The sun had passed its peak, and though the heat still clung to the dunes, the worst of it had begun to wane. A faint breeze stirred the sand, tugging at cloaks and trailing behind their steps like whispers of a fading storm.

  Zafran led them forward, his pace steady, eyes sweeping the horizon. The “road” was nothing more than broken traces in the sand, a memory of past travelers.

  Ysar rode their lone horse, shifting in the saddle every few minutes like the idea of comfort was a personal insult.

  “You keep fidgeting like that, you’re gonna fall,” Karin called up, hands on her hips.

  Ysar gave her a flat look. “I’d love to walk, but unfortunately, I enjoy not bleeding out.”

  Elsha, walking beside Karin, exhaled through her nose. “You’re the worst patient.”

  “That’s because I’m not a patient,” Ysar grumbled. “I’m a highly capable warrior who just happens to have a minor collection of heroic wounds.”

  Karin smirked. “Oh, really?”

  Ysar nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Karin gestured toward the saddle. “Then why don’t you prove it? Get off, hand over the reins, and walk like a real warrior.”

  Ysar sniffed. “Are you now robbing a wounded peasant of his last possession?”

  Karin raised a brow. “A moment ago you were a highly capable warrior.”

  “I contain multitudes.”

  She sighed, dramatic and loud. “Shameless.”

  Ysar leaned back with a grin. “Strategic.”

  “If I knock you off that horse, will you call that strategic too?”

  “If I survive the fall, then yes.”

  Karin opened her mouth to retort but caught the faintest twitch at the corner of Elsha’s lips—just enough to know she’d been listening the whole time.

  She grinned wider. “Elsha agrees. You’re shameful.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Elsha replied, voice calm.

  “You could thank me later,” Karin shot back.

  Ysar groaned. “I miss Tavreth already.”

  Zafran didn’t say a word. But from the front of the line, his hand flicked once—keep pace.

  And so they walked on.

  The sun had begun its slow descent, casting everything in hues of amber and fire. Each step stirred loose sand, each breath tasted of dust.

  Karin had stopped making jokes hours ago.

  Even Ysar, still perched on their lone horse, had fallen into silence, occasionally wiping sweat from his brow and muttering curses under his breath.

  Elsha pressed on with quiet focus, matching Zafran’s pace. Neither of them said much—there was nothing worth saying while the desert still burned around them.

  Then Zafran slowed.

  His eyes narrowed, gaze scanning the horizon.

  Karin looked up from where she’d been dragging her feet. “What? Please tell me it’s not more sand.”

  Zafran raised a hand, motioning them to halt.

  Ysar squinted past him. “Do you see something?”

  “Shimmer,” Zafran said simply.

  Karin groaned. “If that’s another mirage—”

  But then she saw it too.

  Beyond the rise—low trees. Palms, maybe. A glimmer. Water? Shade? It was still far, too far to be sure.

  But it was real.

  Elsha stepped up beside him. “Oasis?”

  Zafran nodded once. “Could be.”

  Karin’s eyes lit up. “Please be more than a could.”

  Ysar sat straighter. “Even if it’s just trees, I’m ready to worship them.”

  Zafran glanced back at them. “We’ll make camp nearby. No rushing in. We approach slow.”

  “Why?” Karin asked.

  Zafran’s voice was calm. “Because not every oasis is empty.”

  That sobered them.

  The group moved again—this time with purpose, but caution in their steps.

  As they crested the next dune, the oasis revealed itself in full.

  A cluster of tall palms encircled a shallow basin, water glinting in the waning sun. Low stone ruins hugged one side of the pool, half-buried and worn by time. No smoke. No people. No movement.

  Just wind and trees.

  And water.

  Real water.

  Karin almost laughed.

  But Zafran raised a hand again, silent.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  They waited. Still.

  Minutes passed.

  No sound.

  No threat.

  Only the rustle of wind through palm leaves.

  Zafran exhaled. “We go.”

  And together, they made their slow descent toward the edge of the oasis.

  The spring was deeper than it first looked, fed by a slow trickle beneath the rocks, ringed by reeds and scattered ferns. Sunlight filtered through the sparse palms overhead, breaking the shade in golden patches. Birds chirped softly. For once, there was no wind.

