Dunes

Reiner had long since stopped feeling like a town.

They walked its hollow streets beneath a dull orange sky, their footsteps scattering dust where grass had never dared return. Buildings leaned against each other like old men too tired to stand, their windows sealed with webs and time. Every corner they turned led to the same stillness—no movement, no voices, no life.

More cocoons leaned open between buildings as if they had fallen, some collapsed inward, others torn apart from the continuous wind. Kai paused before one, his hand tightening around the straps around his shoulders. The faintest outline of a face pressed against the silk like a flexible mold, swaying in the wind before sinking back into shadow.

Rose didn’t look long. Her voice came quietly. “They didn’t make it out in time.”

Kai gave a slow nod, the cloth around his mouth shifting with his breath. “Then we’ll make it mean something.”

He knelt briefly, bowing his head. Rose joined him, both whispering a short prayer—not for forgiveness, but for peace to reach whoever remained. The air felt heavy when they rose again, but they didn’t linger. There was nothing left to bury.

As they moved toward the northern gate along the walls, Rose’s hand brushed against the stone surface. The texture felt cold, drained of everything that once lived here. She could feel no lingering signatures—the spiders had been wiped out completely, their energy long dispersed. 

“It’s clean,” she said. “Too clean.”

“That’s fine,” Kai replied. “Let’s not give them a reason to come back.”

Reaching the broken gates, Rose pulled out the map once more from her bag on Kai's shoulder. “There’s no path marked toward the next city. But if we keep going north, we should eventually see it.”

Kai nodded as Rose rolled it back up, tucking it back in the bag. 

They stepped beyond the gates of Reiner just as the wind picked up. The trees that had circled the town when they entered remained crooked and warped, their trunks split and hollowed by age and rot. But some still stood—as if refusing to let the corruption bend them to its will. 

Rose’s eyes softened. “Even the trees are telling me not to give up,” she whispered.

Still, they were the last signs of endurance she could see.

They kept north along an invisible path, marking the path of the sun to stay on course. The further they went, the more those trees leaned until they were replaced by stretches of pale dirt. The ground dried, covering any remaining forms of vegetation by patches of sand that drifted with every gust. The air grew colder, stiffer. Even the sun seemed to dim as it crept west.

Rose walked behind Kai, one hand clutching the back of his cloak, the other pressed over her face cloth. She had discarded her wooden support that morning—her strength had returned enough to walk on her own—but she still leaned against him from time to time. Each step sent a dull ache through her legs, but she refused to slow down. She was grateful to have such a reliable stabilizer leading the way.

“We have to do our best to make distance while the sun is up,” she said, her voice muffled. “We might not find the city anytime soon, but our goal should be food." 

Kai nodded. “What about water?” His voice rose just enough to cut through the wind.

Rose smiled beneath her cloth. “I think we don’t have to worry about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember the fire spell I created back in Reiner?” Her pace matched his. “If I could create fire with mana, then…”

“You can create water,” Kai finished, surprised. “You continue to amaze me, Rose.”

"Don't praise me yet. I still haven't tried it." She gazed at her hand. "However, I feel like something is telling me I can do it."

Kai remained silent. He turned ahead once more, guiding them through the wild zones. That was his job right now.

Time slipped by. The sky darkened to a pale amber as the sun partially hid beyond the horizon. Their silence deepened, interrupted only by the soft drag of boots against sand. Then a low growl broke through—the sound of Rose’s stomach. She winced, thankful the wind was strong enough to hide it.

Kai smiled beneath his cloth. He didn’t turn, but she could tell he’d heard. Stabilizers could also sharpen their hearing with mana—the perfect vanguard. Of course, being alert means it picked up more than she ever wanted it to.

He continued scanning the barren landscape for anything remotely alive—bird, beast, insect. If it moved, he’d kill it. He’d feed her, one way or another.

Then suddenly, Rose stopped. Her grip on his cloak tightened.

Kai halted and turned halfway toward her. “What is it?”

