The walk back to Zahara felt different.
Not because the desert had grown more dangerous — if anything, it felt quieter now — but because something had shifted between the three of them.
The dunes rolled gently under the lowering sun, long shadows stretching across the golden sands. The heat had softened into a tolerable warmth, the kind that made the horizon shimmer faintly.
Hadrim adjusted the cloth wrapped around his shoulders and glanced sideways at Lars.
“So,” he began casually, though his tone carried more curiosity than before, “what did you say your name was again?”
Lars didn’t hesitate.
“Lars. Lars Silverwing.”
Hadrim repeated it under his breath.
“Silverwing…”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you’re from a noble family?”
Aery glanced at Lars subtly, listening closely.
“I read your association entry before we left,” Hadrim continued. “It said you’re from Solaris. I’ve done trade there many times. Fertile plains, strong sun, proud merchants. But I don’t recall a Silverwing house.”
Lars kept walking, gaze forward.
“I’m not a noble.”
Technically true.
That life was over.
He gave a faint grin. “What kind of noble fights sand wyrms with bare fists?”
Hadrim chuckled.
“Fair point.”
They walked several more steps, the sand crunching softly beneath their boots.
“Did you ever interact with Enigma’s members while you were in Solaris?” Hadrim asked next.
Lars blinked slightly.
Enigma.
Cosmos.
He had nearly forgotten how many guilds existed beyond the Wilds Guild and Crimson Flare. His time in Solaris had been short and intense, mostly confined to those two factions.
“Not really,” Lars admitted. “I didn’t meet many from Cosmos or Enigma. Mostly Wilds. A bit of Crimson Flare.”
Aery absorbed the information quietly.
Wilds Guild.
Crimson Flare.
He spoke of them casually, but she sensed history there.
Hadrim nodded.
“You show rare promise for someone unaffiliated,” he said. “If you ever wished to join a guild, I could put in a word with Enigma.”
He paused, glancing toward Zahara’s distant walls now visible in the horizon haze.
“Or perhaps you’d prefer a Zaharan guild. I have ties with WhiteSun.”
Lars looked at him more carefully.
“WhiteSun?”
Hadrim’s tone shifted subtly — respectful, almost proud.
“The strongest S-Rank guild in Zahara.”
Aery’s eyes widened slightly.
“There are three S-Rank guilds here,” Hadrim continued. “WhiteSun stands at the top. After them comes Boneclaw. And then Red Horizon.”
Lars committed the names to memory.
WhiteSun.
Boneclaw.
Red Horizon.
Zahara truly was a powerhouse.
“I didn’t realize Zahara had so many S-Rank guilds,” Lars said honestly.
Hadrim smiled faintly.
“We sit at the center of Sesilia. Trade from Karthun, Solaris, Dorgrum, Valdren — it all flows through us. Where trade thrives, power gathers.”
He looked at Lars carefully.
“With what I witnessed today… WhiteSun would notice you.”
Lars shook his head gently.
“I don’t think I’ll join any guild.”
Aery nearly tripped in the sand.
“You won’t?” she asked softly.
Hadrim looked genuinely surprised.
“You refuse backing? Protection? Resources?”
Lars’s gaze remained forward.
“I plan to make my own guild.”
Silence fell between them.
The wind brushed lightly across the dunes.
Hadrim blinked — then let out a short breath of disbelief.
“That’s no small ambition.”
He adjusted the strap of his satchel.
“You do realize,” he added, “that when a guild is officially recognized, it carries the origin of the kingdom where it’s founded?”
Lars slowed slightly.
“What do you mean?”
“When you register a guild through the Adventurers Association, it becomes tied to that kingdom. Its origin. Its banner. Its representation.”
Lars hadn’t known that.
“So if I created one here… it would represent Zahara.”
“Yes.”
“And if I created one elsewhere…”
“It would represent them.”
Lars fell quiet.
His thoughts drifted to Solaris.
The kingdom that had exiled him.
The kingdom he still, foolishly, wished to redeem himself before.
Aery studied him from the side. His expression had grown distant.
Before she could speak, the sound of armored footsteps approached from ahead.
