The wind moved like an ancient breath over the sand-cracked stone, trailing the party as they departed the gates of Kemet. From high above, the world stretched wide beneath the clouds—distant mountains, pins, and a vast horizon. The road was a serpent winding through a sea of dust, sun, and trees; on it moved a small caravan of carts, beasts, and grimly burdened souls.
From the vantage of the angels above, they seemed insignificant, like grains of sand in a desert. Never could they know the second coming of the Bck King was upon them, his heart abze and beating with the thrum of new purpose.
Zeek sat at the back of the lead cart, one leg dangling above the dusty road underneath, eyes flicking between the trees and the distant horizon where Kemet’s bordering hills shimmered under the sun’s light. Verris walked alongside him, choosing to remain on foot; Regalia hung heavy at his waist, occasionally clinking against his armor with a sound like distant thunder.
Amon and Heka rode together at the front of the cart, the veil of its canvas occasionally parting with the breeze to reveal the two figures in a sleepy embrace—her head resting softly against his shoulder, smoke drifting quietly off her dress. Since Kemet, something fragile had been reforged between them, something old and tempered now stood in its pce. They rarely spoke on the journey, but they no longer avoided each other’s gaze, let alone touch; they clung to each other, whether it be through love or fear, that night had become a catalyst between them.
The caravan was a modest one, just three wagons total. One carried grain and goods bound for the mountain outpost. The second held fabrics and tools used by the artisans of Estus. The third, a more curious man and his wares: skins, pelts, dried hides from beasts across the continent. He was a gargantuan figure, dark-skinned and keen-eyed, with a wide hat and thick, massive hands calloused from a life of bor.
"Used to hunt wolves and vampires myself," he muttered to Verris one afternoon, tapping one of the dyed furs slung over the side of his cart. "Trick with the vampires is you gotta get ‘em right as they turn tail if you want the biggest bat skins.” He chuckled to himself, rubbing his scruffy beard. “Once that daughter came along, didn’t much take to hunting things like that,” he sighed, “Thought she might take up the trade but, turned out she took to bdes instead."
Verris raised an eyebrow. "Adventurer?"
The man chuckled. "Foolish, like all the rest of 'em, no offense. Started chasin' old magic and ruins. Last I heard, she was off to some tomb near a sinkhole on the other side of Kemet.” The trader furrowed his brow, “Told her to steer clear of all them byrinths and mazes; she never was much use against minotaur and the like; too weak, too imprecise. She just grinned that grin at me and left. That grin of hers...” his voice cracked, “Just like her mother's. She didn’t listen either."
Zeek, nearby, caught a gnce of the frown on the trader’s face—weathered and distant. He didn’t press further.
The days dragged with between open prairies and densely wooded canopies. By midday, the heat weighed heavily, radiant and oppressive. By night, the cold air swept through the trees, whistling softly as it stole the warmth from everyone but those nearest the fmes. The travelers shared stories around small fires on occasion, though many nights passed in silence; only the sound of wind howling through narrow valleys to break the stillness.
Once, they passed the remnants of a shattered obelisk half-buried in distant gravel, eroded over time; carvings still clung to its face—winged figures with heads bowed and chains between their wrists. Amon found himself unable to look away; Heka’s smoke fred slightly but calmed under the familiar sensation of his hand on her thigh. There was a feeling amongst the caravan; an air of anxiety seemed to cling to the group as they continued to travel.
As the caravan climbed higher into the rocky foothills, the nd changed. The thick forest was repced by ivory sand and pale stone outcrops. Crevices yawned beside the valley they travelled. Grass eventually returned, sparse but defiant, and strange birds circled overhead; some even seemed to have long, almost-human legs.
In the distance, nestled between the twin peaks of the mountains, shimmered the promise of Estus. Its spires gleamed like gold fingers pointing skyward. From afar, the city looked divine.
But all things holy cast long shadows, and in those shadows, judgment awaited.
The Gate of Kal’Tas loomed ahead—an ancient fortress carved into the cliffs, half mountain pass, half checkpoint to the Border of Estus. Towering statues of angelic guardians fnked the archway, each bearing golden spears and weathered, unreadable expressions lost to time. Zeek narrowed his eyes as the caravan drew closer.
“Whatever awaits beyond those gates,” he murmured, “won’t be welcoming to our friend.”
Verris snorted. "Of course they won’t."
From high above, the gods in the heavens watched in silence, drawing back as the party approached the outpost, unaware of the eyes waiting in the shadows—and the fate that would greet them at the Gates of Kal’Tas.