Her eyes narrowed behind the cloth. “I feel something… faint. But it’s—” She paused, brow furrowing. “It’s gone. I lost it.”

“How far?”

“I can’t tell. It flickered, then vanished completely.”

Kai’s gaze shifted forward. Nothing but dunes and twisted rock. “Keep your senses open. We move until nightfall.”

She nodded, though unease lingered. They resumed walking.

But the silence felt heavier now. Rose couldn’t shake the thought gnawing at her: in all her experience, a magical signature didn’t just disappear—it died. Something had killed it, and quickly.

And as they pressed further north, she noticed something else. The terrain around them—those fractured dunes, the color of dust and ash—looked disturbingly familiar.

The same horizon. The same silence. The same whispering wind from her dreams.

“We’re going the right way,” she told herself softly. “Even if it feels like we shouldn’t be.”

The moon had long since risen, peeking through a shroud of drifting clouds. Its pale light wavered over the sand like ghostly breath. The wind had picked up again—cold, erratic, whistling low across the dunes.

They pressed forward through it until Rose began to lag behind. At first Kai matched her slower pace, pretending not to notice the uneven rhythm of her steps. But when her knees finally buckled and she dropped to one, he stopped altogether.

He turned back, watching her shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths. She walked this far on an empty stomach... after what happened last night, he thought quietly. A truly strong woman.

He knelt beside her, positioning himself with his back against the wind so it hit him instead of her.

Rose’s voice came low, her breath fogging the inside of her mask. “Thank you… I can’t go further for now.”

A faint, almost comedic growl sounded from her stomach, as if the world itself acknowledged her exhaustion. Kai’s lips curved faintly beneath his cloth.

Hungry… and there’s nothing alive for as far as he could see.

He glanced around the barren expanse—no creatures, no sound, only shifting sand and fractured stone. The world felt entirely emptied of life.

When he turned back, Rose’s expression had changed. Determination replaced fatigue. Her fingers lifted slowly, circling in the air as her eyes fell shut.

The wind stilled.

It didn’t fade—it halted, its current bending harmlessly around them. The air shimmered faintly, forming a transparent dome that flickered with quiet ripples of blue. The sand no longer touched them; even the sound of the storm muted to a low hum.

Kai’s eyes narrowed with recognition. “This is the same spell from before—the one that blocked the Queen’s venom.”

Rose nodded, her breathing steadying. “It is. The barrier’s thin, but it’ll hold. I had to adjust it for size.”

They both sat, pulling down their face cloths for the first time since morning. The air inside the veil felt still, breathable—almost peaceful.

“I’ll try the water spell now,” Rose said after a moment.

Kai tilted his head. “What about the barrier?”

“It’s fine as it is.” Her gaze softened, calm but confident. “Now that I understand how to form it, it’ll stay up passively until I drop it. Other spells shouldn’t interfere.”

He nodded. “All right. Let’s see it.”

Rose closed her eyes again, bringing her palms together. She thought back to how she’d formed fire—igniting the flow of mana, feeding its motion until it burned. But this time she had to reverse the process. Not to excite, but to still. To cool.

Her breath deepened. A faint hum pulsed in the air. Then, above her palms, two spheres began to form—clear at first, then frost-white, freezing midair as the moisture condensed and hardened into perfect ice.

A thin smile touched her lips. “Too cold,” she murmured, raising a finger. “Almost.”

The spheres shimmered once more. Slowly, the frost melted from their surfaces, water gathering until the orbs turned fluid and translucent. Every drop stayed suspended, captured by her control.

“There,” she said softly, leaning forward toward one of the floating spheres. “Help yourself.”

She lowered her head and drank directly from it, the rippling surface reflecting her eyes in fractured patterns.

Kai watched her through the wavering distortion of his own sphere. The image of her face shimmered and broke apart in the water’s reflection.

“You really are something else,” he said quietly, before leaning in to drink from his.

Outside the barrier, the wind howled across the wasteland, scattering sand into the night. But within the dome, two travelers sat in fragile silence—sheltered by light, drinking life from the emptiness.