After the sun dipped beneath the dunes, the blistering desert heat was instantly replaced by a freezing, biting wind.
The wooden cart sat safely nestled in the shadow of a towering sandstone outcropping. While Ravon used his flint to spark a small, crackling campfire, Lyra methodically searched the abandoned packs of the defeated cultists. She returned with thick wool blankets, passing them out to the three shivering children who huddled close to the flames.
Ravon, perfectly insulated inside his heavy blue fur coat, watched Lyra string strips of pre-cut meat over the fire to roast.
"I've been thinking for hours," Ravon said, feeding a dry branch into the flames. "How did you manage to shatter that thick iron chain without using any magic?"
Lyra let out a short, amused laugh, her breath pluming in the cold air. "Are you scared I'm going to take over your swordsmanship role in the party?"
"No, I'm just curious."
"I am not physically strong," Lyra explained, resting her hand on the curved wood of her staff. "But this staff is heavily enchanted to deliver devastating kinetic impact. It was personally crafted by my mother."
Ravon stared at the glowing yellow orb. "Who is your mother? How strong is she?"
"Her name is Miranda," Lyra said, a rare note of absolute reverence entering her voice. "She is the strongest witch alive. Some high-ranking scholars even compare her power to mythical creatures."
A desperate, immediate spark of hope ignited in Ravon's chest. "Can she find out where my parents are?"
Lyra looked across the fire at him, tilting her head. "Are you a missing person?"
"Yes. Didn't you see my missing poster on the guild board in Arkenfall?"
"I don't read the missing persons board," she replied flatly.
"I have been missing for four years," Ravon explained, staring down into the orange flames. "I don't remember anything about my past or my family. Darius and Mira found me in the Beast Forest and took me in."
"So I am not the only person who had to save you in that forest," Lyra noted dryly. She stirred the roasting meat. "Well, yes. My mother could easily return your blocked memories and locate your parents with a single snap of her fingers."
It felt like a lifeline had been thrown into the dark desert night. "Can I... can I meet her?"
"My mother does not take visitors," Lyra stated, crushing his hope instantly. She looked at him with sharp, calculating blue eyes. "However, if you completely pay off your life debt to me—which currently stands at exactly fifty gold coins—I will personally take you to meet her."
"Fifty gold coins?!" Ravon choked. "That is a fortune! Can't you give me a discount? We are party members!"
"Absolutely not. Pay your debt, then ask for favors."
"Maybe my grandfather can help find your parents," Evan chimed in softly, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. "He is our Village Chief."
Ravon looked at the quiet boy, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thank you, Evan. When will we reach your village?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," Leo answered from the other side of the fire, rubbing his hands together. "If we keep up the same pace."
Leo looked up at Ravon, his eyes wide with admiration. "Big brother, are you a real adventurer?"
"I am," Ravon said proudly, tapping the bronze plate in his pocket. "I'm a D-rank."
"And I am a B-rank," Lyra interjected smoothly. "Two full tiers above this muscle-head."
"The three of us want to be adventurers when we grow up," Leo grinned, pointing to himself, Evan, and Lia.
"You can join the Hunter Guild when you turn ten," Ravon encouraged. "Is there a guild branch in your village?"
Leo's excited smile faded into a dull frown. "No. There is no guild in Duneveil. Not even in the neighboring towns."
"Then you can travel to the Arkenfall branch," Ravon suggested. "I think that is the closest one to you."
Lyra watched the exchange, shaking her head. She looked at Ravon. "Do you realize that successfully completing this Mount Cryostone expedition will automatically raise your rank from D to C?"
"What?" Ravon blinked. "I didn't know that."
"As expected. You truly are entirely clueless," Lyra sighed. "The Cryostone bounty is classified as a rank-raising quest for lower tiers. However, it will not raise my rank. Promoting to A-rank requires a completely separate, specialized exam."
"But I can already accept C-rank quests," Ravon argued. "Poly—I mean, the Guildmaster—gave me a special privilege to take C-rank bounties while holding a D-rank badge."
