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howlingday · 4 months

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Ruby, up and coming hero blessed with the Silver Eyes, has heard terrible news! A horrible fiend has invaded the lands! A demon, hailing from a long and cursed line, master of sorcery and steel, a silver tongued trickster, a slave master, a depraved incubus, foul crafts hiding under welcoming illusions, a keen mind of gears and schemes and plots within plots, stronger than iron and quicker than quicksilver, all this and more, has taken control of an abandoned fortress! Determined to boldly rid the lands of this foul taint, (and to prove to Yang she’s a big girl!) she sets off to confront the monster alone! (Bad girl! That’s the first rule of adventuring: don’t go it solo!)

Except, no???????? Jaune has never seen or heard of any ‘demon’ around here. He just moved in, trying to strike out on his own, but nothing seems to be cursed from what he can see. He seems nice enough too. He’s fixing up the old ruin, disabling traps, healing folks when they wander into his place, and all that. Strong, smart, endlessly kind. Talks about his family a lot, they look so happy in the photo. That crest looks familiar, but it’s probably nothing. Surely he’s not the monster, but she can sure use his help to slay the monster when she finds him!

You see, the Arcs are only labeled villains because they refused to kowtow to the government way back when. Their views on life, other races, virtues, and such also puts them at odds with the narrative. The Arcs also have higher standards before they allow their kids to go on adventures, so even the weakest is very strong even to other adventurers. Slightly inspired by the Mind Reaver comic strips by Edd Lai.

So, I decided to have a look into Mind Reaver by Edd Lai, and I have to say I love the idea. A Mind Flayer that's actually a good guy and helps people who wander into his house. It's cute, especially when his niece and... servant, I think? Anyway, it's all so cute, and I highly recommend y'all check it out. Anyway, on to the story.

===========================

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE

JAUNE "SALEM'S PALADIN" ARC

REWARD ON APREHENSION

===========================

Ruby looked down at the wanted poster in her hand, carefully examining the features in the mugshot. She'd heard many stories about the Arc family, though much of it was told in the darkest of night as a warning to not stray too far from home, or to not stay up too late, or to file your taxes on time. His jawline was coated in thick hair, and his blue eyes gazed death into the soul of those who view them. There were many other tales, too, like how he'd sway any woman into being his slave, take cannon fire with his bare body, and would even subject whole armies with his sorceries.

Ruby looked up from the poster to see the baby-faced man sitting across from her at the table. She'd found him, demanding to engage in honorable combat between warriors! His response was, "Can we get coffee first?" Ruby agreed and watched as he sipped from his mug after waiting for to cool.

"Ooh!" He winced. "Still kinda hot."

"Uh..."

"Oh, sorry!" He then handed her a napkin. "I think I forgot to split our share."

"No, you already did." Ruby shook her head. "Besides, there's more important stuff going on here!"

"More important how?"

"I mean like this!" She slapped the wanted poster onto the table, earning a groan from him.

"Not another one." He shook his head. "Can we finish our coffee first?"

"I... I guess?" Ruby shrugged. "But why aren't you all... Y'know, big and scary and trying to mind-break me?"

"...Because I can't?" He asked more than he said. He then took the poster in his massive, clawed hands. Each finger was about the size of a breakfast sausage. "I really wish they would get a new picture. They make me look like a monster in this."

"Aren't you?" Ruby asked.

"Half." He answered. "Well, kinda sorta. You see, my great-great-great-"

Ruby whirled her fingers in a wheel as he rounded off each great in his ancestor's name. She'd heard a lot of tales about monsters and humans and faunus getting together, except for the Grimm, who were mindless beasts of destruction. What usually came from these unions was either monster or human or faunus, but on rare occasions, half-monsters would be born. These creatures were then cast out of the village upon their discovery, usually ending with their own demise. It was sad and cruel, but terribly not uncommon.

"-great-grandma Salem, the mother of all Grimm."

"Wait, I thought Grimm couldn't reproduce."

