The desert stretched wide around them, a quiet sea of gold and shadow. They had left after noon, once the sun dipped just enough for the heat to soften. Still, the sand clung to their boots and skin, and the air shimmered with dry warmth.

  Zafran led at a steady pace, silent and alert. Elsha kept stride beside him, scanning the terrain with sharp, calm eyes. Behind them, Karin and Ysar walked slower, occasionally exchanging quiet words lost to the wind.

  It was Elsha who saw it first.

  A flicker of light—something unnatural. She slowed slightly. “Zafran,” she said under her breath.

  He followed her gaze.

  Far ahead, something broke the rhythm of the dunes. Angular shapes. The glint of sun on worn stone.

  Not cliffs. Not dunes.

  Structures.

  As they walked, the shapes grew clearer—towers collapsed inward, skeletal arches swallowed by sand, remnants of a once-living place now reduced to bones. Beyond the ruins, the land lifted into a low ridge—gray and jagged, etched by time and wind.

  Karin caught up with a squint. “I see it now.”

  She pulled the map from her satchel, brushing it open. “Temple of Aftree,” she murmured. “It’s just past that ridge.”

  Ysar tilted his head. “That’s not just a temple.”

  “No,” Elsha said, her voice low. “It was a whole religious community. A settlement.”

  “Long dead,” Zafran added, eyes never leaving the horizon.

  They kept walking. The wind pressed against them as they neared the outskirts—broken gates, hollowed-out shrines, statues reduced to blank silhouettes. Scorched symbols clung to the crumbling stone, barely visible.

  No birds. No insects. No echoes.

  Just stillness.

  Karin folded the map and looked to Zafran. “Let’s camp before we go in. I don’t want to rush this.”

  Zafran gave a quiet nod.

  They veered toward the remnants of a courtyard wall, its half-buried stones offering a bit of shelter. The light had softened to amber. The ruins stood silent as they arrived, casting long, bent shadows across the sand.

  The fire cracked low in the shelter of the broken courtyard wall, its glow pushing back the desert night in flickers. They had set their bedrolls in a loose circle, the old stone shielding them from the wind that whispered through the ruins.

  For a while, no one spoke.

  They ate in quiet—dried bread, strips of smoked meat, and lukewarm water. The kind of meal that filled the stomach but gave no comfort.

  Then Ysar leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes on the stars.

  “You know…” he began, “I heard in some old tradition… if you see someone naked, you’re supposed to marry them.”

  Karin choked on her water. “I…, what?”

  Elsha turned sharply. “Don’t.”

  Ysar grinned. “No, no, I’m serious! It was about honor or decency or whatever. Like, ‘Whoops, you saw me, now we’re stuck together forever.’ Romantic, right?”

  Karin hurled a pebble at him. “You’re a walking mistake.”

  “That’s not a denial,” Ysar said, dodging it with a smug look.

  But Zafran, quietly eating nearby, didn’t even look up.

  His hands moved—mechanically, folding a strip of dried meat, bringing it to his mouth—but his eyes were unfocused. The firelight flickered against his face, unmoving, as if he were staring into something far beyond the stone and sand.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Something no one else could see.

  Ysar squinted at him. “Hello? Someone’s there?”

  Elsha glanced sideways, frowning slightly.

  Then, after just a beat too long, Zafran blinked and said, “You keep talking like that, I’ll leave you in the ruins.”

  The timing was wrong. Off just enough to be noticed.

  Ysar raised an eyebrow. “Alright, that was… late. You good?”

  Zafran didn’t answer.

  Karin narrowed her eyes. “He’s brooding. Let him finish his dramatic monologue internally.”

  Elsha’s brow stayed furrowed a little longer—but she didn’t press.

  The conversation moved on, but something in the firelight felt quieter after that. Like a shadow had passed, just long enough to be felt.

  “Anyway… leaving me in the ruin and I’d still find my way back. I’m resourceful.”

  “You got lost in cities,” Elsha muttered.

  “I got distracted, not lost.”

  Karin exhaled, long and theatrical. “This is the group I’m stuck with. Brilliant.”

  “But seriously,” Ysar said, shifting his gaze toward the ruins, “this place is creepy. Feels like we’re being watched by desert ghosts.”

  “It used to be a community of Aftree’s worshippers, right?” Elsha added.