Lyra held out her hand. "Show me your license."
Ravon pulled the heavy bronze card from his pocket and tossed it to her. She inspected the boldly stamped D on the front, then flipped the cold metal over. Etched faintly into the back corner was a small, official C seal.
She tossed it back. "It seems you aren't lying. In that case, completing this expedition might promote you directly to B-rank, skipping C entirely." She let out a long, delicate yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. "I am going to sleep."
Ravon looked over at the children. Leo, Evan, and Lia were already fast asleep, huddled together for warmth near the fading embers. Pulling his fur coat tight against the desert chill, Ravon laid his head against his leather bag and closed his eyes.
By late morning, the heat inside the moving cart was oppressive.
A weak, gritty sandstorm battered the canvas roof, forcing everyone inside to keep their eyes shut tight against the blowing dust.
Lia coughed, wiping dirt from her cheek. "I'm thirsty. Can I have some water?"
Ravon reached into Lyra's dimensional pouch, pulling out two leather canteens. He tipped them upside down. Not a single drop fell out. His own lips were cracked and bleeding from the dry air.
"There's no water left," Ravon said softly. "The horse pulling the cart was utterly exhausted. I gave it the last bottle this morning so it wouldn't collapse."
Lia slumped back against the wooden slats with a disappointed sigh. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when we get there."
"We will reach Duneveil in a few hours," Leo promised from the driver's bench, expertly snapping the reins to navigate around a sprawling cluster of green cacti.
As the cart rolled deeper into the wasteland, the blistering heat waves distorting the horizon began to shift. Ravon squinted through the open front of the wagon. Jutting out from the golden sand was a massive dune, but its surface wasn't made of sand. It was encased entirely in thick, glittering blue ice.
"Look at that," Ravon pointed. "That dune is completely frozen."
Lyra leaned forward, her blue eyes analyzing the impossible sight. "It is incredibly strange for ice to survive in this ambient temperature. It must be some residual magical anomaly."
The cart didn't stop. As they pushed forward, more frozen dunes and frost-covered sandstone pillars appeared, scattering the desert like grave markers.
"Isn't it strange that we haven't encountered a single monster today?" Ravon asked, keeping his hand near his sword hilt.
"We are on the main path," Leo answered over his shoulder. "And monsters rarely come this far north anyway. They are terrified of Cryovax."
An hour later, the wooden walls of Duneveil appeared through the haze.
The village was small and incredibly poor, fenced in by a crude perimeter of sharpened wooden logs. There were no guards stationed at the open gate. As the cart rolled into the settlement, Ravon noted how empty the dirt streets were compared to Arkenfall. The houses were asymmetrical and cramped, built from weathered planks and rough-hewn sandstone blocks.
Leo pulled the exhausted horse to a halt in the center of the village. The children scrambled out of the cart, their faces lighting up with relief. Ravon and Lyra stepped down behind them, grabbing their gear.
"I want you to meet my grandpa. My grandpa is the village chief.," Evan said, tugging on Ravon's coat sleeve.
"I will gladly meet him," Ravon smiled. "But first, point us to the local Inn."
Lia rubbed her arm awkwardly. "Sorry... there is no Inn in our village. But you can stay with us."
"My house has empty rooms," Evan offered quickly. "Grandpa would love to host you."
"Lead the way to the Chief," Lyra commanded.
Saying goodbye to Leo and Lia, the duo followed Evan through the winding, sandy streets. The Village Chief's house sat at the edge of the settlement. Built primarily from sturdy timber, it was significantly larger than the surrounding sandstone huts.
Evan pushed the heavy front door open. "Please, come inside."
The living room was sparsely furnished. A long, worn wooden bench faced a sturdy oak table covered in rolled parchments and maps. But what caught Ravon's immediate attention was the sprawling, magnificent mural painted across the entire back wall.
On the left side of the painting, a majestic silver dragon stood atop a jagged, ice-covered mountain range. Its massive, glittering wings were fully extended, casting a shadow over the peaks.
