Thank you. I'll now begin writing the next ten chapters. They will follow Kelan and Astrid as they live a quiet life in a remote desert village before being drawn north by an Imperial envoy to help defend a key mountain pass from a looming horde invasion. The tone will maintain a slow, reflective pace with deep introspection, gradual magical development, and a growing sense of threat. Astrid's evolution into a powerful combat-singer will be woven throughout. The final chapter will end with the arrival of the horde on the horizon—vast and overwhelming—setting the stage for the next book.
Chapter 1: Desert Refuge
The midmorning sun beat down upon the clay roofs of the village, stretching squat shadows across the dusty ground. Kelan lifted a woven reed mat that served as a door and stepped out into the glare. Overhead, the sky was a hard, cloudless blue. A faint breeze carried the scent of dry sage and camel sweat from beyond the low mudbrick wall that encircled Shir'Avin, the remote desert hamlet he and Astrid had come to call home.
In the courtyard, Astrid knelt beside an earthenware basin, rinsing strips of linen in water drawn from the village well. Even after months in this climate, a few strands of her golden hair clung damply to her forehead in the heat. Kelan paused a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene: the rhythmic slosh of water as she wrung out the cloth, the distant bleating of goats from the thorn-fence pens, and Astrid's quiet humming—a northern lullaby that sounded both out of place and perfectly right in this sun-baked land.
She glanced up, sensing his presence, and offered a warm smile. "How is he?" she asked softly.
Kelan stepped down into the courtyard, letting the reed mat fall closed behind him. "Sleeping now," he replied, keeping his voice low. "The fever's broken."
Astrid let out a small sigh of relief and rose to her feet, linen strips draped over one arm. Just beyond the courtyard, against the wall of their modest home, a young mother dozed beneath an awning of woven palm fronds. In her arms, swaddled in a light cotton wrap, was the infant Kelan had spent the last hour treating. The child's labored cries from the night before had subsided into the soft, even breaths of restful sleep.
"She's finally resting too," Astrid murmured, nodding toward the mother. The woman had refused to leave her baby's side all night until exhaustion claimed her at dawn. Astrid had coaxed her outside to the shade for some air while Kelan worked, and the poor thing had promptly fallen asleep herself.
Kelan moved quietly to the mother's side and gently pressed two fingers against the baby's cheek. Through his Mind-Sight, as he and Master Zujan once called it, he could faintly perceive the infant's body: the fluttering heartbeat now steady, the infection that had raged in tiny lungs now receding under the combined effect of Kelan's careful healing and Astrid's herbal brew. The child stirred only slightly at his touch, then nestled closer to his mother's warmth.
Satisfied, Kelan stepped back, careful not to wake either of them. He rejoined Astrid by the basin. "A bit of willowbark in the next feeding should keep the fever from returning," he said. "But I think the worst is past."
Astrid wrung out one last strip of linen and laid it across a sun-bleached rope to dry. "You've worked another miracle," she said quietly, admiration in her eyes.
Kelan shook his head, reaching for a towel to dab the sweat from his brow. The motion revealed the edge of the elaborate tattoo curling around his forearm—a pattern of waves and winds inked in his homeland's style. He'd had it since his coming-of-age, a mark of Tiruvan heritage that set him apart in this far-flung village. He was mindful to keep it partially covered among strangers, but within Shir'Avin's walls he was simply "Master Kelan," the healer with strange coastal ways.
"Not a miracle," he demurred, keeping his tone modest. "Just knowledge and a bit of luck."
Astrid's lips quirked in a slight smirk; she knew better than most how often Kelan credited luck for what others would plainly call magic. But she let it pass and tilted her head toward the dozing mother and child. "Shall we move them inside? The sun will be high soon."
Indeed, late morning was upon them, and soon the village would retreat into the stillness of midday rest to escape the worst of the heat. Kelan nodded. Together, they gently roused the young mother, Mina, who blinked awake in confusion at first. As Astrid helped the groggy woman to her feet, Kelan carefully lifted the baby. The little girl fussed only a moment before settling back against his chest.
Mina's eyes widened in alarm as memory returned. "Hani?" she gasped, reaching for her child.
"All is well," Kelan assured her softly, inclining his head in the respectful gesture he had learned from the nomads. "Her fever has broken. She's sleeping now." He carefully transferred the infant into Mina's arms. The mother cradled her daughter and felt her brow, disbelief and hope warring on her sunburned face.
Already, a few nearby villagers were peeking from doorways or shading their eyes on verandas, watching the small tableau unfold. News of a sickness—and of Kelan's tending—traveled quickly in this close-knit place. Kelan heard a low murmur of thanks to the Sun and the Sands from one of the elders who sat carving a date palm branch in the shade. Another woman made a warding sign against evil and shot Kelan a toothless grin of gratitude.
Mina's eyes brimmed with tears. "Master Kelan… how can I ever—"
Kelan held up a hand gently. "There's no debt," he said. In the early days, some villagers had tried to offer coins or goods for his services, but he and Astrid had refused anything beyond what was needed to live simply. Here, far from Imperial coin and commerce, it felt wrong to charge for what little help they could give. "Just take her home and let her rest. Keep giving the herbal water Astrid prepared, small sips each hour."
Mina nodded vigorously, her tears spilling over as relief and gratitude overcame her. She looked to Astrid, who offered a comforting pat on her shoulder. "If her fever stirs, come fetch us straight away," Astrid added.
The mother managed to choke out thanks in a mix of her own dialect and the trader's tongue that passed for common speech here. Kelan understood enough to wave it off with a kind smile. He watched as Astrid guided the woman slowly across the dusty courtyard and out through the open gate toward her family's nearby tent. The cluster of goats parted around them, bleating softly as if in approval.
As they left, Kelan exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He felt the familiar tide of weariness after healing. Though far less dramatic than mending battlefield wounds, coaxing an infant's body back from the brink of a deadly fever demanded precision. He had strained to keep his touch light—enough to strengthen the child's lungs and burn away infection, but not so much that it would leave any trace unnatural to onlookers. To anyone observing, it seemed he had only tended through the night with cool compresses and herbal brews.
He wiped his forehead again, which was damp less from heat than from the exertion of that delicate Mind-Touch. As he folded the towel, Kelan became aware of quiet steps approaching behind him. A familiar sensation tickled the edge of his senses—Astrid's presence, warm and steady, even before she spoke. Over the past months, he had grown more attuned to such impressions; perhaps it was simply knowing her so well, or something more of his gift awakening, but often he felt Astrid's emotions like a faint echo of his own.
"You should rest too," she said, concern threaded in her tone. She had returned after seeing Mina and baby Hani safely off, and now stepped close to Kelan beneath the scant shade of the courtyard's lone palm. "You were up all night."
Kelan glanced around. The village was indeed falling into its midday lull. A pair of lanky gray dogs had already curled up under a wagon. The smithy's forge was quiet. On the breeze, he caught the savory smell of lentil stew from the inn—today's communal meal being prepared before the cooks closed their fires for the afternoon.
He gave Astrid a wry smile, brushing a bit of dried clay off the front of his simple tunic. "You're right. But so were you. I seem to recall someone else pacing around with a crying infant for hours."
Astrid chuckled softly, recalling how she'd taken turns with Mina walking the feverish baby under the starry sky while Kelan prepared tonics. "Point taken. Perhaps we both rest, then."
Kelan's smile widened a fraction. In truth, he could think of nothing better. The thought of their cool stone-floored room, and perhaps a brief respite lying beside Astrid away from the relentless sun, was tantalizing.
They headed indoors, leaving the brightness for the dim interior of their home. The house was humble: two rooms of mudbrick with a flat roof, loaned to them by the village headman in exchange for Kelan's agreement to serve as resident healer. A woven mat covered the compacted earth floor. Shelves carved into the walls held an array of clay jars and baskets of herbs Astrid had gathered or traded for—dried desert lavender, scorpion-weed, and bitterroot among them. In one corner, a low sleeping pallet was neatly rolled up for the day.