  “Didn’t know they were so extreme,” Ysar said. “Living off in the desert like this.”

  Zafran stood, brushing sand from his hands. “Let’s not exhaust ourselves on campfire talk. We don’t know what’s waiting in the ruins.”

  One by one, the others began preparing their bedrolls.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Karin said suddenly.

  Everyone blinked.

  Ysar raised a brow. “Really? You?”

  She grabbed her scarf and started walking toward the darker edge of the ruins.

  “Someone has to make sure you don’t snore yourselves to death.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  But she didn’t turn around. Just walked—quiet, steady—until the firelight no longer touched her.

  Elsha watched her go, then glanced at Zafran, tilt her head a little, enough to covey her message.

  Zafran let out a long sigh—quiet, tired—and stood.

  Without a word, he stood and followed Karin into the dark.

  Ysar looked at Elsha. “You okay with that?”

  “With what?”

  “That.” He gestured toward the shadows. “Come on, I’ve known you my whole life.”

  “This is about work.”

  “Right, right. Professional.”

  “Mind your own business,” she said flatly, and pulled the blanket over herself.

  Ysar smirked—then slowly drifted off to sleep.

  The desert was colder now, the fire behind them flickering low in the courtyard. The ruins stretched around them like the broken ribs of some ancient beast—silent, half-buried, and watching.

  Zafran found her sitting on a fallen column, arms wrapped around her legs, face tilted to the stars. Her hair caught what little moonlight there was, the red strands drifting softly in the breeze.

  He sat beside her without a word.

  For a moment, they just listened—to the wind threading through stone, to the faint crackle of the fire far behind.

  Then Karin spoke, voice quieter than usual. “You ever run so far toward something that you start wondering if you’re chasing it… or running from everything else?”

  Zafran glanced sideways. “Excited?”

  She smiled—small and tired. “Terrified. And yeah… excited.”

  A beat passed.

  Then she pulled something from her belt pouch—a folded note, worn thin at the corners. She didn’t open it, just held it in her lap.

  “This mission… it’s official,” she said softly. “Entrance exam. The last one they’d even consider letting me take.”

  Zafran’s brow furrowed. “Academia?”

  She nodded. “If I want to join… I have to bring back the Flame Ash.”

  His voice was flat. “That’s not an entrance. That’s a suicide pact. The ruin might be buried, cursed, overrun—and they sent you alone? Just to qualify?”

  She laughed—but it cracked halfway through. “Right?”

  “You knew this was a bad deal.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then why take it?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at the stars again, shoulders rising and falling with a soft breath.

  “Mage apprentices get taken in at ten. Sometimes twelve. They grow up in it. I’m twenty-three. I’ve applied six times. Six interviews. Six rejection letters. Always got the same line: ‘You are not qualified.’ No further reason.”

  “Because you’re a Flame-Touched.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it’s because I’m not noble. Or because I didn’t have a master.” She looked down at the folded paper again. “That’s why I came to your caravan with just twenty gold coins.”

  There was a pause. Then a faint chuckle. “Gods, I must’ve looked so ridiculous.”

  Zafran’s voice softened. “Was it your dream? The Academia?”

  Karin nodded. “I don’t know. But my mother always said magic could change the world. Fix things. Heal people. I thought… maybe if I joined, it’d make her proud. Even now.”

  He didn’t say anything at first.

  Then: “If you fail this mission…”

  She didn’t answer.

  He turned to her. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to anyone.”

  She looked at him, startled.

  “You’re capable. Strong. That fireball back in the canyon said more than any scroll ever could.”

  She blinked. Then laughed under her breath. “Careful, that almost sounded like a flirt.”

  “It wasn’t one.”

  “You’re softer than you look.”

  Zafran smirked faintly. “I’ve never been that hard.”

  “You are,” she said. “Most of the time.”

  Zafran stood, brushing off his cloak. “Get some sleep. You’re not taking any watch tonight.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re the client. And the one with the insane mission. The least we can do is make sure you don’t collapse on the way there.”

  She smiled, a little crooked. “Fine. But I expect full protection while I dream of fame and magical grandeur.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Karin stretched out on the stone slab, still watching him with a sly smile. “Alright then. Watch well, soldier. I expect to wake up safe and well-rested.”

  Zafran didn’t answer. He just turned toward the dark.

  “Night night,” she said softly, before walking back to the camp.