  It was, simply, beautiful.

  Karin knelt at the edge, dipping her fingers into the water. Cool. Clean.

  “Okay now, boys, can you get away from here and do your jobs? Make camp. Stand guard.”

  “What?”

  “The ladies are getting their own time to bathe.”

  Elsha blinked. “Now?”

  “Yes! You smell like rotten fish already!”

  Karin stood, already loosening the sash at her waist. “Now. You two!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Please, eyes awayfrom this side of the spring!”

  Zafran didn’t reply. He’d already posted himself at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, back turned. Ysar walked away, lazily waving for Zafran to follow him off, muttering something about being underpaid.

  Karin kicked off her boots, pulled off her coat, then her inner robe. One layer at a time, she peeled away the desert weight—and with it, the restraint.

  Her body was pale against the sun-kissed sand, skin untouched by daylight beneath all those layers. Her figure was unmistakable now—statuesque, mature. Hips that curved with elegance. Breasts that needed no exaggeration—and were real. The kind that made tailors whisper and enchanters sigh.

  She stretched without shame, arms rising high, red hair cascading like a flame down her back. Then she stepped into the spring with a sigh that melted into the wind.

  Elsha hesitated once she saw that figure.

  Then, quietly, she followed.

  Her movements were smaller. Less sure.

  Unlike Karin, Elsha’s body bore the sun’s mark—golden-brown skin, lean muscle lining her shoulders, arms, and thighs. She wasn’t soft, but she wasn’t hard either. Compact. Balanced. Trained. Her chest and body weren’t as loud—the curves subtler. Where Karin seemed to draw attention just by existing, Elsha moved like someone used to vanishing into the crowd.

  She slowly stepped into the water, arms folding across her chest instinctively.

  Karin was already waist-deep, hair floating around her like a crimson veil.

  “Mmm.” She leaned back. “Worth it.”

  Elsha eased in slowly, drawing her knees close. “You’re loud.”

  “I’m happy.”

  “You’re still loud.”

  They both sank into silence for a while, letting the water do its work—cooling, cleansing, peeling off the desert one layer at a time.

  Then, Karin cracked an eye open. “So. You’ve seen mine.”

  Elsha blinked. “What?”

  Karin tilted her head, smirking. “You keep sneaking glances. Don’t worry, I’d look too.”

  Elsha looked away immediately. “You’re imagining things.”

  “Oh, come on.” Karin sat up, water sliding down her collarbone. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You’re gorgeous.”

  Elsha didn’t answer.

  Karin’s tone softened. “Seriously, I think I just washed off a full week of sin.”

  They stayed there, drifting. Peaceful. Still.

  And then—

  A sound.

  A faint rustle in the reeds.

  Karin’s eyes snapped open. She turned just in time to catch a blur of gold.

  Something moved.

  Her body reacted before her brain did—she shrieked, lurching halfway out of the water, hands flying to cover herself.

  “What the hell!?” Her voice was loud.

  Elsha sat up, startled but still mostly submerged. “What!?”

  “Something moved—something with horns!”

  Before Elsha could respond, heavy footsteps crashed through the brush—

  Zafran.

  Sword half-drawn, eyes sweeping, tense—

  Until he saw her.

  Karin, just waist-deep in water, hair clinging to her flushed cheeks, onto her shoulders and laying over her more generous parts—parts she was now trying to hide with her hands, eyes wide with shock and something far closer to murder.

  He froze.

  For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

  Then his gaze shifted—just slightly—to the far side of the spring.

  There, standing dumbly in the reeds, was a gazelle.

  Karin hissed, “I was screaming about that, not—not you!”

  Zafran said nothing.

  He stepped past the water’s edge, knife in hand.

  One flick of the wrist. The blade flew.

  The gazelle dropped.

  Karin sputtered. “That was unnecessary!”

  Elsha and Zafran spoke almost at the same time. “You screamed.”

  “I screamed because there was a creature! Not because I needed a rescue!”

  “You said stand guard.”

  Karin’s voice pitched higher. “I meant in case of bandits! Or monsters! Not if a gazelle looked at me funny!”

  Zafran hefted the carcass over his shoulder, turned, and called out—

  “At least we have meat. Thanks to you.”

  Then, just like that, he walked off.