"They can't, but she can. Or could, since she hasn't had any kids since The Great Tear." Open in dimensions from a huge magical clash, brought monsters into Remnant, new age of war, magic, and adventure for everyone. Ruby knew it well enough from the stories. "Ooh! Still hot." He chuckled, after wincing from another sip of hot coffee.

"Okay, so then why is everyone after you? Half-monsters don't usually have posters, unless they commit a crime."

"Well, I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"He did." Ruby whirled in her seat to find a young woman standing in the doorway to the coffee shop. She stepped in with guards trailing behind her, all heavily armored, while she herself wore an elegant officer's jacket. "Jaune Arc, I am placing you under arrest in the name of the Schnee Dust Queendom."

"What did I do?" Jaune asked.

"Yeah, what did he do?" Ruby asked.

Snapping her fingers, a heavy, white book was brought to her hands. Opening it, the pages fluttered until they landed on a pair of pages with Jaune's name and mugshot on them. Clearing her throat, she began.

"Corrupting the minds of the youth."

"Hey, Mr. Whitley asked me to tutor him!"

"Silence!" She barked, her face growing a bit red. "Seducing a high ranking officer of the Schnee Dust Queendom."

"Your mother was a nice woman! She kissed me first!"

"I said shut up!" Her face grew even more red. "And public indecency while resisting Queendom duties."

"You fired a cannon at me!"

"And stripped yourself bare in an attempt to intimidate us."

"MY CLOTHES WERE BURNED OFF!"

"AND I SAID SHUT UP!" Face completely red, she tossed the book behind her in a fury. "You will surrender yourself at once, Salem's Paladin!"

"Oh, come- I don't even know Salem!" He defended. "I've never even met my great-great-great-great-"

"Great." Ruby groaned. "You got him started again."

"And who are you?"

"Ruby Rose, bounty hunter." She smiled. "Who are you?"

"Queen-Heiress-Apparent Weiss Schnee," she huffed, "and I'm taking this criminal in."

"Nuh-uh."

"What do you mean, 'nuh-uh'?"

"I mean nuh-uh."

"-great-great-great-grandma Salem!"

"Did you add two greats on there?" Ruby asked.

"Enough!" Weiss snarled. "You are both being brought into custody!"

"Aw, really? But couldn't we have... coffee?" Ruby winked at Jaune.

"No, we can't." Weiss answered.

"Jaune!" Ruby whined. "You were supposed to throw coffee on her!"

"Excuse me?!" Weiss screeched.

"Yeah, excuse you?!" Jaune reeled back. "Why would I do that?!"

"Because it'd be totally cool, like in an action comic!" Ruby reasoned.

"But it would hurt her!"

"THAT'S THE POINT!"

"ENOUGH!"

The cafe rumbled as white circles covered the walls and floors. An angry Schnee huffed in and out of her nose as she pulled out her rapier. Behind her, soldiers readied their guns on the two. Ruby glanced to Jaune, who gulped at the sight. Looks like she was going to do this alone.

"Are you sure you don't want coffee? It's really good~!" Ruby sang.

"Oh, please," Weiss rolled her eyes, "do you really think you can throw coffee on me now that I'm aware that's your- ARGH! BIG NICHOLAS FUCK!" She held her face as very, very, very, very, very warm coffee splashed onto her face.

Ruby took the cue and grabbed Jaune. Together, the two weaved through gunfire as yellow and red petals fluttered to the floor. The two had successfully made their escape, and it seemed the soldiers inside were easily distracted, too, as they began barking orders at one another. One of them actually barked like a dog, too, which was weird.

"AFTER THEM!" The barking died as the Schnee roared over them all.

Weiss used a blanket of napkins to wrap around ice dust and held it to her face. One guard remained behind, holding her book. Through her anger, she gave him an order that would turn the world upside down for Ruby and Jaune.

"I want wanted posters in every kingdom," she seethed, "and I want that Demon Couple locked up YESTERDAY!"

