The days that followed their encounter with Zephan passed in a strange stillness. Though the cavern where they had met him had vanished as if it had never existed, each of them remembered what had transpired with vivid clarity. None spoke of the sensation—that the being had not just looked at them, but through them, unraveling threads of identity and time. Kael in particular remained quiet, haunted by what Zephan had said and what it meant.
They crossed a vast stretch of broken land veined with crimson rocks and dunes that shimmered like molten glass. Their journey took several days. The heat was intense, yet the landscape grew more breathtaking with every mile. And then, beyond a range of dark slate ridges, the sands opened into a miraculous vision:
Nareth'Mir.
A desert kingdom unlike any they had imagined, cradled in a wide basin where the winds softened and the earth gleamed. Sprawling terraces of marble rose beside rivers carved into the sand itself. The city shimmered beneath a sky so blue it looked unreal. Great palm trees lined sapphire-tiled roads. Traders in gilded robes and foreign silks moved between pavilions. Music drifted faintly through the streets, and the air carried the scent of incense and spices.
Yet none of this compared to what stood at its center.
A colossal stone warrior, carved in such perfect proportion that it seemed more myth than construction, towered from the city's heart. It could be seen from any point within the kingdom. Its blade, sheathed in the earth, rose like a mountain. Some said the Emperor himself had summoned it—not a paradox wielder, but a paradox given form, a guardian deity in stillness, awaiting war. People built temples at its feet, offered prayers. From the highest towers to the deepest markets, all eyes could find it.
But to Kael and his companions, it radiated the same presence as Zephan—an impossible silence that pierced even the light.
"Why isn't this on any map?" Sylvi asked, shielding her eyes.
"It's not meant to be," Saerion replied. "This kingdom protects itself by being forgotten. Even many nobles beyond these lands don't know it exists."
"I traded here once," Graveth added. "Escorting a merchant. Didn't know where I was then either, until I recognized the gate's patterns just now."
Saerion led them not to the palace at the heart, but to the outer quarter where his family's estate rested—a noble manor built of white sandstone and mirrored glass, beneath whispering palms and fragrant blooms. As they passed through, Kael felt a pulse from the air. The map he held was no longer guiding—it had gone silent. Still, he knew with certainty:
"It wasn't the map. It was something else."
"You mean something else guided us?" Ayra asked.
"I think… it was always going to bring us here. Even if we didn't know it."
His voice dropped. "It knows me."
---
Saerion's estate rested on the edge of a silver bridgework arching over rippling dunes of gold-red dust. Though still far from the city's imperial center, the estate bore the quiet regality of one born into ancient power. Marble colonnades swept into shaded courtyards, and fountains murmured in the sun-drenched silence.
The group had barely settled when Saerion fastened a scroll with his signet and sent it away with a brass-plated hawk.
"The request is sent. The Emperor does not grant audience lightly. But my name still bears some measure of regard," he said.
"It will take two weeks."
"Two weeks?" Ayra echoed, raising a brow. "And the map led us here for a conversation?"
Kael remained silent. He stared out the open balcony, where beyond the horizon, the stone warrior-statue, visible even from here, loomed like a god asleep.
That evening, a light knock came at the door of the common hall. A girl in a pale gown stepped in—long hair like threaded starlight, eyes of dusk lavender. She was young, perhaps fifteen, maybe sixteen, graceful yet curious in the way only nobles raised behind quiet walls could be.
"Brother," she said brightly. "You didn't say you brought travelers."
Saerion turned from his seat. "This is my sister, Niera."
Niera's gaze swept over the group politely, but lingered—subtly—on Fenric. She tilted her head, studying the faint grin he wore, the way he leaned back against a column like he owned it, and the relaxed confidence in the way his arms stayed folded.
"You look like trouble," she said bluntly.
Fenric raised a brow. "Thanks. I try to keep it subtle."
That made her blink. Then she laughed.
"You're not like the other warriors Father hired."
"Did they smile?" he asked, mock-serious. "That's where they went wrong."
She grinned, then stepped lightly from the doorway. "I'll be around. This estate's too quiet anyway."
When she was gone, Ayra leaned toward Fenric and whispered,
"Well, she's brave."
"I get that a lot," Fenric replied, smirking.
Graveth coughed into his hand to hide a chuckle. Sylvi didn't even try.
Fenric just shrugged, stretched his arms behind his head, and said,
"Two weeks here, huh? Hope the Emperor serves drinks."
---
A moment passed.
As the golden hour crept slowly over the rooftops of the noble estate, the soft hues of Nareth'Mir melted into a gentle orange, casting long shadows through the marble archways of Saerion's manor. The group had settled, for now. Their boots rested, their minds slowly adapting to stillness.
Niera sat perched by an open window, her chin resting lightly on her hand. Her gaze lingered not on the horizon, but on Fenric, who stood alone beneath a flowering column, spinning his dagger lazily in one hand. He looked relaxed—too relaxed. Like a man who expected danger but hoped it would show up late so he could finish his nap.
She tilted her head slightly, intrigued.
"He's… odd," she murmured to herself. "Like a cat that learned how to wield sarcasm."
From the shadows of the hallway, Sylvi passed by and caught a glimpse of Niera's softened expression. A small, knowing smile tugged at Sylvi's lips, but she said nothing. It wasn't her story to tell—not yet.
Outside, Ayra leaned against a column, watching the sun lower over the city. Kael sat cross-legged on a polished stone bench, silent. The rune-map pulsed faintly beside him.
Even now, something inside him stirred.
They would remain in Nareth'Mir for a time—two weeks until the audience with the Emperor could be arranged. Time enough to rest. Time enough to wonder. And for some… time enough to feel something new.
The statue of the stone warrior watched from the horizon, unmoving and eternal. Like a sentinel waiting for permission to rise.
And in the soft breath of the evening wind, Nareth'Mir did not feel like a destination.
It felt like an interlude—a moment in between truths, where something fragile could take root.