Kaelan sees sandstone buildings rising on both sides of the path as he approaches Mahal City.
The structures glow warm beneath the desert sun, carved from golden stone that reflects light like burnished metal.
Mahal City is different from other cities in the world.
From its founding, it was never built with walls.
The desert itself serves as protection.
The Sand Temple's authority deters invasion more effectively than stone barriers ever could.
Kaelan walks deeper into the city.
Markets bustle.
Merchants call out.
Caravans unload goods beneath stretched awnings.
Amid the noise, he hears repeated discussion of the final round competition of the Divine Alchemy Academy.
Excited voices overlap.
They speak of talented apprentices.
Of wagers placed.
Of something interesting that will happen during the competition.
Kaelan listens without expression.
Interesting.
He decides he will check it later.
For now, he walks toward the city centre.
At the base of the largest pyramid, he enters a restaurant built from pale sandstone and shaded by woven desert cloth.
He eats quietly.
No one disturbs him.
When he finishes, he steps outside and looks up at the sun.
"There are still a few hours before the competition."
He turns and walks again.
Minutes later, he begins climbing the stairs of the largest pyramid.
The structure towers above the city, its massive blocks aligned with geometric precision.
Halfway up, the stairs end.
A straight corridor begins, leading inward into the pyramid's heart.
Kaelan walks forward.
Runes are carved along the corridor walls.
Arrays are hidden beneath the stone floor and ceiling.
None activate.
They remain dormant as he passes.
Priests of the Sand Temple walk along the corridor.
They wear flowing robes marked with the sigil of the God of Sand.
They do not look at him.
Each one carries a reverent expression.
Some clasp their hands and bow their heads as they pass statues lining the walls.
They pray softly.
They are not aware.
Their real God walks quietly among them.
Kaelan continues until he reaches the main chamber.
At its centre stands a massive idol.
A towering statue carved in his likeness.
Eyes closed.
Hands raised.
Sand swirling around its form.
He does not pause.
He walks past the idol.
Enters a smaller chamber hidden behind it.
There, a staircase spirals downward into the underground complex beneath the city.
Golems line the stairwell.
Massive constructs of stone and metal.
Their eyes remain dark.
Some doors open silently as he approaches.
Others unlock without touch.
He walks through corridors illuminated by embedded crystals.
This is the underground Research Lab.
Behind reinforced glass on both sides, experiments unfold.
Scholars and alchemists work tirelessly.
They attempt to convert civilian technology from the Rayarn Civilisation into systems usable within this world through alchemy.
The Rayarn Civilisation developed its technology through a Bio-Technological Way.
Living materials.
Organic processors.
Adaptive structures.
Understanding their technology does not mean it can be replicated.
The materials used by the Rayarn Civilisation do not exist in this world.
Alchemists attempt substitution.
Translation.
Recreation.
Most attempts fail.
Kaelan walks calmly to the end of the corridor.
He pushes open a heavy door.
Inside, an old man writes furiously across a table covered in diagrams.
Anger burns in his eyes.
Without looking up, he shouts, "I told you not to disturb me."
Then he raises his head.
Sees Kaelan.
His expression freezes.
He stands immediately.
His voice drops into submission.
"Lord… Why are you here?"
Kaelan steps forward without answering immediately.
He walks around the desk slowly, his robes brushing lightly against the stone floor, and stops beside Paser.
His gaze lowers to the parchment covered in dense writing and marked names.
Paser intends to mobilise the Golden Sand Knights.
The objective is clear.
Suppress three Houses.
House of Akhekh-Nesret.
House of Wer-Kem.
House of Djeri-Desher.
As Kaelan reads the names, information surfaces naturally within his mind.
None insignificant.
Kaelan lifts his head and gazes directly into Paser's eyes.
"Paser, what did they do?"
Paser's fingers tremble.
He pushes back his chair abruptly and kneels.
"Lord, please forgive me."
Kaelan's lips curve into a faint smile.
He places his hands lightly upon Paser's shoulders.
"What did you do that you need my forgiveness?"
Paser lowers his head further.
"Lord, please forgive me."
He repeats the words.
Again.
Tears stream down his face.
Convincing.
Too convincing.
Kaelan knows it is acting.
Paser belongs to the House of Mai-en-Nub.
Golden in name.
One of only five houses that still retain the word Golden within their titles.
Those houses preserve older records.
Records dating back to Kaelan's first revelation before the Golden Tribe.
So it was not ignorance of origin.
Moreover, Paser is no fool.