#rwby #my answer #my answers #jaune arc #ruby rose #jaune is salem's descendent #demon couple au #rwby au #weiss schnee

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cherrypikkins · 7 months

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Here is my contribution for today's prompt for @fe-oc-week! Oct 10 - Relationships.

Today I have provided some material about some key figures in my fe3h OC Kitt's past and present. :3

Click the read more for the lore! (contains mentions of blood, injury, death, body horror)

Kitt Burgess, Ward of the Church - Part II A few years before 1180, the Church of Seiros was alerted to suspicious activity in the Oghma Mountains. When Seteth and Flayn arrived at the village of Annwen to investigate, they discovered a burning ruin filled with its former inhabitants, either lying dead or transformed into rampaging Demonic Beasts. It was there that Kitt, the sole survivor of the disaster, was discovered in a death-like state with a damaged Crest Stone embedded in the back of their neck.

Sensing signs of life, Flayn attempted to heal Kitt, but was unable to stabilize the corrupting influence of the Crest Stone. Seeing that the convulsing Kitt was in danger of transforming into a Demonic Beast, Flayn begged Seteth to intervene. Together, they enacted a ritual sanctioned by the Archbishop Rhea and performed a heavy transfusion of blood. This miraculously succeeded in halting the transformation - if only for the time being.

Kitt was brought to Garreg Mach Monastery, where they spent a year in recovery adjusting to the blood in their veins and beginning a new life under the watchful eye of the Church. Though the transfusion was enough to save their life, it was not enough to fully neutralize the danger posed by the Crest Stone, nor are they yet visibly able to manifest the necessary Crest. As such, they are subject to violent attacks and transformations on occasion. The ordeal also seems to have affected their memories. They struggle to recall key events and figures in their past, and yet the memories they are able to recall seem 'impossible', as though they belong to someone else.

For a time, they were cared for by Seteth and Flayn, who welcomed them into the fold as though they were family. However, Kitt eventually grew suspicious of Seteth, Flayn, and the Archbishop Rhea, sensing that there was more behind the calamity at Annwen and the Crest Stone in their neck than the three were willing to disclose. The church's politics and secret-keeping only compounded their suspicion further. As a result, Kitt has ceased to trust their new family and has had a falling out since.

But perhaps the reason behind this quarrel runs deeper below the surface. Perhaps Kitt glimpsed something in the memories imbued by the Crest Stone - some terrible truth that Flayn and Seteth tried to conceal from them. Or perhaps something even more terrible happened to the three of them, such that it was enough for them to sever ties.

It is said that the Archbishop Rhea is unable to look at Kitt directly in the eye. Yet, she is the one who declared Kitt a protected ward of the Church of Seiros, and that their safety and well-being in Garreg Mach was to be ensured without question.

Gwyn, the Unsung Hero - Part I It is said that the warrior Gwyn first appeared at Lake Annwen, deep in the Oghma Mountains, when Nemesis began his bloody campaign to conquer Fodlan. When refugees, deserters, and defectors fled into the mountain wilderness, Gwyn took these people under their wing and declared Annwen a sanctuary upon which none will suffer persecution from the church nor conquest from Nemesis. Over time, a small city was built - one that mirrored the now ruined Zanado, defended alone by Gwyn, who was soon revered as a hero by the people they safeguarded.

The growing settlement and the seemingly inhuman strength of their founder attracted the attention of the Seiros Army. However, Gwyn refused to entreat them until Saint Cichol and Saint Cethleann appealed to the warrior directly. Gwyn at last agreed to offer up their strength in service to Seiros, though only after forcing Saint Cichol to swear that the people of Annwen would be kept safe from all harm and allowed to live their lives in peace. As a show of goodwill, the Saints gifted Gwyn the sacred axe known as Canopus to wield in the oncoming battle.

This was the first - and only - manifestation of the Crest of Gwyn known to history.

