The wind rolled over the dunes in dry, soundless gusts, painting lines across the sand like forgotten runes. The students moved slowly now, heat clinging to their backs, breath labored with each step. Talon limped near the rear, his left arm wrapped in bloodstained cloth, pain flickering in his eyes with every movement.
They had survived the statue.
Barely.
And yet, the Forgotten World was just beginning to bear its fangs.
Kieran walked near the middle of the group, silent and watchful. His eyes flicked across the horizon as though searching for something he couldn't name. No tugs from the shadow. No whispers. Only the dry wind.
"Stop dragging your feet," Rei snapped over her shoulder, her tone sharp from stress more than malice.
"I'm not," Talon muttered, gritting his teeth. "It's the arm. Hurts like hell."
Rei turned, glancing at the soaked bandage, then looked away with a scowl. "Great. If it gets infected, we're all screwed."
"Enough," Selene said, voice calm but firm. "Keep your strength. We won't last long fighting each other."
The group crested another dune, and Calla, ahead, stopped suddenly. "Wait—there's something out there."
They gathered beside her, eyes narrowing against the sunlight.
In the distance, a faint outline shimmered beyond the haze. Not natural—angular lines. Structures. Just barely visible. A village? A ruin? Hard to tell from here.
"Looks like buildings," Calla murmured.
"Could be a mirage," Rei said.
"Could also be shelter," Selene replied. "Or help."
"Or more monsters," Rei countered.
"We don't have much choice," Kieran said, glancing at Talon. "He's getting worse."
Talon's face was pale. The wound had soaked through the second layer of cloth now.
Rei sighed. "Fine. But if some sand ghost eats us, I'm haunting you all."
As they moved toward the vague shapes, the silence deepened. The closer they came, the more details emerged—stone huts buried halfway in sand, cloth banners fluttering faintly from wooden beams, smoke curling thinly from a distant fire. It wasn't abandoned.
Someone lived here.
Kieran's hand brushed against the hilt of his blade. His shadow moved naturally in the sun, following his steps exactly. He focused on keeping it that way. He didn't want it to act again—not without command.
They reached the edge of the settlement just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. A quiet murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Lanterns hung from poles, casting warm amber light across stone pathways. The air here smelled faintly of herbs and something cooked over flame.
A figure approached, robes flowing gently in the wind. An older man, face weathered by time and clouded in one eye, stepped forward with cautious curiosity.
"Travelers?" the man asked, his voice dry but not unfriendly.
Selene nodded. "We didn't expect to find anyone out here. One of us is injured."
The man studied Talon, then stepped aside. "Come. We've little to offer but share what we can. Let me see the wound."
He moved with the quiet confidence of someone used to tending pain. His eyes swept over the group, pausing on each student with calm detachment. No recognition. No flicker of surprise—just the assessing gaze of a healer.
"Bring him," he said. "The wound's bad. He needs attention quickly."
---
Inside the hut, the old man laid Talon on a low cot, unwrapping the bandages with deft hands. "This was from something strong," he murmured. "And old. It left a bite of stone in the flesh."
Kieran stood nearby, arms crossed. The smell of crushed herbs and smoke filled the room. The healer worked quickly, grinding something in a bowl and pressing it to the wound. Talon winced but said nothing.
"Where did you learn healing?" Selene asked softly.
"From a stubborn fool who thought swords could be stitched the same as skin," the old man replied with a faint smile. "He's long gone now. But he taught me enough to keep most folks breathing."
As the medicine settled and the pain eased, Talon relaxed, breathing more evenly. The old man bandaged the arm in fresh cloth and turned to the group. "He needs rest. And food. You all do."
"Can we stay?" Calla asked.
The old man nodded. "You've earned it simply by surviving this place. Strangers come here once in a while—most don't last. But you've got something in you."
They were shown to a communal dwelling—a round room with woven mats and water brought in clay jugs. Outside, dusk had fallen, casting long shadows over the village. But Kieran's shadow remained still at his feet. Obedient. Controlled.
Selene sat near the doorway, eyes fixed on the fading dunes.
Rei broke the silence. "I don't trust them."
"They helped," Calla replied.
"Doesn't mean they're not hiding something."
"They probably are," Selene said softly. "But for now, we rest."
Kieran watched the fire in the center of the room, eyes reflecting its flickering light. The pull was gone. No whispers. No commands from the dark.
Only silence.
And in that silence, he finally allowed himself to breathe.