Astrid poured a ladle of water from an amphora into a glazed cup and handed it to Kelan. "Drink." It was not a request so much as gentle command. Though she wore no formal authority here, Astrid carried herself with the quiet confidence of a Jarl's daughter even in exile.
Kelan obeyed, realizing only as the cool water hit his tongue how parched he was. The water here always tasted faintly of minerals and dates—sweet from the trough they often used to infuse it. He drained the cup gratefully and set it aside.
Astrid reached out and brushed a thumb just above Kelan's brow, wiping away a spot of salve that had dried there during the night's work. Her touch lingered, then trailed down the side of his face. "Every family here owes you so much already," she said softly. "It amazes me, how you do it."
Kelan caught her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. "I don't do it alone," he replied. "They have you to thank as well. Without your teas and steady nerves, I'd be a wreck."
She laughed quietly at that, but Kelan meant it. In truth, Astrid had grown adept with the local herbs, learning from the village women the desert's equivalents for northern remedies. She took pride in brewing and bandaging, often joking that between the two of them, not even death's grip could stand for long. It was only half a joke—Kelan's abilities did straddle that impossible line between life and death, though here he kept that boundary well.
He guided her to the pallet and they sat down side by side. Through the open doorway, the courtyard beyond was now empty of people. Only the rustling of palm fronds and the distant clank of a tether bell on a grazing camel disturbed the silence.
Kelan leaned back against the cool plastered wall. Astrid was right—he needed rest. But as always, repose did not come easily at first. His mind drifted as she nestled against him, laying her head on his shoulder with a tired sigh.
He gazed around the dim room. On one wall hung a faded tapestry depicting some long-ago caravan trek; it had come with the house and neither of them had taken it down. Next to it, carefully displayed on a wooden peg, was Astrid's sword—one of the few possessions she'd brought from Northhaven. The blade remained wrapped in oiled cloth to protect it from the dry air, but just seeing its outline brought a flood of memories.
Northhaven… the snow-laden pine boughs and biting winds felt like another world compared to the scorched silence of midday Shir'Avin. Yet in this tiny desert village, they had found a peace that the northern frontier, for all its fierce beauty, could not offer them after the battle. Here, no warlords prowled at the gates, no whispers of sorcery haunted their every step. To the villagers, Kelan and Astrid were odd outsiders but valued ones: healers and skilled fighters if need be, though no serious trouble had crossed Shir'Avin's path in their time here.
Kelan's eyelids grew heavy as he let those thoughts wash over him. At his side, Astrid's breathing was slowing, her exhaustion catching up. She shifted to lie back on the pallet, tugging him gently with her. He went willingly, stretching out and drawing her into the crook of his arm. Instinctively, she curled against him, and he felt tension ease from her frame.
Before sleep claimed him, Kelan reflected on how much had changed in so short a time. A year ago, he had been mending fences in a northern village, preparing for a siege that by rights should have ended in slaughter and despair. Instead, by a choice and power he still struggled to fully comprehend, he had saved Northhaven and in doing so, uprooted his own life once more.
He thought of Greta's warning—the elder's wise words on how people would fear what they did not understand. Kelan had seen it come true in the eyes of both friend and foe in the aftermath of that battle. Perhaps that was why this place felt almost like sanctuary: here, he and Astrid were not legendary figures of rumor, just a man and woman earning their keep through honest service. There was gossip, surely—the desert folk were no strangers to tales and a foreign healer who could set bones with a thought made a tempting subject—but it was the benign kind of lore. To the nomads and villagers, Kelan was seen as touched by the Sun, perhaps favored by one of their minor deities of healing. Not a sorcerer to chase out with stones, but a blessing to protect and keep secret.
Astrid murmured faintly in her sleep, pressing closer to Kelan's side. He smiled at the way she draped an arm over him as if to make sure he wouldn't slip away even now. Gently, he brushed a kiss atop her hair. He had no intention of going anywhere—this peace, however temporary it might prove, was worth savoring.
Outside, the village would soon fall completely silent as midday heat settled. Kelan closed his eyes. His last conscious thought was a simple prayer of gratitude—to no one deity in particular, but to fate or fortune that had granted them these quiet days. In the stillness, he allowed himself to rest.
The desert sun climbed higher, merciless and bright over Shir'Avin, but within the cool walls of their little home, Kelan and Astrid slept—two weary souls finding solace in each other's arms, unaware of the distant winds already beginning to shift beyond the horizon.
Chapter 2: Dunes and Dusk
By late afternoon, the worst of the day's heat had passed. Shir'Avin stirred back to life as slanting rays of sunlight turned the clay walls golden. A trio of children chased one another past Kelan and Astrid's gate, their laughter high and clear in the dry air. From the central well, the creak of a rope and bucket echoed as villagers gathered water for the evening.
Kelan stood outside his door, rolling his shoulders to loosen muscles stiff from sleep. He and Astrid had slept longer than intended, but the village took no issue; here the custom was to work in the gentler hours and rest when the sun was fiercest. He breathed in deeply. The air was laced with the comforting aromas of spiced lentils and flatbread cooking on iron griddles—dinner preparations in full swing.
Astrid stepped up beside him, tugging her fingers through her hair to neaten it. She wore a loose linen blouse now, cooler for the evening, and had re-braided her golden locks in a single plait. The two exchanged a contented glance, the unspoken agreement that this simple routine of waking to a calm village evening was something they would never take for granted.
"How's our patient?" Astrid asked quietly as they began a slow stroll toward the well, following the path along the inside of the village wall.
"Still resting comfortably," Kelan replied. He had checked on baby Hani and Mina before leaving the house. The child had stirred once for a brief feed, taken some of Astrid's infused water, and fallen back asleep—cheeks flushed with healthy color now instead of fever. Mina had embraced Kelan, her thanks wordless but powerfully felt.
Astrid smiled at the news, brushing her shoulder against Kelan's affectionately as they walked. In the amber glow of late sun, they passed small clusters of villagers going about chores. Most greeted them cheerfully: a wave here, a nod there, and always a murmured blessing or thanks. Kelan responded humbly to each. Astrid noticed that a few of the older nomad women made a particular sign with thumb and forefinger as he passed—a ward against evil in general, but in this context meant to keep ill spirits from undoing the healer's good work. It was a gesture of protection for him, a curious blend of superstition and gratitude. Astrid had come to understand these subtleties and found them endearing.
At the well, an animated conversation was underway. Two herders had come in from the open sands with their goats and were trading news with Hakim, the weathered old headman of Shir'Avin. Normally the topics were mundane—grazing conditions, a newborn camel, the odd jackal sighting—but as Kelan and Astrid drew water in their own bucket, Astrid's ear caught something that made her pause.
"—strange tracks near the red dunes," one herder was saying, his face sweat-streaked and serious. "Not animal. Horses, and many. Could be bandits."
The headman frowned, his brow creasing beneath a turban stained by years of sun. "Bandits ranging this far south? Unlikely. No caravans due until next month." Hakim noticed Kelan and Astrid nearby and offered a polite nod; the herders turned, their expressions brightening a little at the sight of the healer and his companion. In this village, outsiders though they were, Kelan and Astrid had earned a measure of trust that made them privy to local concerns.
"What's this about bandits?" Kelan asked gently, letting the bucket rest against the well's stone rim.
The first herder, a lanky youth with sun-cracked lips, shrugged. "Probably nothing, sa'abi. But we cut across the red dunes beyond the salt flats today and saw many hoofprints. At least a dozen riders, maybe more, headed east. Not nomad folk—we'd know if one of our bands rode there recently."
His companion, an older man with a graying beard, spat to one side. "Could be those brigands from the far Oasis of Palem. They prey on lone camps and stragglers."