  Karin stared after him, still half-naked, half-wet, and fully incensed. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Elsha blinked. “You screamed.”

  “I panicked!”

  “You stood up.”

  Karin sank back into the water with a groan, hiding her entire face under the surface.

  After a long pause, she surfaced again and muttered:

  “…Next time I’ll scream after I’m fully dressed.”

  The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the desert basin as Zafran returned to camp with the gazelle slung over his shoulder. He didn’t speak. Just walked to the fire pit, dropped into a crouch, and drew his knife. The rhythmic scrape of steel against hide filled the quiet air—smooth, practiced, clean.

  Ysar looked up from the half-hearted pile of kindling he’d arranged. “Wow, you actually got one?”

  Zafran said nothing. The blade slipped beneath the fur, peeling it away with quiet efficiency. His silence was answer enough.

  Not long after, Elsha and Karin stepped into the clearing.

  Elsha looked composed. Her hair was tied up, robes dry, expression calm as ever.

  Karin, by contrast, moved like someone trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t mortified. Her face was flushed, her arms folded tightly over her chest, and her gaze darted anywhere that wasn’t Zafran.

  Ysar blinked. “Why’s your face so red? Sunstroke?”

  Elsha, without missing a beat, said, “The oasis water was a bit too hot.”

  Karin shot her a glare. “You traitor.”

  Ysar’s brows climbed. He glanced between them, then to Zafran.

  “She bathed,” Zafran said flatly, not looking up, his hands still busy at work. “And a gazelle nearly killed her.”

  Karin whipped around. “That’s not what happened!”

  Ysar’s eyes widened. The realization clicked all at once—and he grinned like a devil.

  “Really? And you didn’t invite me?”

  A small rock hit his shoulder.

  And a dagger thunked into the sand a hair’s breadth from his cheek.

  “Hey!”

  “Shut up,” Karin and Elsha said in perfect unison.

  Karin slumped down by the fire with a huff, Elsha settling beside her with silent grace.

  “But really,” Elsha added, tone dry, “you shouldn’t have stood up.”

  “Oh, come on!” Karin threw up her hands. “How was I supposed to know a gazelle would be lurking in the bushes like a creep?”

  “You screamed,” Zafran said, still working.

  “I screamed because something moved! Not because I needed a heroic rescue while half-naked!”

  Ysar held back a laugh. Barely. “So you were half-naked.”

  Karin threw another pebble.

  It bounced off his boot.

  “Alright, alright! Truce! I surrender to your modesty!”

  Zafran finished skinning the carcass and began carving thick cuts of meat. The scent of blood faded, overtaken by the warm, earthy aroma of roasting flesh. Fat sizzled as the meat hit the pan, filling the air with something that made even the sand feel bearable.

  For a while, they simply sat—tired, quiet, and grateful for food.

  The fire crackled. The wind shifted, dry and soft. Desert dusk stretched across the horizon in long bands of violet and gold.

  Zafran wiped his blade clean and glanced out into the distance. “Gazelle don’t roam deep desert.”

  Elsha nodded, already unfolding the worn map in her lap. “We’re close to the ridge.”

  She pointed to the faint lines scrawled near the map’s upper corner—a shaded curl of elevation that separated the golden sands from something else entirely.

  “Beyond that?” she said, tapping the edge. “Frozen ground. The ruin sits just before the drop.”

  Ysar squinted at the map, then at the darkening horizon. “Wait, so we go from this…”—he gestured at the blistering heat still radiating from the rocks—“…to snow? Just like that?”

  “Cold winds sweep down from the north,” Zafran said. “The terrain turns fast. Mountains press the air down, trap the frost. The ruin sits where the two meet.”

  Karin leaned over Elsha’s shoulder to get a better look. Her eyes flicked to the map, but carefully avoided the man beside her. “So we’re close.”

  Elsha nodded again. “A day. Maybe a day and a half if we keep a steady pace.”

  Ysar leaned back, resting on his elbows. His expression was distant now, the joking set aside. “Kinda feels like something’s waiting there.”

  No one responded.

  The meat hissed softly over the fire. The smell of it mingled with the scent of dry grass, faint ash, and something colder—something sharper—carried on the wind from beyond the ridge.