On the right side of the mural, dominating a sprawling desert, was a colossal, sand-colored Sandworm. Ancient, glowing runes were etched along the length of its thick, segmented body. It was reared up in a defensive, striking posture. Painted near the bottom of the desert were tiny, stick-figure humans kneeling in prayer behind the giant worm.
Is that the frost dragon, Cryovax? Ravon thought, staring at the silver wings. And who is that giant worm?
A wooden door on the right side of the room creaked open. An elderly man with deep wrinkles and a thick gray beard stepped through, resting his hand on Evan's shoulder.
Ravon and Lyra instantly stood up in a show of respect.
"Please, sit down," the old man said, his voice raspy but warm. "You are the ones who saved our children."
Ravon introduced himself and the little witch as they took their seats on the wooden bench.
"It is an honor to meet you, Ravon, Lyra," the man nodded, taking the chair behind the desk. "I am Halvior Duskwevar, Chief of Duneveil. I cannot thank you enough for bringing them home. You do not look familiar to this territory."
"We traveled from Arkenfall," Ravon explained. "We are on an expedition."
"Can I assist you with anything?" Halvior offered.
"We are looking for Soulfrost," Lyra stated, cutting straight to the point. "Can you provide a route up the mountain where we can scavenge scales without facing unnecessary danger?"
Halvior's expression darkened with grave concern. "Very few people travel to Mount Cryostone for Soulfrost. I must warn you, simply surviving the ambient temperature of those peaks is grueling. The ones who don't freeze to death are usually hunted by the mountain's predators."
"We are prepared," Lyra said firmly.
"If you are truly committed, I can draw you a map of the safest known ascent," Halvior agreed with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward, locking eyes with Ravon. "A word of advice, boy. If you ever encounter the frost dragon, Cryovax... do not draw your weapon. Do not attack first. He spares those who do not show aggression, viewing them as weaklings unworthy of his time. If he attacks you, it means he is either in a blind berserker state, or he deems you a worthy opponent."
Ravon thought back to the invisible, suffocating pressure of the Fire Dragon from the forest. "I don't think Cryovax will find me worthy in my current state."
Beside him, Lyra wasn't paying attention to the warning. Her blue eyes were meticulously scanning the painted wall. "I assume the silver dragon is Cryovax. But what is that giant Sandworm in the mural?"
Halvior turned to look at the painting, deep sorrow settling into the lines of his face. "He was our God. Azhurak, Serpent of the Dunes. Our protector died two hundred years ago, locked in combat with Cryovax."
"We saw several frozen sand dunes near the village," Ravon realized. "Are they frozen because of that battle?"
"Yes," Halvior nodded slowly. "Cryovax and Azhurak fought a brutal, cataclysmic war for decades. Their clash permanently altered the geography of the North. The dunes that flash-froze during their battles remain frozen to this day. When Azhurak finally fell, Cryovax claimed the frozen sandstone ranges to the north as his absolute territory. We now call those peaks Mount Cryostone."
A cold chill entirely unrelated to the desert air washed over Ravon's skin. Two monsters fighting so fiercely they permanently broke the weather. If I ever see Cryovax, I am immediately running the other way.
"If you ever need my help, you need only ask," the Chief offered.
"Actually," Ravon spoke up, "I am looking for my family. I lost my memories four years ago."
Halvior studied the boy's face intently, committing his features to memory. "I understand. I will have our village artist sketch your portrait. Next month, I will distribute copies to my colleagues at the regional ministers' meeting."
"We also require a place to rest," Lyra added.
"There is an empty guest room down the hall. It is yours for as long as you need," Halvior smiled, standing up and retreating through the right-side door.
Lyra turned to Ravon. "We need fresh supplies before we begin the ascent. Go find the market and buy whatever rations they have. And if they have cupcakes, buy them all. I am going to stay here and brew some potions."
Leaving her to her alchemy, Ravon stepped back out into the harsh desert sun.