Astrid traded a glance with Kelan. Shir'Avin was remote enough that organized bandits rarely troubled it—there was little wealth here save what passing traders brought, and the village kept a modest watch. But times had been changing. In recent weeks, they'd heard distant murmurings of unrest: a caravan arriving two days late with tales of skirmishes on the old imperial roads far north, or a peddler speaking of royal soldiers mustering for some campaign. Perhaps lawlessness was creeping even into these quiet parts.
"We'll keep watch," Hakim grunted, though he sounded more weary than worried. The headman's eyes flicked to Kelan thoughtfully. "We might ask your help, if trouble finds us. Though I pray it doesn't."
"You needn't even ask," Kelan replied at once. He had made it known early on that he and Astrid were willing to defend the village if need be. In truth, there had been only minor incidents—a rabid jackal one night, chased off by Astrid's arrow, and a drunken scuffle at the inn that Kelan defused by sheer calming presence. They had never had to truly bare their steel here. But Astrid's sword and bow were always close at hand, and Kelan's powers, though hidden, were a constant reassurance to himself if not to others.
As if echoing his thoughts, Astrid placed a hand on the worn hilt of the hunting knife she kept at her belt. She offered the men a confident smile. "Shir'Avin is under our protection as much as yours. Bandits will find slim pickings and a stout fight if they come."
The younger herder grinned widely at that, clearly heartened. Word of Astrid's skill with a blade and bow had spread after she had effortlessly shot down a vulture harassing the village goats one morning. To these folk, a warrior woman from the far green north was nearly as wondrous as a healer who asked no payment.
The headman gave them a grateful nod. "Blessings on you both. Let us hope it's only wayfarers or some Imperial patrol lost off their route."
They finished filling their water and took their leave as the herders launched into a debate about whether the hoofprints might belong to imperial scouts—unlikely this far out, but not impossible.
Astrid's brow knit slightly. "If they were scouts, could they be looking for something? Or someone?" she murmured under her breath as she and Kelan walked back toward their home.
Kelan understood the unspoken worry in her question. Could the Empire's reach have extended here, sniffing for the living legend who vanished from the north? He gave a small shake of his head. "We're a long way from any garrison or road. And we haven't exactly advertised our identities."
Indeed, aside from giving their first names, they had avoided sharing much of their past with anyone in Shir'Avin. Kelan doubted "Kelan di'Rase" meant anything to these nomads even if he used his surname; here lineage was traced in different ways. And Astrid, daughter of Jarl Haesten, was simply Astrid of nowhere in particular. Their tale was that they were travelers from distant Northlands who decided to stay a while and help as they could. It was even true, as far as it went.
Astrid nodded, her posture easing. "True. It's likely nothing." She cast one more glance toward the gate visible at the edge of the village, now bathed in red-orange light. Whatever tracks the herders saw were miles out and not necessarily headed their way. Shaking off the worry, she turned back to Kelan. "We should probably help with the evening meal."
That was another custom they'd picked up: communal suppers under the open sky. Kelan smiled. "Go on ahead. I'll join you in a moment."
Astrid studied him a moment, then arched an eyebrow knowingly. "You're not sneaking off to skip your share of peeling root vegetables, are you?"
Kelan chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it. I just want to fetch a fresh shirt; this one still smells of fever tincture."
Satisfied with the excuse, Astrid handed him one of the water jugs they'd filled and set off toward the central hearth, where villagers were already gathering. Kelan watched her go for a moment—her stride confident yet graceful, making easy conversation as she joined a knot of women carrying spice jars and ladles. In a blink, Astrid was ladling water into a clay cooking pot and laughing at some jest, as if she'd been born among these desert folk. His heart warmed at the sight.
Shouldering the water jug, he returned to their home. Inside, deep shadows had gathered; he lit a small bronze lamp. True to his word, he removed his sweat-stained shirt and wiped down with a damp cloth. As he reached for a clean tunic, folded neatly on a shelf, Kelan felt it again—a subtle prickle at the edge of his senses.
It was a feeling he'd noticed more often of late: the awareness of life around him in a radius that sometimes expanded or contracted with his focus. Standing still now, he closed his eyes briefly and concentrated. Yes… from the hearthside two streets away, he sensed Astrid's lively presence and a dozen others, like warm points of light loosely clustered. Further, at the outskirts, the herders on watch were like dimmer sparks—their fatigue evident in the sluggish pace of their movements. Small creatures, too: the skitter of a lizard under the floorboards, a roosting dove's calm heartbeat in the rafters of the next hut. Kelan exhaled and the awareness receded.
This expanding sensitivity was as exhilarating as it was daunting. At times he wasn't sure if he was truly detecting such things or if his mind invented them from keen intuition. Incremental mastery, Master Zujan would likely call it. Piece by piece, power grew—if honed.
He donned the fresh tunic and stepped back outside, fastening the leather toggle at his collar. Dusk was descending swiftly, the sun already half submerged beneath the dunes in a blaze of color. Long shadows and the glow of cookfires gave the village a cozy, transient feel—like a caravan encampment that might vanish come dawn without a trace but for the footprints.
Kelan's footfalls led him not toward the main hearth immediately, but to the low ladder at the side of the house. Drawn by impulse, he climbed up to the flat rooftop, water jug still in hand. From this slight elevation, Shir'Avin spread out around him, a small patch of humanity against the vast emptiness beyond. A few villagers milled about finishing tasks, and at the far end of the main street Astrid's figure was distinguishable by her light hair, the last sunlight catching it like a pale flame as she stirred the communal stew. Kelan smiled softly and took a moment to simply breathe.
He found he loved this hour of dusk most of all—the way the sky transformed into a palette of deep indigo and rose, and the first stars pricked through before the day's heat had fully bled off. In Northhaven, twilight had been equally beautiful, but sharp with cold and accompanied by the howl of the wind. Here, it was warm and silent save for the murmur of voices and the occasional bleat of a goat settling down.
As he prepared to descend and join the meal, a subtle motion on the neighboring rooftop caught Kelan's eye. On the flat roof of the house next to his—Hakim's storehouse—stood Astrid. Or rather, crouched. She had slipped away from the cooking circle and now balanced lightly atop the roof, her silhouette alert against the twilight sky. In her hand gleamed the slender length of her steel sword, unsheathed.
Kelan froze, concern flaring—had she spotted a threat? Bandits already? But no shout of alarm came. Astrid's posture was poised but not tense as she slowly pivoted, sword in one hand. She lifted her face to the darkening heavens, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
The sound that emerged was low and resonant, swelling in volume with each heartbeat. Astrid's voice carried a haunting melody—a battle hymn of her northern clan, Kelan realized, though the words were ancient and largely ceremonial. The notes were rich, vibrating in the warm evening air. Kelan's heart gave a thump; he had heard her sing around campfires for comfort or celebration, but this was different.
As the song flowed forth, Astrid started a series of sword forms—slow, dance-like swings and arcs. The blade caught the dusky light with each sweep. She moved with deliberate grace, timing each strike or thrust to a particular note in her melody. It was a mesmerizing sight: a solitary woman atop a roof, silhouette etched in the last light, weaving voice and steel together in a private ritual.
Kelan realized he was holding his breath. He had known Astrid was practicing something she called her "combat-singing" in spare moments, but she had been shy to demonstrate it fully. It was an art she'd pieced together from her own talents and perhaps inspiration from tales of warrior-singers. Only Kelan knew she was attempting to fuse her natural musical gift with the discipline of combat—both to center herself and, potentially, to wield as a weapon.
He continued to watch, mindful to stay quiet lest he break her concentration. Astrid's song gained intensity, her voice climbing to a high, clear note as she executed a rapid sequence of thrusts at invisible foes. On the final note—held unwavering and powerful—she pivoted sharply and slashed downward. The impact of her blade meeting the thick air produced a curious ripple; Kelan felt a faint tremor run through the stones underfoot, as if the very sound had weight.
