring attention." Himmel tossed them his subspace key.
Texan caught the key and nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Got it. Don't die."
Himmel's mouth twitched into something that might've been a grin. "I'll try not to."And then he was gone—vanishing into the haze, his silhouette dissolving into mirage and light.
For a moment, silence settled between the others. It wasn't uncomfortable—just strange, like missing a heartbeat they'd come to rely on.
Winter finally sighed, stretching her legs out. "How does he even do that? Just… disappear into the desert like it's his home."
"Because it is," Vanessa replied, her tone dry. "He's too damn good at everything."
Tyler smirked faintly, half in agreement. "I'm convinced he doesn't sleep. Probably meditates upside down while lightning keeps his heart beating."
Texan chuckled, though there was something heavy in the sound. "Yeah… Himmel's strong. Too strong sometimes."
The group looked at him, curious. Texan leaned back against a slanted stone, staring at the orange sky. "You know, that's not what scares me about him, though. What scares me is how forgiving he is."
Winter frowned. "Forgiving?"
Texan's expression darkened. "I betrayed him once. Full-on stabbed him in the back. You know what he did when I came crawling back?"
No one spoke. The wind carried sand between them.
"He looked me in the eye," Texan said quietly, "and said, 'Just don't do it again.' yes there was anger, yes some punishment. But mostly trust. Like I hadn't tried to destroy him."
Vanessa looked down at her hands. "That's… rare."
"Yeah," Texan said, staring off into the shimmering horizon. "But that's what makes him dangerous. He trusts too easily. Even after this elf called Abbot also betrayed, he still believed the bastard could change. That kind of heart gets you killed in our world."
Winter shifted, uncomfortable. "You think he knows that?"
"Oh, he knows," Texan said softly. "He just doesn't care. That's what makes him Himmel. He keeps believing, even when it hurts."
Their conversation quieted for a while, the group lost in thought.The heat had waned but not disappeared—each breath still carried the faint taste of scorched air. The sun dipped low, turning the sand gold and violet.
Then, the stillness shattered.
A growl—low, guttural, too close.
Vanessa's hand went to her blade; Winter drew her bow. From behind a ridge, a level-three creature stalked into view—a four-legged lizard with cracked obsidian scales and molten lines glowing along its flanks. It hissed, molten saliva sizzling as it hit the sand.
Tyler muttered a curse. "Figures he leaves for one minute."
"Focus!" Vanessa barked.
The fight came fast and brutal. The creature lunged first, jaws snapping with a sound like shattering stone. Winter's arrow pierced its side, but it didn't slow. Texan met it head-on—dodging, weaving, fists flashing as he drove a hook into its jaw. The beast reeled, but its tail lashed across his ribs with bone-cracking force.
"Keep it busy!" Vanessa shouted. She darted in, slashing at its hind legs while Tyler began muttering a spell. Purple light coiled up his staff before bursting in a flash that blinded the beast long enough for Winter to sink two more arrows into its chest.
Texan roared, using the moment to launch a chain combo—jab, cross, hook. The creature's skull cracked on the last hit, and with a final wheeze of smoke and heat, it collapsed, twitching once before falling still.
The air reeked of sulfur.
Winter wiped blood off her cheek. "Guess we're not completely useless without him."
Texan grinned, catching his breath. "Nah, we did good. But imagine if he was here. That thing wouldn't have even touched the ground before he turned it into ash."
Vanessa nodded, wiping her blade clean. "Himmel's terrifying, but he's… the kind of terrifying you're glad is on your side."
Tyler leaned against his staff, shaking his head. "Yeah. Still feels like we're background noise next to him."
Texan's smile faded as he stared at the beast's corpse, smoke curling up from its wounds. "He's got power," he said quietly. "But power like that comes with weight. You can see it in his eyes sometimes—like he's already carrying everyone who couldn't make it."
The group went quiet again, the wind the only thing moving.
Far off, Himmel's silhouette appeared on the ridge. His cloak fluttered in the hot breeze, lightning faintly crackling along the edge of his blade.
Winter sighed. "Guess he's back."
Texan stood, rolling his shoulders. "Good. Because if we tell him we handled this thing without him, he'll act proud and then secretly be annoyed he missed the fun."
That made them laugh—a tired, easy laughter that broke the heaviness around them. Himmel descended the slope, the blue glow of his eyes sharp against the dying sun.
The heat was fading. But something colder—older—seemed to linger in the horizon, just waiting for its turn.
By the second night, the Wild Lands had fallen into an uneasy rhythm—half survival, half quiet waiting. The sky bled from burnt orange to deep violet as the sun sank, and though the temperature dropped slightly, the heat never truly left. It clung to their skin, to their lungs, to every piece of armor that refused to cool.
They made camp beneath a ridge, the sand still faintly glowing from the day's furnace. Himmel sat apart from the others, just beyond the firelight's reach, his back against a weathered slab of stone. His eyes traced the horizon where lightning flickered faintly in the distance—a storm too far to help them, too close to ignore. He seemed lost in thought, always somewhere between here and some other, harsher place.