A small patrol of Zaharan guards emerged from the bend in the dunes — their armor lighter than Solaris’, designed for desert mobility, curved blades resting at their sides.
They halted when they saw the trio.
“You three,” one guard called out firmly. “Have you come from the western caravan path?”
Hadrim nodded. “We have. Why?”
The guard’s expression tightened.
“There have been reports of massive tremors detected from that region.”
Another guard added, “Seismic fluctuations. Strong enough to be felt near the outer watch posts.”
Lars and Aery exchanged a glance.
The western path was considered relatively stable — not the most dangerous route. Certainly not known for catastrophic disturbances.
“A powerful creature may have surfaced,” the first guard continued. “We are warning merchants and sending patrols to assess the situation.”
Hadrim’s face remained carefully neutral.
“…Is that so?”
The guard nodded.
“We advise avoiding that route until further notice.”
Lars frowned slightly.
“We didn’t encounter anything on our way back,” he said evenly.
The guard studied him for a moment.
“Be that as it may, we are acting on confirmed tremor reports.”
The patrol moved past them, heading toward the dunes where the battle had occurred.
Aery felt a chill.
The crater.
The explosion.
The force of Seismic Pulse traveling beneath layers of sand.
Had that shockwave been strong enough to reach watch posts near the city?
Lars kept walking, but his mind worked quickly.
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The merchant walked in silence for several steps before speaking again, voice light.
“Strange how the desert answers violence with more attention.”
Lars looked at him.
Hadrim smiled faintly.
“In Zahara, nothing of magnitude goes unnoticed.”
The wind picked up again, carrying grains of sand across the trail.
Ahead, Zahara’s walls rose higher with every step — sandstone towers reflecting late sunlight in brilliant gold.
Aery glanced at Lars once more.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
But she now understood something important.
He wasn’t reckless.
He was deliberate.
And today, the desert itself had felt the pulse of something that did not belong to an ordinary B-Rank adventurer.
As they continued toward the gates of Zahara, the guards behind them disappeared into the dunes — walking unknowingly toward a crater that would raise far more questions than they expected.
________
The city beneath the world did not welcome the uninvited.
Torches of dull blue flame lined the descending stairwell, casting distorted shadows across black stone walls slick with age and moisture. The air smelled of iron, smoke, and something older — something forgotten by the kingdoms above.
Gallant descended without hesitation.
His crimson cloak was concealed beneath a dark overcoat, hood pulled low. His sword rested at his hip, wrapped to hide its insignia. He walked with purpose, but not recklessness.
Eyes followed him.
Some recognized him.
An S-Rank knight from Solaris did not pass unnoticed in the Underworld.
But no one stopped him.
They simply watched.
Whispers trailed behind him as he reached the lower tier — where the more powerful figures resided.
At the end of a curved corridor carved from obsidian stone stood a set of tall double doors. Above them, etched faintly into black metal, was a sigil shaped like a crescent swallowed by shadow.
Gallant didn’t knock.
He pushed the doors open.
Inside, the chamber was vast. Candlelight flickered along curved walls lined with velvet drapes and polished stone pillars. The floor was smooth, dark, reflective.
At the center, seated casually in a high-backed chair, was Vernon.
He did not look surprised.
“You made it further than I expected,” Vernon said lightly, not even turning his head at first.
Gallant stepped forward and threw back his hood.
His expression was controlled — but only barely.
“What happened that night?”
Vernon finally turned, his lips curving.
“No greeting? No pleasantries?”
Gallant’s voice hardened.
“With Osbin. With the boy.”
A pause.
Then Vernon laughed softly.
“You traveled all the way into the Underworld… alone… for that?”
Gallant’s hand hovered near his sword.
“I want the truth.”
Vernon leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.
“Very well.”
He clasped his gloved hands together.
“I observed, as hired. The training escalated. Osbin pressed the boy harder than anticipated.”
His eyes sharpened slightly.
“The boy adapted quickly. Ki control — remarkable for his age.”
Gallant said nothing.
“And then,” Vernon continued, “the boy collapsed.”
Gallant’s eyes flickered.
“But his body did not.”
Vernon leaned forward now.