Across the street, a clay jug that had been sitting on Hakim's porch suddenly toppled and rolled, as though nudged by an unseen hand. Astrid's last note faded, and silence returned.
A thrill coursed through Kelan. That had not been just his imagination—the resonance of her voice coupled with the force of her strike had disturbed the air in a palpable way. It was subtle, but real. Astrid lowered her sword, chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Even from a distance, Kelan could see a small, triumphant smile on her lips.
She's getting stronger, he thought with equal parts pride and astonishment. Incremental mastery, indeed. It wasn't mind-magic as he knew it, but Astrid was discovering a power in herself that went beyond mere swordplay. A combat technique that could unnerve, distract, perhaps even injure, using sound and will.
Astrid wiped the blade on a cloth and sheathed it across her back. As she turned to descend the storehouse ladder, she nearly leapt out of her skin—Kelan had quietly hopped over the low dividing wall between the rooftops and now stood a few paces behind her.
"Light and sea, Kelan!" she hissed in a harsh whisper, using a North Coast oath she'd picked up from him. "You scared me."
"Apologies," he said, trying not to grin too broadly. He stepped closer, keeping his voice down. "That was incredible."
Astrid's mild scowl at being snuck up on softened into a pleased flush. "You… you heard?" She glanced around to ensure no villagers had been near enough to notice. But most were gathered at the hearth or inside their homes by now; no alarm had been raised at her impromptu performance.
"I heard and saw," Kelan confirmed. "You moved that jug—"
"Pure accident," she interjected quickly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her pride. "Could have been a gust of wind."
"In a dead-calm dusk?" Kelan arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Give yourself credit. That was you, Astrid. Your voice."
Astrid bit her lip, then let out a small, excited laugh. "It felt like it might have been," she admitted. "I wasn't sure if I imagined it."
Kelan gently took her free hand, the one not holding the ladder. "You weren't imagining things. Each time you practice, you're getting more precise… louder, too. I could feel it." He placed a hand on the low wall where he'd felt the tremor. "Here."
She placed her palm next to his on the clay bricks, as if trying to sense any remaining vibration. "I've a long way to go," she murmured, but her tone was hopeful. "I don't know anyone who's done this to guide me. It's just bits and pieces from songs and what you told me about… about your Academy chants and such."
Kelan recalled an early lesson with Nima and the chanting technique. Who would have thought those memories would help Astrid forge her own path? "You're forging something new," he said, echoing his thought. "I think it's amazing."
Astrid smiled, then gently tugged his hand. "We should climb down before we're missed. I left poor Jala stirring the stew alone."
With the ease of much practice, they both descended the side of the storehouse. Once on the ground, Astrid adjusted the sword on her back and shook out her skirt, trying to appear as though she had just come from any ordinary errand. Only the slight glow on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes gave away her exhilaration.
As they walked toward the communal hearth, Kelan leaned in and whispered, "Tonight, after everyone's asleep… perhaps you'll sing for me again? Without the blade-work, I mean. Just to indulge a captivated audience of one."
Astrid bumped him lightly with her elbow, laughing under her breath. "If we're not too tired, perhaps I will. But first, that stew needs attending."
They emerged into the open space around the village hearth—a shallow firepit ringed by stones where a generous stew bubbled in a wide pot. Several dozen villagers and nomads were settling on rugs or low stools with bowls in hand. Under the first stars, faces glowed with firelight and contentment.
Hakim waved them over to seats of honor near him, but Kelan and Astrid preferred to integrate quietly with their neighbors. They found a spot between Mina's family—baby Hani's tiny fingers curled around Astrid's own as she sat—and a gaggle of curious children who loved hearing northern words from Kelan.
The meal was hearty and unhurried. As the sky deepened to velvet black and constellations old and new shimmered overhead, conversation flowed. The earlier worry over distant hoofprints seemed to fade in the warmth of community and full bellies. Someone produced a flute and played a reedy, meandering tune. Hakim told a bawdy joke that made Astrid nearly snort lentils out her nose from laughter.
Kelan felt Astrid's hand find his under the cover of darkness and squeeze. He squeezed back, sharing a mutual thought: these moments, stolen from the wider world's troubles, were precious.
Yet, as he looked around at the circle of easy smiles, Kelan couldn't entirely banish a pang of foreboding. There was an almost fragile perfection to this life, one he knew from hard experience could be shattered without warning. The Empire's wars and politics had felt blissfully distant for a year. But the mention of tracks, the rumors from passing traders—it was as if storm clouds gathered beyond the horizon of their awareness.
He pushed the thoughts aside as Mina's husband pressed a second helping upon him and the children clamored for Astrid to sing them a lullaby later. For this night, at least, they were safe and at peace under the desert stars.
Tomorrow, as always, would bring what it would. And Kelan silently vowed that whatever came, he would do everything in his power to protect this refuge and the woman by his side, whose voice might soon rival even the desert wind in power.
Chapter 3: Envoy at Dawn
Dawn's first light had just begun to pale the eastern sky when the tranquility of Shir'Avin was broken by a sharp cry from the watch. Kelan awoke to the sound, instantly alert. Astrid, ever a light sleeper, was already on her feet at the edge of their pallet, strapping on her knife and reaching for her bow.
They exchanged a quick look—the single lantern glow through their window told them morning was near, earlier than most villagers stirred. The call repeated, echoing down the dusty lanes: "Riders! Riders approaching!"
Kelan's heart thudded. The herders' report of hoofprints flashed through his mind. He shrugged into a loose shirt and boots while Astrid snatched up her quiver. Together they hurried outside, joining a handful of villagers converging toward the wooden gate.
Above, the sky was a canvas of lavender and pink. Atop the gate's small lookout platform, two young men clutched spears nervously. One of them, Zeyd, glanced down as Kelan and Astrid arrived. "Riders coming from the west," he reported in a hushed voice. "Three… no, four of them."
West—the direction of the red dunes and beyond that, the distant imperial roads. Astrid quickly scaled the ladder to stand beside the lookouts, bow in hand. Kelan remained below, one hand pressed to the sun-baked mudbrick of the wall. Closing his eyes, he sent his senses outward. Sure enough, he could discern the faint tremor of approaching hooves through the ground—four horses, moving at a walking pace now as they neared the village.
Hakim the headman hobbled up, winded but determined, a curved dagger at his side. A few other men armed with old scimitars and clubs fanned out behind him. Though Kelan's stomach knotted with worry, he felt a small surge of pride as he saw no one running in panic; even the children peering from doorways were wide-eyed but quiet. This was a hard land, and its people met uncertainty with stoicism.
Astrid's silhouette on the wall was tense, an arrow already nocked. Kelan climbed halfway up the ladder to see over the rampart. In the strengthening light, a group of riders became visible at about a hundred paces: four figures atop dust-laden horses, their outlines blurred by the heat haze on the dunes. They bore no obvious banners that he could see, but one at the front lifted a hand in a gesture of parley.
"They're not charging," Astrid murmured, eyes narrowed as she tracked them. "No drawn blades I can see."
"They've spotted us watching," Kelan observed. He could now make out details: the lead rider wore a light breastplate glinting dully, and a short cape of deep green — a color not common among desert travelers. At his side hung a sword. The others were similarly outfitted, though one at the back had no cape, instead bearing a standard—a simple staff with a white pennant. Not bandits, Kelan realized with a jolt. Imperial soldiers.
The realization made his mouth go dry. Hakim had come to the same conclusion; the old headman's jaw tightened and he muttered under his breath. Imperial representatives seldom came so far without notice, and when they did, it often meant unwanted obligations or trouble.
"We'll treat with them," Hakim said, voice low. He shot Kelan a look, clearly seeking guidance. Shir'Avin's trust in Kelan was such that they would take his lead even in this unexpected matter.
"They are known to us," Kelan said to Hakim, loud enough for the nearby folk to hear. "We'll hear them out."
The headman hesitated only a moment before barking orders to unbar the gate. The heavy wooden beam was lifted and two men pulled the gates open with a dusty creak.