Every few minutes, Winter's gaze drifted toward him. At first, it was casual—curiosity, maybe. But soon it became something else: fascination mixed with unease. The way Himmel's lightning pulsed faintly under his skin made him look almost spectral. When he breathed, small sparks danced along the edge of his jaw, reflecting off his tusks like ghostly jewelry. She wondered what it must feel like to carry that kind of power inside you—to glow when the world went dark.
When he noticed her looking, Himmel would offer a faint nod, nothing more. Winter always looked away too quickly, pretending to check her bowstring or adjust her quiver.
Closer to the fire, Vanessa sat cross-legged, her armor loosened and her sleeves rolled up. A half-finished scarf hung from her fingers, the thread glinting faintly in the firelight. Each motion was deliberate, quiet—needle through fabric, pull, loop, knot. She never looked at what she was making; her hands just moved on their own, the habit of someone who found calm in repetition.
Texan often teased her about it. "You planning to start a fashion line out here or what?"
Vanessa didn't even glance up. "I'm planning not to lose my fingers to boredom. That counts for something."
Tyler sat nearby, polishing his harmonica with a soft cloth, the firelight glinting in his pale eyes. He didn't speak much, just blew short, testing notes between breaths—soft, mournful tones that hung over the group like fading memories. It wasn't quite music. More like thought turned sound.
Texan couldn't sit still. He sprawled across the sand, tail flicking absently, trying to pull the group into conversation every few minutes.
"So," he said, tossing a pebble into the fire, "you think the Wild Lands ever had, like, people living here? Houses? Cities? Maybe some dumb idiot built this death sauna thinking it was paradise."
No one answered immediately. Himmel didn't even turn.
Winter shrugged after a moment. "Maybe they did. Maybe they burned for it."
Texan grinned. "You're all such optimists."
Vanessa smirked faintly, never looking up from her stitching. "Realists, actually. You're the one who calls this fun."
Texan pointed at her with mock offense. "Fun's relative, sweetheart. Beats rotting in a pit somewhere."
Tyler looked up from his harmonica, voice quiet but steady. "You talk like you haven't been in one."
That made Texan laugh—a low, raspy sound that echoed in the warm air. "Oh, I have. You're looking at a repeat customer."
A faint smile tugged at Himmel's mouth from where he sat apart, though he said nothing. The group's noise seemed to anchor him to the present, pulling him away from whatever thoughts haunted the edges of his silence.
Winter's gaze lingered again, softer this time. Himmel looked almost peaceful like this—his silhouette framed by moonlight, his lightning dimmed to a pulse, his expression calm. For a moment, she thought he might be meditating. But then she saw his hand clench slightly against his knee, and she realized he wasn't calm at all. He was fighting something—some storm no one else could see.
She opened her mouth, almost said something—but stopped herself.
The wind shifted. The sand hissed faintly as it moved. Somewhere far off, a creature howled—a deep, mournful sound that carried for miles.
Texan whistled low. "That thing didn't sound friendly."
"No one out here is," Himmel said quietly, finally speaking, his voice low and distant.
The fire crackled, its light throwing shifting shadows across their faces. Vanessa's needles clicked in rhythm with Tyler's soft harmonica notes, and for a while, the camp settled into something that almost resembled peace.
Texan laid back, staring up at the stars. "You know," he said softly, "for a hellhole, it's kind of beautiful."
Himmel didn't answer, but his gaze followed the same stars. Maybe, he thought, beauty was the only thing that could survive a place like this.
The following morning came heavy and slow. The air had finally lost its shimmer, though it was still thick with heat that pressed against the skin like an unshakable fever. The dunes had stopped smoking, and for the first time in three days, the group could walk without feeling the sun flay their backs.
They traveled through endless sand until the ground hardened into reddish clay. The terrain began to shift—small tufts of gold grass, shards of rock jutting like ancient bones. And then, at the horizon, they saw it: a stone monolith rising from the plain, massive and natural, yet shaped by time into something almost regal.
It towered above everything, a lone colossus that split the sky. Wind carved trails along its face, and at its peak, it flattened out into a ledge that stretched over the land like a throne made for gods. Birds circled it lazily, their cries faint against the distance.
Texan whistled. "Well… damn. That's a big rock."
Himmel shaded his eyes with a hand. "That's an understatement."
They marched toward it for hours, its shadow never seeming to get closer—until finally they reached its base, where a single tree grew, bent and scarred from the weight of years. Its roots twisted deep into the earth, bark a dark, silvery gray. The only patch of shade for miles.
The group collapsed beneath it. Even Himmel allowed himself to lean back, his armor clicking softly as he exhaled.
Tyler uncorked a small flask and passed it around. "Not water," he said, "but better than dying thirsty."
Texan took a sip, coughed, and laughed. "Moonshine. Gods bless you, Tyler."
Vanessa leaned her head back against the bark, eyes closed. "I could die here and be fine with it."
"Don't tempt fate," Winter murmured, stringing her bow. "This place likes to listen."
They talked lazily for a while—about the heat, the dunes, and the battle before.
Texan gestured at Winter's quiver. "By the way, your arrows. Sharpest things I've seen since Himmel's glare. Where'd you get 'em?"