“There was a surge. Not only Ki.”
Gallant’s jaw tightened.
“Mana.”
Silence filled the chamber.
“He manipulated it without a catalyst,” Vernon said calmly. “No chant. No grimoire. No wand.”
Gallant’s brows furrowed.
“That’s not possible.”
Vernon’s smile widened faintly.
“He converted moisture. Sweat. Air. The temperature dropped. Frost formed mid-battle.”
Gallant’s breath slowed.
Osbin had been facing both Ki and magic.
Without preparation.
Without knowledge.
Vernon stood slowly from his chair.
“The fight became something else entirely.”
Gallant’s fingers curled into a fist.
“Did you kill him?”
Vernon stopped walking.
Then began clapping slowly.
The sound echoed through the chamber.
“Well,” he said softly, “that escalated quickly.”
Gallant drew his sword in one smooth motion. Steel glinted under the blue light.
“Answer me.”
Vernon tilted his head.
“You suspect me?”
“Yes.”
Vernon’s lips parted into a grin.
“You’re learning.”
Gallant stepped forward.
“Did you kill Osbin and frame the boy?”
Vernon stopped smiling.
Then, with theatrical exaggeration, he bowed slightly.
“Guilty as charged.”
The words hung in the air.
Gallant’s grip tightened until his knuckles whitened.
“You had no right.”
Vernon straightened.
“You hired a demon.”
His tone sharpened subtly.
“You sent me to spy. You invited the Underworld into your guild’s affairs.”
Gallant’s voice trembled with restrained fury.
“I did not hire you to interfere.”
“And yet,” Vernon replied calmly, “opportunity presented itself.”
He began pacing slowly around the room.
“The boy was unstable. Osbin was wounded. The stage was set.”
Gallant’s voice lowered.
“You destroyed my guild.”
Vernon stopped.
“No.”
His eyes gleamed.
“The boy destroyed your guild.”
Gallant lunged forward slightly, blade angled.
Vernon continued speaking as if unfazed.
“Before Osbin died, I told him you sent me.”
Gallant froze.
“I told him you doubted him. That you doubted the boy.”
Vernon’s grin sharpened.
“You should have seen his face when he realized you were the traitor.”
Gallant snapped.
With a roar, he charged, blade cutting toward Vernon’s throat.
But Vernon did not draw a weapon.
He did not step back.
He simply spoke.
“You are not in Solaris.”
Gallant’s instincts screamed too late.
“You are in my domain.”
A presence manifested behind him — massive, oppressive.
Gallant began to pivot—
A crushing strike landed against the back of his neck.
His vision exploded white.
The sword fell from his hand.
His body collapsed to the stone floor.
The chamber returned to silence.
Vernon looked down at Gallant without amusement now.
The grin faded.
Only calculation remained.
“He should have known better,” Vernon said quietly.
From the shadows behind him stepped the towering figure who had delivered the blow — armor dark, face concealed.
Vernon adjusted his cuffs calmly.
“Take him.”
The figure lifted Gallant effortlessly.
Vernon’s eyes drifted upward — toward the world above.
“The board is moving,” he murmured.
“And none of them realize how far beneath it they’re standing.”
________
The walls of Zahara rose from the desert like a mirage solidified into stone.
As Lars, Aery, and Hadrim approached the gates, something immediately felt… off.
There was no line.
No caravan congestion.
No merchants arguing over tariffs or unloading crates under the supervision of guards.
The massive southern gates stood partially open, guarded — but not bustling.
Lars slowed slightly.
“I wonder where everyone went,” he muttered.
Hadrim adjusted his robe and gave a low hum.
“Zahara does not gamble with safety,” he said. “When something unpredictable stirs in the desert, precautions follow quickly. We sit in open sands. Our survival depends on vigilance.”
Lars nodded, though he didn’t dwell on it.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Half a gold coin.
A purple mana core.
Orange cores.
Proper gear.
Maybe gauntlets forged in Dorgrum steel someday.
He almost smiled at the thought.
Aery, however, felt the tension differently.
The air inside the gates felt tight. Guards stood in doubled numbers along the inner walls. Archers were posted above. People moved quickly, speaking in low voices.