Aric and his soldiers led their horses in slowly, taking care not to appear threatening. The villagers hovered at a respectful distance, curious and wary. Kelan descended from the watch platform and stepped forward to meet the newcomers. Astrid was at his side in an instant, one hand resting lightly near her knife—just in case.
Aric stopped a few paces away and pressed a fist to his chest in an old imperial salute. "Kelan. You've no idea how long I've been searching."
Close up, Kelan could see the travel-weariness on the captain's face—fine dust coated his armor and dark circles rimmed his eyes. "Let's step into some shade and talk," Kelan suggested, noticing the sunrise beginning to spill gold over the wall. The desert heat would follow soon.
Hakim cleared his throat. "Use my home," he offered gruffly, gesturing to the largest structure by the well—a sign of the respect he held for Kelan that he'd open it to strangers.
Kelan inclined his head in thanks. "We'll do that. And perhaps some cool water for the riders, if you please."
Immediately, a teenage girl darted off toward the well to draw fresh water. Astrid spoke briefly to a cluster of villagers, who then dispersed—some back to morning tasks, others to keep an eye on the outsiders' horses. The initial alarm subsided into a low buzz of speculation around the village: clearly the healers knew these armored men. Word would spread quickly through Shir'Avin's tight-knit lanes, but for now no one interfered.
Inside Hakim's home, the cool gloom was a relief. The main room was simple but spacious, laid with faded carpets and cushions. Light filtered through a high window, illuminating motes of dust. Aric's two subordinates—both young men with the look of battle initiates—waited just outside the door at his nod, giving a semblance of privacy. The one holding the pennant planted it in the ground and loosened his sword belt, happy for a rest.
Aric himself unfastened his cloak and helmet, setting them aside. Kelan noted a newer insignia on the breastplate beneath the dust: a silver tower symbol, marking him as an officer in a border regiment.
When Astrid entered last, having ensured the door was drawn to, Aric smiled at her apologetically. "I'm sure our arrival gave you a start. I recall you prefer more warning before a fight."
She offered a small smirk, crossing her arms. "Consider this warning given. Don't make me draw steel, and we'll remain on good terms."
Aric chuckled softly—an echo of the easygoing friend Kelan remembered. "Fair enough."
They settled onto the cushions around a low table. The girl who fetched water arrived, eyes downcast and nervous, to set a pitcher and cups before them. Aric thanked her kindly in the local dialect, surprising Kelan—he hadn't known Aric spoke any desert tongue. The girl fled with a shy smile.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Kelan found himself studying Aric's face, marveling at the coincidental threads of fate that had brought the captain here. Aric had been a popular senior student, a minor son of some noble house, if memory served. He had never joined in the taunting that Kelan endured; in fact, after one vicious incident with Orben, Aric had quietly bandaged Kelan's hand and advised him to "keep his head high." That small kindness had meant the world then.
"I hardly know where to begin," Aric said softly, breaking the silence. His gaze swept over Kelan and Astrid, as if reassuring himself they were truly in front of him.
"From the beginning," Astrid suggested. "How did you find us, and why have you come?"
Direct and to the point. Kelan reached for the pitcher to pour water, but Aric beat him to it, filling three cups. "A fair question," he conceded, passing the drinks around. "I'll start with the why."
He took a sip, clearly savoring the relief of cool water, then placed his cup down. "The Empire is in peril. And not a small one. The Horde that you faced in the north—" he nodded to both of them, "—has reformed, larger than before. Vorannis the Wolf lives on, or if not him, a successor flying his banner. They've united a dozen steppe clans and even brought ogre mercenaries from the far east. Intelligence says they plan to strike the Arden Pass as soon as the spring thaw permits passage."
Astrid sucked in a breath. Kelan felt his stomach drop. Arden Pass was a name he knew from maps and lessons—a wide valley route threading the northern mountains. It was the key gateway between the steppe and the fertile imperial heartlands beyond. Northhaven's battle had been on the open plains; if the Horde aimed for the Pass this time, they intended to bypass the clan territories and punch straight into settled imperial provinces.
"How certain is this intel?" Kelan asked quietly, though he suspected Aric wouldn't be here if it was mere rumor.
Aric grimaced. "Certain enough that King Halvor—" he glanced at Astrid, knowing she'd recognize her own ruler's name, "—and the Emperor's generals are marshaling forces at Fort Arden as we speak. But they fear it won't suffice."
Astrid leaned forward, her brows knit. "Halvor is allied with the Empire now?" Last she knew, the northern clans simply had a truce after Northhaven.
"Alliance of necessity," Aric replied. "The Horde threatens us all. Clan archers and imperial infantry now share the walls of Fort Arden. But even with combined armies, the enemy's numbers…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Kelan's mind raced. He could picture that pass—a choke point, but also a trap if defenders failed. If the fort fell, hordes of raiders would flood through, burning and slaughtering undefended villages all the way into Auristaz's domains.
"We lost a lot of good soldiers in the last conflict," Aric continued, voice heavy. "What remains of the imperial legions are spread thin. Meanwhile, the Horde only grew stronger in the two years since… since Northhaven."
His eyes met Kelan's meaningfully at that, and Kelan knew he referred to the stunning victory that had stopped the previous invasion. News of that day had clearly reached far.
Aric went on, "Word of a powerful mage—some whispered 'Mind-sorcerer'—reached the capital. The Emperor was… concerned, at first. But when confirmation came that the Wolf's Horde was massing again, concerned turned to keen. Keen to find this weapon that saved a northern town, and turn it to saving the realm."
Astrid stiffened. "Weapon?" she repeated, a hard edge in her voice.
Kelan set a calming hand atop hers. He felt a cold sensation blooming in his gut—so he had become an object in imperial eyes after all, just as Greta had warned. He forced himself to ask, "And so they sent you to find me?"
Aric spread his hands. "They didn't know it was you for certain. Only rumors: a nameless mage-knight, a healer-warrior. But I had my suspicions." He offered a faint smile. "You remember Sera? The apprentice from Ibras who was friendly with you?"
Kelan nodded, startled by the name from his past. Sera had indeed been kind to him at the Academy, defending him once against Orben's cruelty.
"She's in the capital now, working with the Imperial Healers' Collegium. When these rumors flew, she confided to me that she thought of you immediately." Aric chuckled. "Apparently you left quite an impression on her."
Astrid raised an eyebrow and Kelan felt a flush creep up his neck at the notion. He hastened to focus on the facts. "So, Sera guessed it might be me behind Northhaven?"
"Yes. Master Zujan too, though he's long since returned to Xanshari, sent a letter agreeing it fit what he knew of your abilities." Aric looked at Kelan with admiration and a touch of awe. "Even I, hearing the tales, had trouble believing gentle Kelan could—or would—unleash such devastation. But the pieces fit. Right down to the detail that a fierce northern woman fought by the mage's side."
Astrid gave a small, mirthless laugh. "We didn't intend to become legends."
"Legends rarely do," Aric said kindly. He straightened. "The bottom line: the Emperor himself approved a discreet mission to locate you. Discreet, because broadcasting that the Empire seeks a savior mage might sow panic or tip off enemies. We had only fragments of info—some said you traveled south after the battle. Others claimed you died from the strain of your magic. The Collegium's scryers couldn't pinpoint you; you were hidden well." He smiled. "But I knew your homeland, Kelan. Tiruva's matriarchs weren't telling imperial agents anything, but your mother… she guessed someone like me might come asking one day."
Kelan's throat tightened. "You've spoken with my mother?"
Aric nodded. "Briefly. I was assigned to the coastal garrison last year—commander of the region that includes Tiruva. When this mission arose, I volunteered. I visited your village under the pretext of routine inspection and spoke to Council Mother Sireen."
"Grandmother," Kelan whispered. A surge of emotion flooded him—pride and sadness mixed. Of course the cunning old Council Mother would have covered for him.