He stands at the Title Alchemist Stage.
More than three hundred years old.
Experienced.
Cunning.
Kaelan himself stands at the Holy Alchemist Stage.
Only half a stage higher in formal classification.
Though the difference between Title and Holy is like the ground compared to the void beyond the world.
Still, Paser believes he can reach it.
He believes he will ascend further.
Kaelan does not shatter that belief.
The chance exists.
Less than ten per cent.
But it exists.
And if Paser reaches the Holy Alchemist Stage, it benefits Kaelan.
No alchemist of equal stage can defeat him.
Of this, he is certain.
Kaelan releases Paser's shoulders and moves calmly behind the desk.
He sits in Paser's chair.
The authority shift is silent but absolute.
"Stop," Kaelan says evenly.
"You're acting. Tell me the reason. Before I decide to replace you with Nakht."
Paser's head snaps up in alarm.
"Lord, you cannot. You cannot replace me with Nakht. He is a knight and a disgrace to the Noble Houses of the Golden Sand."
Kaelan considers this.
It is true.
He would never place a knight in charge of the research department.
But Paser does not need to know that certainty.
Kaelan leans forward slightly.
With the tip of his toe, he lifts Paser's chin.
Forcing eye contact.
"Then tell me why?"
Paser swallows.
The tears cease instantly.
His breathing steadies.
He speaks.
-----
Verena lifts a small piece of food delicately with her fingers and places it into her mouth.
She chews slowly.
Gracefully.
No visible movement of her jaw disturbs the elegance of her face.
Her posture remains straight.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Every gesture refined.
Her family places high importance on appearance.
The House of Aat-Tjehent may be the richest noble house on the Golden Sand Continent.
Perhaps even ranked within the top ten wealthiest houses in the entire world.
Yet their glory is recent.
Her grandfather brought Steam Alchemy to the continent.
Through innovation and relentless trade, he accumulated vast riches.
With that wealth, he founded the House of Aat-Tjehent.
Fortune rose swiftly.
Reputation followed.
But power did not rise equally.
Her grandfather's cultivation stands only at the Master Alchemist Stage.
Respectable.
Yet insufficient.
To truly secure such wealth, a Title Alchemist is required at a minimum.
Without such power, riches become temptation.
Even though the Sand Temple offers protection, insecurity lingers within the house.
Thus, they polish appearances.
Flawless manners.
Impeccable conduct.
So that no rival noble house may find excuse to challenge or undermine them.
Verena swallows and takes another bite.
She chews carefully.
Then a voice breaks the calm of the dining hall.
"Verena, are you going to say yes to Maelak tonight?"
She lifts her gaze toward her aunt.
Her expression remains composed.
"This decision is not for me to make."
Her eyes shift to the head of the table.
Her grandmother sits there, dignified and observant.
"I will make any decision according to what the family wants."
Her grandmother smiles faintly.
"My dear, it is your lifelong matter. You may decide."
Verena mirrors the smile politely.
She pushes her chair back with controlled grace.
"I am finished."
Her mother nods gently.
"Go. You should prepare for the competition."
Verena inclines her head and leaves the hall.
As she walks along the corridor toward her chambers, voices continue behind her.
Her aunt speaks again.
"Mother, we should accept the marriage proposal from the House of Akhekh-Nesret—"
The rest fades as Verena enters her room.
She crosses the spacious chamber quietly.
Without hesitation, she opens the side door leading to her private garden.
Warm desert air greets her.
Palm leaves sway lightly.
Polished stone pathways frame patches of cultivated greenery, rare within the city.
She sits upon the garden steps facing inward.
Her posture straightens.
She closes her eyes.
Verena is a Stone and Iron Alchemist.
More precisely, she follows a new branch—Gem Alchemy.
Her family founded this path, drawing partial inspiration from the principles of Steam Alchemy.
Where Steam focuses on pressure and transformation, Gem Alchemy refines compression and crystallisation.
She begins to meditate.
Within her sea of consciousness, she visualises a Gem Heart.
A radiant crystalline core.
Faceted.
Perfectly symmetrical.
The Gem Heart pulses softly.
Light refracts within its structure.
She prepares to open her Spirit Space.
To break through to the Official Alchemist Stage.
Energy gathers.
Focus deepens.
Yet something feels incomplete.
Today is not the day.
The foundation remains slightly unstable.
She exhales slowly and withdraws from the threshold.
There will be another opportunity.
Tonight's competition cannot be lost.
Failure is not an option for her.
Because she has already promised her love to another.