Even the usual street vendors had packed up early.
They walked deeper into the city.
Normally Zahara thrived at sunset — lanterns glowing, markets loud, travelers negotiating.
Tonight, many stalls were shuttered.
Doors closed.
Windows barred.
Aery moved slightly closer to Lars without realizing it.
“This feels wrong,” she whispered.
Lars glanced around again.
“It’s probably nothing.”
Hadrim didn’t comment.
But his eyes were more alert than before.
They turned toward the Adventurers Association building, its sandstone facade towering above the quieter streets.
The large wooden doors creaked loudly as Hadrim pushed them open.
The sound echoed far more than usual.
Inside, the hall was not empty — but it was different.
Adventurers clustered in small groups rather than lounging freely. Voices were hushed. Eyes immediately turned toward the entrance.
Toward them.
Toward the sand still clinging to their clothes.
Hadrim blinked.
“What is going on?”
A familiar deep voice cut through the murmurs.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
Ghoran stepped forward from near the quest board, arms folded across his broad demi-human chest. His scarred face showed open disbelief.
“How are you two still alive?”
Lars frowned immediately.
Of all people.
Ghoran’s eyes scanned them quickly, then dropped to the sand-covered satchel at Lars’ side.
“You went west,” he said slowly. “The tremors came from the west.”
Hadrim looked between them.
“What tremors?”
One of the nearby adventurers spoke up.
“You haven’t heard? There’s a possible dragon stirring out there. The earth rattled hard enough to shake the watchtowers.”
A low wave of murmuring spread again.
Aery’s stomach tightened.
Dragon.
Lars’ brows furrowed.
Hadrim raised his voice slightly.
“We came from that direction. There was no dragon.”
The room quieted slightly.
Ghoran narrowed his eyes.
“No dragon?”
“Sand wyrms,” Hadrim replied carefully. “A large one among them.”
Murmurs resumed — more confused now than fearful.
Before the discussion could escalate further—
Footsteps.
Measured.
Confident.
Every head turned instantly.
The atmosphere shifted.
Even Ghoran straightened.
She entered without haste.
The Head Master of Zahara’s Adventurers Association.
Zahira.
Her attire stood in sharp contrast to Natalia of Crimson Flare.
Where Natalia wore commanding reds and structured formality, Zahira wore flowing desert silks layered in deep teal and burnished copper. Gold-threaded embroidery traced wind-like patterns along her sleeves. Her long dark hair was braided with thin metallic ornaments that caught the lantern light.
Her presence was not explosive.
It was steady.
Controlled.
And unquestionably dominant.
Her amber eyes swept across the hall before settling on Hadrim.
“You made it back,” she said calmly.
Hadrim bowed deeply.
“Head Master Zahira.”
Her gaze shifted to Lars.
Then Aery.
Then the sand-streaked remains on their clothing.
“Come to my office,” she said smoothly.
Not a request.
A command.
The hall parted for them.
Whispers followed as they walked behind her.
Dragon.
Tremors.
West.
Impossible.
Aery felt her heartbeat quicken.
Lars kept his expression steady.
But as they followed Zahira down the hallway toward her office, one thought lingered quietly in his mind—
Had his strike truly been strong enough to make Zahara believe a dragon had awakened?
They stepped into Zahira’s office, and the heavy wooden door shut behind them with a firm click.
The noise seemed to seal the room off from the rest of Zahara.
Hadrim stood at the front, composed and professional now — far different from the merchant persona he had worn on the road.
Lars and Aery stood just behind him.
“The quest was a success,” Hadrim began calmly. “The sand wyrm infestation has been eliminated. The only losses were my cart and camel.”
Zahira remained seated behind her broad, curved desk of polished desert wood. Her amber eyes studied Hadrim carefully — not just listening to his words, but measuring them.
“And the tremors?” she asked.
Hadrim’s gaze flickered briefly toward Lars.
“Caused by the mother wyrm’s final moments.”
Lars and Aery exchanged a subtle glance.
They hadn’t realized until now that Hadrim was more than just a merchant requesting aid.
He was reporting.