"She didn't betray you," Aric added quickly. "But she let slip that she'd received a letter by courier bird some months after the battle, one unsigned but bearing comforting news that her 'grandson' was alive and safe, and that he'd found a sunny haven far from war."
Kelan felt Astrid squeeze his hand. That letter—they had sent one to Northhaven's Jarl and one, via Astrid's clan network, to his family months ago, carefully worded. The matriarch must have assumed it was from him.
"I took a gamble that 'sunny haven' might mean the deep south," Aric continued. "I began combing trade posts for mention of a healer couple traveling. It was pure luck I ran into a peddler in Deepmarsh who heard a tale of a golden-haired foreign woman and a quiet healer man aiding a plague camp by the White River months back. The description sounded like it could be you two."
Astrid's eyes widened—Kelan remembered that. They had indeed helped a waystation with fever victims on their way down, under strict anonymity. Tales traveled far.
"So then I knew to look along the less-traveled routes. Eventually, we picked up rumors from nomads of a gifted healer in Shir'Avin." Aric spread his hands, as if presenting the conclusion before them. "I'm sorry it took so long. I only arrived in Zaheret a week ago, then rode hard. Time is short."
Kelan's mind swirled with everything Aric had said. Relief that his family was well (and holding their tongues), astonishment at how many had quietly aided in concealing or finding him, and dread at what this all meant. Time is short.
Astrid was the first to break the silence. "You want Kelan to go to Fort Arden," she stated. Not a question, but laying bare the ask.
Aric inclined his head. "Both of you, ideally. The north remembers Astrid of Northhaven too. Morale matters."
Astrid traded a glance with Kelan. In the course of a single conversation, their quiet desert refuge had evaporated like a mirage. "You realize, Captain, that if we go back… the Empire might not let us walk away again."
Aric spread his hands. "I can't promise what the Empire will do. I wish I could say you'll be honored and left to live as you please. But you're wise enough to foresee complications." He paused. "What I can promise is that I and others will vouch for you, protect your freedom as best we can. Frankly, after this threat… the Empire will be in your debt in a way that can't be easily repaid. Debts mean influence, bargaining power."
It was a pragmatic answer. Kelan appreciated that Aric didn't sugarcoat it. If he stepped up, he'd have leverage—perhaps enough to negotiate terms of his own future.
Astrid spoke then, her voice quiet but firm. "And what of me? If Kelan is… to be 'hope,' what becomes of the inconvenient northern girl at his side?"
Aric gave her a gentle smile. "You'll be by his side, if that's what you want. There's talk of offering you a commission as well—Commander of a scouting auxillary, maybe, given your skills. But that's talk. In truth, those who know of you, respect you. None will dare separate you two—frankly, I suspect they know better than to try."
A ghost of a grin tugged at Astrid's mouth. She nodded slowly.
Kelan realized only then that his decision had already taken shape in his heart while they talked. Every reason to refuse—to cling to peace—stood before him like fragile glass, and beyond them he saw the faces of those who would suffer if he did nothing. The villagers of Northhaven who wouldn't have survived without him. The soldiers now waiting at Fort Arden, hearts heavy with fear and hope in equal measure. His own mother and sisters, perhaps safe on their island but praying for his safety as well as their empire's.
He was tired of war. Yet war was coming regardless. And hadn't he questioned, in his darker moments under these desert stars, whether hiding from the world was truly the right path for his gift?
Kelan looked to Astrid, his eyes searching. In them, he asked the question silently: Can we do this? Should we?
She understood. She always did. Astrid lifted his hand and pressed it to her lips briefly. "We made a home here," she said softly. "But our home is also with each other, wherever that leads. If you go, I go."
Emotion swelled in his chest—love, gratitude, fear. He turned to Aric. "We will come."
Aric let out a breath he'd been holding and bowed his head, relief plain on his face. "Thank you."
Kelan held up a finger before the captain could launch into logistics. "On certain conditions."
"Name them," Aric said at once.
"First, Astrid and I remain free to leave once this threat is dealt with. No binding oaths of fealty or indefinite service."
Aric nodded. "I'll fight tooth and nail for that. You have my word as a noble and as your friend."
"Second, we travel north discreetly. I don't intend to be paraded around like a circus bear. The fewer who know exactly who or what I am, until absolutely necessary, the better."
"Agreed," Aric said. "We'll travel light and fast. No fanfare."
"Lastly,"—Kelan took a deep breath—"I offer my help as a healer first. I will use deadly force only as a last resort." His voice was firm. He needed them to accept that he wasn't riding north as an executioner eagerly awaiting slaughter.
Aric exchanged a glance with Astrid, then bowed his head once more. "I can't imagine you any other way. I will make it clear to the high command. They'll take what aid you're willing to give."
It was enough for now. Kelan felt Astrid's hand squeeze his. He realized his own was trembling faintly. Aric's shoulders eased, the weight of his mission lifting now that they'd agreed.
A sudden commotion outside the door broke the tension—a pair of wide-eyed village boys collided with Aric's soldiers in their eagerness to bring news: a caravan from a nomad tribe had arrived at the gate with morning trade goods, and the whole village was astir with talk of imperial visitors.
Kelan stood, feeling oddly detached for a moment as he looked around Hakim's humble home. Things would move quickly now. Supplies to pack, farewells to give. He noted, with a bittersweet pang, that he and Astrid had few possessions here to gather—most of their wealth in coins was still hidden under a floor stone back home, and their keepsakes limited to what they'd carried from the north. This life had been simple, and leaving it would be simple in the practical sense. The emotional sense was another matter.
Aric clasped Kelan's forearm in a warrior's handshake. "We should leave as soon as you're ready. I wish we could give you days, but—"
"We know," Astrid said, rising fluidly, already shifting into the decisive mode of a commander. "We'll need to say our goodbyes and pack. Meet us by the well in an hour?"
Aric smiled and straightened to his full height, adopting a more formal air again as duty called. "An hour it is. I'll see to provisioning the horses."
He hesitated then, looking at Kelan with a softness in his eyes. "And Kelan—thank you. I truly pray this burden rewards you with more than just regrets in the end."
Kelan managed a small, earnest smile. "I pray the same, my friend."
With that, Captain Aric gathered his gear and exited to address his men. Kelan and Astrid remained a moment in the quiet of Hakim's house. She stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He embraced her, burying his face in her hair and drawing strength from her steady presence.
"Here we go again," she whispered, a tremor of wry humor in her tone.
Kelan huffed a soft laugh, tinged with tears he refused to shed. "Together," he whispered.
"Together," she affirmed.
They parted, gazing at each other with a mix of resolve and heartache. There was much to do and little time. As they stepped out into the gathering morning—where villagers hovered with questions and the reality of departure loomed—Kelan felt that delicate balance of fear and purpose settle within him. The quiet chapter of their desert refuge was drawing to a close. Ahead, duty beckoned once more, carrying them toward an uncertain, perhaps unforgiving horizon.
Chapter 4: Farewell to the Sands
Shir'Avin greeted the news of Kelan and Astrid's departure with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. In the golden light of mid-morning, the entire village seemed to gather around the well as Kelan quietly explained that duty called them away. He kept the details vague—an illness in a far-off land that needed his healing, he said, and Astrid's protection on the journey. It was not exactly a lie; it spared these simple folk the burden of greater fears.
Mina clutched baby Hani to her chest, tears streaming down her face. "But who will tend us now, Master Kelan?" she cried softly. "When little ones fall ill… we have no one like you."
Kelan felt a knot in his throat. Around her, others murmured similar worries. In a short time, he and Astrid had become pillars of this community. To leave them tugged at every strand of his compassion.
Hakim raised a hand for silence, his voice firm despite the quaver in it. "We cannot hold them, Mina. They came to us as a blessing, but they are not ours to keep." The headman's wise eyes met Kelan's. "Every oasis must one day send its travelers onward."