The village market was desolate. A few scattered stalls offered basic goods, run by a tired blacksmith and a quiet cobbler. Ravon eventually found the food stall. The inventory was pitifully sparse, but he managed to buy a heavy slab of dried meat and a few bruised fruits with his remaining silver. There were no cupcakes.
As he turned to head back to the Chief's house, a wooden notice board standing in the center of the square caught his eye.
He walked over, scanning the pinned parchments. There were a few royal decrees from the neighboring kingdoms and several faded missing person sketches. I guess my poster will end up on a board just like this one, he thought.
Pinned to the very center of the board was a completely blank piece of high-quality white paper.
Ravon dismissed it, turning to leave.
Scratch. Scratch.
The distinct sound of a sharp quill writing on parchment echoed right behind him.
Ravon turned back to the board. He stared at the blank paper.
Slowly, as if guided by an invisible hand, a word materialized on the white surface in thick, black ink.
Behind
Ravon's breath caught in his throat. The ink continued to scratch across the page, forming the second word letter by terrifying letter.
you.
Thick, dark blood began to weep from the freshly written letters, dripping down the crisp white paper to stain the wooden board.
Ravon's heart slammed against his ribs like a war drum. A cold, paralyzing dread flooded his veins. Slowly, he turned around.
Standing exactly twenty yards away in the empty, sunlit street was a man. His head was bowed, his chin resting against his chest. In his right hand, he gripped a long, rusted hunting knife. Fresh blood dripped steadily from the blade into the sand.
Without warning, the man's head snapped upward.
The movement wasn't human. His neck jerked with a sickening crack, mimicking the stiff, unnatural motion of a puppet being yanked by its strings.
Ravon stared at the man's face. His eyes were entirely hollow—pitch-black voids devoid of any humanity. As the man tilted his head at a physically impossible, broken angle, Ravon saw it.
Burned into the flesh of the man's neck was a deep, black, rotating spiral mark. The exact same mark that had possessed the Cyclops in the Beast Forest.
The man smiled.
The sheer, overwhelming terror Ravon had buried since his near-death experience violently erupted back to the surface. His hands went entirely numb. The bag of meat and fruit slipped from his grip, hitting the dirt with a soft thud.
The possessed man's smile stretched impossibly wide. The skin of his cheeks began to literally tear under the strain, spilling dark blood down his chin.
His limbs jerked. The man broke into a frantic, disjointed sprint, charging straight at Ravon with the bloody knife raised high.
Ravon couldn't move. The absolute, primal fear paralyzed his muscles completely. He stood frozen, his red eyes wide, watching death charge toward him.
The man closed the distance in a blur. He violently thrust the bloody knife directly at Ravon's throat.
The blade stopped exactly one inch from Ravon's skin.
Ravon collapsed backward onto the sand, his chest heaving as a cold sweat drenched his clothes. He scrambled backward like a cornered animal, gasping for air.
The man didn't strike again. He stood perfectly still, his head tilted at that broken angle, staring down at the terrified boy. The torn, bloody smile stretched even wider. It wasn't trying to kill him. It was feeding off his fear, enjoying the absolute terror it had caused.
Then, exactly like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly severed, the man collapsed into the dirt. He hit the ground lifelessly.
Trembling uncontrollably, Ravon dragged his gaze from the body back to the notice board.
The bloody warning had vanished. The paper was blank again.
Fresh ink began to scratch violently across the surface.
Don't
be
Scared—
The moment the final dash was written, the parchment erupted into roaring, pitch-black flames. In a fraction of a second, the paper was incinerated into nothingness, leaving only scorched wood behind.
Ravon whipped his head back to the street.
The man's body was gone. The bloody knife was gone. The village square was completely, hauntingly empty. No one had witnessed a single thing.
A raw, terrified scream ripped from Ravon's throat.
He didn't pick up the dropped food. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted blindly through the sandy streets. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, crashing through the heavy front door of the Chief's house and slamming it shut, locking the terror outside.