Formally.
To Zahara.
Zahira leaned back slightly in her chair.
“The mother?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Her eyes slowly shifted to Lars.
“You eliminated it yourself?”
The room grew quiet.
Lars swallowed lightly but nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aery felt the weight of Zahira’s gaze and instinctively stiffened.
Zahira extended a hand.
“The core.”
Lars knelt, unfastened his satchel, and carefully pulled out the purple mana core. The faint violet glow illuminated his fingers.
Zahira’s brows lifted just slightly.
So it was true.
She took the core and examined it with trained precision.
“No cracks. Dense concentration. Recently formed.” She looked back up at Lars. “You did not exaggerate.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied calmly.
She handed the core back to him.
Then her attention moved to Aery.
“And you?”
Aery blinked, startled.
“H-how did she perform?” Zahira asked Hadrim instead.
Hadrim folded his hands behind his back.
“She struggled with control at first. But the boy assisted her. They adapted quickly. Their coordination improved during the engagement. They are capable of handling A-rank missions together.”
Zahira studied them both now.
Two B-ranks.
Young.
Unaffiliated.
Successful.
Rare.
“Which academies did you attend?” she asked smoothly.
Aery straightened slightly.
“I studied at the Arcanum Spire of Celestia.”
Zahira’s eyes sharpened.
That name carried weight.
Even Zahara knew of the Arcanum Spire — the most prestigious mage academy within the Arcane Dominion of Celestia. Admission alone required lineage and extraordinary magical affinity.
“To attend there…” Zahira murmured. “You must possess exceptional potential.”
Aery lowered her gaze modestly.
Zahira then looked at Lars.
“And you?”
Lars felt tension creep up his spine.
He couldn’t lie — but he couldn’t tell everything either.
“I didn’t attend any academy,” he said honestly. “I’ve never been formally recognized by any school.”
Zahira’s fingers tapped lightly against her desk.
“An untrained adventurer does not defeat a mother sand wyrm on talent alone.”
Lars hesitated.
Then he answered carefully.
“An S-rank warrior trained me.”
Not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Zahira’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Who?”
For a brief moment, her mind drifted to Lance Whitecastle — Enigma’s dominant S-rank from Solaris.
“Was it Lance Whitecastle?” she asked.
The name clicked instantly in Lars’ mind.
Whitecastle.
Fiora.
Her big brother.
He felt a small wave of relief wash over him.
“I’m glad I never met him,” he thought silently.
“No,” Lars replied calmly. “It wasn’t Lance.”
Zahira watched him for a moment longer but chose not to press further.
“Very well.”
She rose from her seat.
“Hadrim, inform the main hall that the dragon rumor is false. Notify the palace immediately. There was no dragon — only an overgrown wyrm.”
Hadrim bowed.
“It will be done.”
“Aery,” Zahira added gently, “your assistance was noted. Continue refining your control.”
Aery nodded quickly.
“Yes, Head Master.”
Zahira then shifted her gaze back to Lars.
“Stay.”
Aery hesitated, her eyes flickering with concern.
Hadrim gave her a small, reassuring smile.
“It is an opportunity,” he whispered quietly.
Reluctantly, Aery exited with him.
The door shut once more.
Silence.
Zahira rested her chin lightly against her interlocked fingers.
Lars stood straight, trying not to fidget.
He very deliberately kept his gaze level — though he was painfully aware of her posture and the way her attire flowed loosely at the neckline.
She noticed.
A small chuckle escaped her lips.
“Boys will be boys.”
Lars coughed lightly, embarrassed.
She tilted her head.
“Why did you fight without a weapon?”
Her eyes drifted to his fists — raw, scratched, bruised.
“I didn’t have the coin to buy one,” he answered simply. “I don’t come from privilege.”
“Is that why you aimed so high?” she asked.
He blinked.
“Your first quest in Zahara — an A-rank paying double base reward. Two B-ranks, no guild, minimal equipment. That is either confidence… or desperation.”
Lars met her gaze steadily.
“I want to grow stronger.”
Zahira’s expression softened slightly.
“And what class do you believe yourself to be?”
He didn’t hesitate this time.