Kelan stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Mina's child's head—a silent blessing of health—then on Mina's shoulder. "I'll teach Salim some of what I know before I go," he promised, referring to the village's lone herbman. Salim, standing in the crowd, looked startled but determined. "And I leave you all my notes on remedies. You'll manage, together."
There were solemn nods.
Astrid, meanwhile, was kneeling to speak with the pack of children who often shadowed her. A small girl pressed a carved wooden bird into Astrid's palm—an earlier gift from Kelan to the child that she now returned as a keepsake. "So you don't forget us," the girl sniffled. Astrid's composure wavered as she gathered the child in a hug. "I won't forget. Not one of you," she whispered.
Nearby, Captain Aric and his men prepared the horses. Their own mounts had been watered and fed by the nomads, and Aric had quietly purchased two additional hardy desert horses to ensure Kelan and Astrid had fresh steeds for the long journey. Astrid's northern mare, unfortunately, had not weathered well in the desert climate; they had traded her months ago to a caravan for supplies, a fact Astrid had lamented then but which made parting now simpler.
As Astrid rose, Hakim approached with a bundle wrapped in bright cloth. "A parting gift," the headman said. When they unfolded it, they found a finely woven desert cloak for each of them—dyed in sand-gray and lined lightly with camel wool. "For the cold nights on the open road," Hakim said. His voice lowered. "And as a reminder that you will always have kin in the desert."
Astrid embraced the old man, an uncommon gesture that he nevertheless accepted with a watery smile. Kelan bowed deeply as he donned the cloak. "Thank you, for everything."
The nomad caravan leader, a weather-beaten woman with tattoos of her tribe's totems on her arms, stepped forward next. From her saddle-bag she produced two cured leather water flasks and a small pouch of dried dates and almonds. "To sustain you across the emptiness," she intoned, pressing them into Astrid's hands. Astrid thanked her in the nomads' tongue, earning a surprised and pleased grin.
Salim, the herbman, wrung his hands. "I'm no miracle-worker, Master Kelan. But I'll do my best."
Kelan clasped Salim's hand and quietly passed him a small bound journal of notes he'd compiled on local medicinal plants and techniques, as promised. "Your best is all anyone can ask. Trust your knowledge—and your heart. You have a good one."
At last, with the sun climbing and the horses restless, it was time. Astrid swung up onto her new dun mare with practiced grace. Kelan took his place on a sturdy bay gelding Aric had provided, adjusting the weight of his saddlebags. He felt the heft of the coin pouch inside—much of their remaining wealth. Before mounting, he pressed the pouch into Hakim's hands. The headman tried to protest, but Kelan shook his head firmly. "For the village," he said, voice thick. "Use it for medicine, for food—whatever is needed."
Hakim slowly closed his fingers around the pouch and bowed—a deep, respectful bow. "The sands remember kindness, Kelan di'Rase. Go with the Sun's blessing."
Kelan climbed into the saddle. Astrid guided her mare beside his. Both of them took one last sweeping look at the little village that had been their haven. The mudbrick homes glowed softly, and dozens of familiar faces looked up at them with a mixture of gratitude and grief.
"Thank you for taking us in," Astrid said, raising her voice to carry. "We arrived as strangers, and we leave as family. We will cherish you always."
There was a murmur through the crowd; some smiles broke through tears. With a gentle squeeze of their knees, Kelan and Astrid urged their horses forward.
Aric and his two soldiers led the way out, the village gate standing wide open. As the small party passed through, the people of Shir'Avin raised their hands in a silent salute, the traditional desert farewell: palm open to sky, to wish the travelers clear skies and open roads.
Astrid returned the gesture, her throat too tight for words. Kelan kept his eyes forward, fearing that if he looked back again, he might not find the strength to continue.
The desert beyond welcomed them with a morning breeze that carried the scent of distant rain—rare, precious. Kelan took it as a subtle benediction.
They set a northward course at a steady canter, Aric navigating by sun and memory. By midday, Shir'Avin was a speck behind them, soon swallowed by mirage and dune. The landscape unfurled in waves of copper sand and ragged rock outcrops. Tufts of scrub and the occasional hardy acacia tree dotted the terrain.
Despite the weight of their mission, Kelan felt something like exhilaration stirring in his chest as they rode. He realized it was the sensation of purpose—sharp and clear—as much as he dreaded the conflict ahead, he had direction again. Astrid caught his eye and offered a small, knowing smile. She too felt the change in the winds of their fate.
By the time they paused at a muddy waterhole to rest the mounts, the sun hung high and merciless. They watered the horses and took shelter in the meager shade of a sandstone ridge for a quick meal. The dried dates and almonds were shared around, along with swallows of tepid water.
One of Aric's men—a blond lad named Joris—ventured a question as they sat: "Sir… this healer, is he truly the one from the northern tales? The mage who felled an army?"
Joris had been throwing curious glances at Kelan since they left. The other soldier, a stocky veteran called Bren, nudged the youth with a scowl. "Mind your tongue. Not our business."
But Kelan chose to answer, meeting the young man's eyes. "I was at Northhaven, yes." He left it at that, neither boasting nor denying.
Joris' eyes widened a fraction. He nodded, seeming to digest traveling in such company. Bren, the older soldier, gave Kelan a respectful—if wary—once-over. "Then we're damned lucky to have you on our side, sir."
Astrid let out a soft chuckle. "We're on the same side indeed." She held out the waterskin to Bren in a gesture of camaraderie. The soldier accepted it and took a swig, visibly more relaxed after her friendly overture.
Aric watched these exchanges with a small smile. "I hand-picked Bren and Joris to accompany me because I trust them," he said to Kelan and Astrid quietly. "They won't spread rumors."
"We appreciate that," Kelan replied. He understood Aric's subtle message: so far, Bren and Joris were the only new individuals to know Kelan's identity, and they seemed well-disciplined.
As they remounted, the veteran Bren cleared his throat. "Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
Aric raised a brow. "Go ahead."
Bren addressed Kelan directly, posture respectful. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but if you don't mind a bit of advice… best not to mention who you are too freely when we hit the garrison at Red Stone Outpost. Garrison folk spook easy with talk of sorcery."
"Red Stone Outpost?" Astrid queried, drawing her mare alongside Aric's stallion.
Aric explained, "It's a small border fort half a day north, where we'll likely spend the night. Bren served there a year."
Kelan inclined his head to Bren. "Advice appreciated. We've no wish to stir trouble."
True enough, Kelan had planned to keep a low profile. He was relieved that Aric's men seemed on board with that plan.
They pressed on, trading the emptiness of the open dunes for gravel plains as afternoon waned. Low, craggy hills rose to the east, veined with dry wadis that occasionally carried floodwater during rare rains. It was through one of these shallow valleys that the Imperial road threaded, and by late day they came upon the first sign of Imperial presence since leaving Shir'Avin: a weathered milestone marker, half-buried in sand, bearing the imperial sigil and distances etched beneath the grit.
"Red Stone Outpost – 5 leagues," Aric read aloud, brushing sand away. An encouraging sign; they would reach shelter by nightfall.
As the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long and blue, they crested a rise to see the outpost ahead. Red Stone Fort was aptly named—constructed of crimson-hued sandstone blocks, its squat rectangular shape crouched amid a field of tumbled rocks like a sleeping beast. A few sparse tamarisk trees grew in its lee, and from the single watchtower a wisp of smoke curled, indicating supper fires lit.
Approaching at dusk, they raised no alarms; the fort's sentries saw the small band of riders and waited warily. As they entered bowshot, Aric signaled a halt and called out, identifying himself by name and rank. After a tense pause, a voice hailed back and the creaking wooden gate was drawn open just enough to admit them single file.
Inside, Red Stone Fort was little more than a dusty courtyard ringed by barracks and storerooms. A dozen soldiers in various states of dress and armor stood gathered, eyeing the newcomers with understandable curiosity. They noted Aric's rank insignia and saluted clumsily. A lean officer strode forward, buckling on a sword belt hastily—likely the fort's commander.