"Made them," Winter said, not looking up. "Polished stone tips, fletched with wyvern feathers. My mom taught me."
Texan grinned. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
"And that combo you pulled back there," Vanessa said, glancing toward him, "the creature didn't even have a chance. You fight like someone who's used to being outnumbered."
Texan shrugged. "When you've been outmatched your whole life, you learn to get creative."
The laughter faded into comfortable quiet. Himmel was lying flat now, one hand behind his head, eyes half closed. The shade was thin, the light cutting through the leaves in shifting golden bands. He could almost rest.
Then thunk.
Texan blinked, frowning. He'd been leaning against the tree when his elbow hit something strange—an oddly hollow sound, like wood over an empty drum. He sat up, knocked on it again.
Thunk.
The sound wasn't right. Too clean. Too contained.
The others heard it too. In an instant, the lightness vanished from the group. Himmel was on his feet, axe drawn, the faint crackle of lightning tracing his forearm.
"What is it?" Vanessa asked, already scanning the horizon.
Texan pressed his ear to the bark. "Something's… inside. Sounds like air."
Winter leaned close, her voice dropping. "That's not possible. Trees don't grow like this out here."
Himmel didn't hesitate. He gripped the axe with both hands and swung.
The first strike dug shallow—just splinters. The second cut deeper, revealing not a solid trunk but a thin wall, hollow and reinforced by tangled roots that pulsed faintly with green light. The third blow split it open entirely.
The air that spilled out was cool and stale, carrying faint murmurs from below. Voices.
Everyone froze.
"Tell me that's the wind," Tyler whispered.
"It's not," Himmel said quietly, stepping closer. The whispers grew sharper now—low tones, laughter, fragments of conversation, unmistakably people.
The hollow space extended downward, spiraling between roots thick with magic. Himmel glanced at Texan. "You're smaller. You go first."
Texan rolled his eyes but nodded, drawing his dagger. He slipped inside the narrow passage, his tail brushing the walls as he descended. The space was so tight the sound of his breath echoed off the roots.
Himmel followed next, crouching low, his shoulders barely fitting through. Winter went last, squeezing in after them. The others stayed behind, weapons ready, waiting near the opening.
The deeper they went, the colder it got. Moisture clung to the air. Strange markings glowed faintly along the walls—script older than any language Himmel knew.
Winter's hand brushed one of the glowing symbols. "This is… growth magic," she murmured. "Whoever made this didn't just hollow the tree. They grew it this way."
"Keep quiet," Himmel said. "We don't know what's down here."
The tunnel curved, and the voices became clearer—five orcs talking, laughing, unaware of anything above. Himmel signaled with a hand, and they slowed to a crawl.
Winter, trying not to bump into him, glanced up—and immediately regretted it. Himmel's back muscles moved with every breath, the faint crackle of lightning under his skin illuminating the cramped tunnel. She caught herself staring, heat rising to her cheeks, and when he turned slightly, she nearly jumped.
"You alright?" Himmel whispered.
"Y-yeah," she stammered, hiding her face behind her bow.
He nodded once and kept moving.
Finally, the passage widened, and they saw it—a small underground bunker woven entirely from living roots. The walls shimmered with enchantments, the floor solid and clean. Five orcs sat inside, eating, drinking, and laughing. One cleaned a weapon while another sorted through papers on a carved wooden desk.
They looked relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.
Texan's jaw tightened. "Fifth Prince's colors," he muttered. "Figures."
Himmel's eyes flicked to the desk. "Those papers might tell us what they know."
He slid a ring from his hand and whispered an incantation. A faint shimmer formed in the air, and from it, an invisible snake slithered out—pure magic, silent and unseen. It moved like smoke, weaving through the roots and curling up the desk.
Seconds later, it reappeared in Himmel's palm, carrying the stolen documents.
"Got 'em," he said softly. "Let's go."
They backed away carefully, step by step, until the voices faded again. When they emerged into sunlight, Vanessa and Tyler were waiting, sitting against the rock. The golem stood guard beside them—motionless, patient, eyes dim.
Texan held up the papers, grinning. "So, what's the jackpot?"
Himmel spread the documents across a flat stone. Lines, diagrams, dates, and notes covered the pages in perfect script. He skimmed through, his expression tightening as he read.
"These are forecasts," he said. "Weather patterns, creature routes, environmental cycles."
Vanessa frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning they know when everything happens," Himmel said grimly. "There's a heatwave on the fifth day. Lasts three days."
Texan nodded. "We already lived that."
"On the fourteenth," Himmel continued, "a flood. Four days long. And on the twenty-fifth… an acid storm that ends the cycle."
Tyler exhaled sharply. "That's… three disasters."
"Basically," Himmel corrected, rolling up the papers. "And we just survived the first."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The wind howled across the plains, scattering dust around them.
Texan broke the silence with a crooked grin. "Well, at least we got the cheat sheet."
Himmel looked toward the horizon—toward the shadow of the monolith rising in the distance, its edges glowing under the dying sun.
"Then let's use it," he said quietly. "Before the Wild Lands use us."