“I want to become a Monk.”
Her eyes widened faintly.
“A Monk…”
She leaned back thoughtfully.
“Rare. Highly disciplined. Masters of Ki through body and spirit. Most kingdoms favor Knights or Blades. Few pursue the Monk path.”
“This is my first time hearing more about them,” Lars admitted quietly.
Zahira studied him for a long moment.
“There is someone in Zahara,” she said slowly, “an S-rank Monk. Retired. Now training those worthy of the path.”
Lars’ heart jumped.
“Truly?”
“He does not accept just anyone,” she continued. “But I believe you would interest him.”
He didn’t even need time to think.
“I accept.”
She smiled knowingly.
“I thought you would.”
She rose to her feet and walked around the desk.
“You will report here tomorrow morning. You will be escorted to the temple.”
“Temple?” Lars repeated softly.
“Yes. That is where he resides.”
She stopped in front of him.
“I know there are things you choose not to tell me,” she said calmly. “Zahara is a kingdom of many races and many strengths. If you wish to rise, this is fertile ground for growth.”
Her amber eyes sharpened slightly.
“I will be watching you, Lars Silverwing. Do not disappoint me.”
A spark ignited inside his chest.
For the first time since exile, he felt something other than shame.
Possibility.
He bowed respectfully and exited.
Outside, Aery was waiting near the hall.
“You waited?” he asked, surprised.
She shook her head quickly.
“N-no. Not long.”
They walked back into the main hall.
It was lively again — tension replaced by chatter. The dragon rumor had been dispelled.
Hadrim stood beside Kael at the counter.
Kael’s feline ears twitched slightly as they approached.
“Congratulations,” he said with a grin. “Payment has been processed.”
He handed Lars a pouch.
Lars opened it.
Five silver coins.
His eyes widened instantly.
Shiny.
Heavy.
Real.
Aery received her five silver as well.
Hadrim placed a hand on Lars’ shoulder.
“Well done. And remember — if you reconsider guild offers…”
He left the sentence hanging.
Lars chuckled modestly.
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
They parted ways.
As Lars and Aery headed toward the exit—
A large shadow stepped in front of them.
Ghoran.
But his posture was different now.
Formal.
Respectful.
“The name is Ghoran Bastion,” he said. “A-rank. Red Horizon Guild.”
Lars blinked.
One of Zahara’s top three S-rank guilds.
Ghoran bowed slightly.
“I apologize for yesterday. I sought to discourage you from risking your lives foolishly.”
Lars studied him.
“I understand.”
“I misjudged you.”
Warrior to warrior.
Lars felt something shift.
“Apology accepted.”
As they left, Lars briefly wondered if Hadrim’s influence had anything to do with the sudden change.
Outside, the evening air felt warmer again.
Aery suddenly stepped closer and held out two silver coins.
“For you.”
Lars blinked.
“Why?”
“You handled most of it,” she said quietly. “I feel like I hindered you.”
He stared at her.
“If only she knew,” he thought.
How much she grounded him.
How much she kept his mind from drowning in guilt.
“You’re doing your best,” he replied gently.
Her expression faltered slightly.
He softened his tone.
“And your best is enough.”
She looked away, flustered.
He then explained Zahira’s offer — the monk training.
Her eyes widened.
“A temple?”
“Seems so.”
She smiled faintly.
“That suits you.”
He laughed lightly.
“Will you continue your journey?” he asked suddenly.
Her shoulders tensed.
“W-what?”
“We finished the quest. You’re not obligated to stay.”
Her face fell slightly.
“So… you don’t want me to?”
“That’s not what I said,” he corrected quickly. “You can stay if you want.”
She looked up.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“I’d like that.”
Relief flooded her expression.
“I… I haven’t found myself yet,” she admitted quietly.
He didn’t fully understand — but he didn’t press.
“Then let’s keep looking.”
He grinned.
“Tonight — better inn. Real food.”
She laughed softly.
They walked through Zahara’s lantern-lit streets together.
Unaware—
High above.
Far beyond the glow of lanterns.
A faint glimmer shifted between the rooftops.
Watching.
Silent.
And patient.