"Captain Aric, this is an unexpected honor," puffed the officer, a middle-aged man with sunken cheeks. His eyes flicked over Aric's companions—lingering a half-second too long on Astrid's unusual appearance and the clear bearing of a fighter in her posture—before returning to Aric.
Aric swung off his horse and clasped forearms with the man. "Lieutenant Kaved, I presume. We'll only be passing the night. My party rides under urgent orders from the capital, northward."
"Of course, of course," Kaved said, nodding quickly. He ushered Aric aside a few paces, dropping his voice, though Kelan and Astrid could still make out the words. "We weren't alerted of any dispatches… is all well, sir?"
Aric gave a perfunctory smile. "Nothing for you to worry about. But I would be grateful for lodging for myself and four companions—and fresh fodder and water for six horses. We can supply our own rations."
Lieutenant Kaved's gaze darted to Kelan and Astrid again, and to Bren and Joris as they led the horses. The presence of apparent civilians—and a woman—clearly puzzled him, but he knew better than to inquire directly of a superior on a need-to-know mission.
"Certainly, Captain," he said crisply. "We've a couple of spare bunks in the officers' quarters that should suit."
Aric nodded appreciatively. "My thanks. We won't trouble your men long."
As they settled in, Kelan noticed some of the garrison soldiers whispering among themselves, throwing furtive glances especially at Astrid, whose northern features and the sword at her hip made her a curiosity out here. Astrid met each stare with a level, unflinching look of her own until the young men flushed and found other things to do. Kelan hid a smile; even without speaking a word, Astrid commanded respect.
Within the cramped officers' quarters—a single-room stone house—Aric insisted Kelan and Astrid take the two cots, as they were not used to soldier's floors. Despite protests, they acquiesced when Bren and Joris offered to bunk in the stable with the horses, preferring a cooler night air to stuffy quarters. Aric took a straw pallet on the floor without fuss.
A simple meal of lentil stew was shared in the fort's mess. The garrison remained curious but kept a polite distance, sensing the delicate nature of Aric's mission. One bold corporal did ask Astrid which unit she belonged to, seeing her bearing; she only replied, "Independent," with a small smile, leaving the man none the wiser.
Kelan ate little, stomach roiling from the day's emotional upheaval and the anticipation of what lay ahead. Nonetheless, he made a point to inquire after the fort medic's patients, ending up treating a soldier's infected cut with a deft cleaning and poultice before turning in. The grateful young man thanked him profusely, and word of the healer's skill circulated quickly in whispers.
That night, Kelan lay on the narrow cot listening to the desert wind scrape over the courtyard walls. Astrid was already asleep on the adjacent cot, exhaustion from the day's ride claiming her. In the dim light of a single lantern, Kelan could see Aric across the room, propped on one elbow, awake as well.
Aric offered a quiet smile. "Long day, hmm?"
Kelan huffed a soft breath. "The first of many." He kept his voice low, mindful of Astrid.
Aric's tone turned gentle. "You did well back there," he said quietly. "Your presence gave them hope, though. What you two did back there… news of it will spread among the refugees. They'll know the Empire hasn't abandoned them."
Kelan managed a ghost of a smile. Trust Aric to find a silver lining in their bleak day. Bren, busy checking the fletching on his arrows, grunted in agreement. "Never seen a healer do what you did, sir," he remarked to Kelan quietly. "Took five of us to drive those scouts off, and we couldn't save near as many as you did after."
Joris nodded fervently. "It was like the old legends, ser—um, just like the stories." The young soldier's eyes shone in the firelight; clearly, he now had his own miracle to tell.
Kelan tensed slightly, but Aric gave him a subtle shake of the head as if to say: it's all right.
"We were in the right place at the right time," Astrid said, trying to deflect the praise. "Next time, we might not be."
An uneasy silence followed. The crackle of fire and chorus of night insects were the only sounds.
At length, Aric spoke, voice firm. "We'll make better time tomorrow. The sooner we reach Fort Arden, the sooner these raids can be curbed." He didn't need to elaborate; everyone knew a decisive confrontation loomed.
Kelan lay back on his bedroll, staring up at the unfamiliar stars of the southern sky. He found the constellation of the Phoenix, one Astrid had taught him to recognize during desert nights. Its tail of stars pointed north, as if urging them on.
Astrid lay down beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. She followed his gaze upward. After a moment, she said softly, "Sometimes I wish life were as simple as it was a year ago," she admitted. "But then I think of how much we've grown. What we've survived. What we've found in each other." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I wouldn't trade that for ignorant simplicity."
Kelan kissed the top of her head. Emotion swelled in him, a mixture of gratitude and a lingering sorrow for what they'd left behind. "I wouldn't either," he murmured. "Not for all the peaceful days in the world without you."
She smiled and snuggled closer.
In the east, early stars began to glimmer in the deepening blue.
"We should set camp soon," Astrid said quietly, though she made no move to get up just yet.
"Soon," Kelan agreed.
They both understood they were lingering to mark this moment—the true beginning of their life in the wider world. The first phase of their journey, fleeing immediate danger, was done. What lay ahead was more open-ended. It felt both exhilarating and daunting.
"We don't know what tomorrow holds," Astrid said, voicing his very thought.
Kelan squeezed her hand gently. "No. But we know we'll meet it together."
Astrid tilted her face up to him. Her eyes reflected the last amber light of sunset and the steady resolve that he had fallen in love with. "Together," she echoed softly.
They kissed then—an affirming kiss, full of quiet promise as day gave way to night around them.
When they parted, the sun had vanished beyond the far hills, leaving a rosy afterglow. Astrid stood and offered Kelan her hand. "Come on. Let's set up camp by those pines."
Kelan took her hand and rose. He felt a tear at the corner of his eye—whether from the poignancy of farewells or the beauty of the moment, he wasn't sure. He brushed it away before Astrid could see. There was no sadness he wanted to burden her with; they shared enough already.
They gathered their horses and led them toward the shelter of the trees. As they went about the familiar tasks of laying out bedrolls and gathering firewood, Kelan found himself humming a fragment of an old northern tune—a song of travelers blessing the road behind and ahead.
Astrid glanced up from striking flint to tinder. "That song... my grandmother used to hum it whenever someone left on a journey."
Kelan nodded. "It felt appropriate."
"Go on then. Finish it properly," she urged, a tender smile on her lips.
So as darkness settled gently over the hills, Kelan sang in a low, melodious voice the ancient verses known to every northerner—a farewell blessing for those departing on a journey. His voice was soft but clear in the quiet night, carrying their hopes into the starry sky.
When he finished, Astrid's eyes were shining. She wrapped her arms around him and they held each other beneath the emerging stars.
"We'll see them again," Astrid whispered, her voice determined and loving.
Kelan hugged her close. "We will," he promised quietly.
They settled by the small campfire, wrapped in a single blanket against the chill. Astrid rested her head on Kelan's chest, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. Above them, unfamiliar stars sparkled in an endless expanse. The world beyond the north was strange and boundless, but under this open sky, they felt both the weight of their choices and the lightness of their newfound freedom.
As Astrid's breathing evened into sleep, Kelan gazed upward, reflecting on all that had transpired. The cost of his power had been great, and the responsibilities it carried vast. Yet here and now, as the embers glowed and the future beckoned, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
They had escaped the shadow of war and expectation, forging their own path on their own terms. Bittersweet though the parting from home had been, it opened the door to a new life.
Kelan closed his eyes and held Astrid a little tighter, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. Come what may, they would meet it together. With that comforting truth in mind, he finally drifted to sleep beneath the strange stars, ready to greet whatever dawn the morning would bring.
And as their journey into the unknown continued, Kelan carried forward the quiet certainty that with love and courage by his side, even the widest, most uncharted world could become a place of hope.