Gwyn was instrumental in defending Enbarr against Nemesis and his Elites. Though they emerged from the siege heavily wounded, their actions allowed the Army of Seiros to push back and gain a foothold northward. On the day of the founding of the Adrestian Empire, Gwyn returned the Axe of Canopus to Saint Cichol, intent on leaving for Annwen. When Emperor Wilhelm I asked if Gwyn would accept a reward for defending the capital, the hero responded that they only wished for the people of Annwen to live well and in peace for all their days.

When offered a place among the Saints, they refused. And so, from that point on, they faded away from history. Some say that Gwyn perished shortly from their wounds and was laid to rest. Others say they simply fell into a deep sleep at an unknown location and remains so to this day. Others claim that Gwyn lived the rest of their life in full among the ordinary people of Annwen.

After the Battle of Tailtean, Fodlan was unified, bringing an age of uncertain peace to the land. The population of Annwen soon dwindled as its inhabitants began to leave the remote sanctuary to start their lives anew in Adrestian society. Though the city was soon forgotten over the ages, a dedicated few remained to form a place of pilgrimage dedicated to Gwyn. Living quiet lives away from main society, they continued to honor the hero and safeguard the mysterious stone they had left behind, along with the promise that they would one day return.

The Capricious One - Part I 'Capricious' is the name of the Nabatean whose tale is a blemish upon their people's history.

In ancient times, they wandered the land and walked freely among humans, refusing to be tied to such a place as Zanado where their own kind dwelled.

They harbored a mutual disdain for the other Nabateans, including their own family, but deeply venerated the Goddess Sothis.

They were said to be closely related in blood to the Nabatean known as The Hammer of Judgment, he who would later take up the name Saint Cichol. It is speculated that the two were like siblings. Though they confided in one another, their opposing natures often put them at odds.

Theirs was the Sign of the Mist Dragon.

They were notorious amongst other Nabateans for their tempestuous personality and acting upon a wicked whim, true to their name. Whispers of ancient history suggested that they were capable of both limitless kindness and unimaginable cruelty, of great contempt and greater love, as greedy as they were generous, known to show astonishing mercy and yet hold everlasting grudges.

Though these qualities made them wildly unpredictable, they always heeded the wisdom of the Goddess, and would on occasion show deference to their counterpart - The Hammer of Judgment.

Whenever they took their escapades too far, the Immaculate One would often be called upon to reprimand them, which resulted in a growing tension between the two.

Some said they reveled in causing trouble. Others said they simply saw the world differently, and had only the best of intentions.

Even before the fall of Zanado, to whisper their name was to invite shame and sorrow.

…Not because of the unfathomable deeds they committed, but for the horrific fate they suffered as a result.

(to be continued)

#fe3h oc #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe oc week #fe-oc-week #seteth #flayn

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talesfromaurea · 8 months

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[Image ID: The front and back of an aged-looking book cover. The front features two dragons, one white and one black, forming a vertical infinity symbol and the title "Tales from Aurea". The back has the following summary: "It's the end of an era and the land of Calthia is descending into ruin... Amidst a backdrop of crumbling empires and dwindling magic, four unlikely companions come together with a shared goal: helping a mysterious young girl named Kaja stay hidden and find her way home. But when it comes to light that Kaja's elusive people are the only ones with the power to destroy the demonic forces dragging Calthia into darkness, suddenly all eyes-friend and foe-are turned their way." /.End ID]

We're back!!

After a long hiatus, I'm coming back with a new and improved draft of Tales from Aurea that you'll be able to read for free. Come join the Pathfinder party 🥳

Genres: Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Supernatural

Themes: Coming of age; justice and revenge; duality and balance; facing fears; free will versus determinism; dealing with trauma, loss, and grief

Sources of inspiration: Slavic mythology, Pathfinder/DnD, The Elder Scrolls, the Zelda series

Features: Largely LGBTQ+ cast, focus on platonic relationships, found family, a fantasy setting based on ancient Rome and surrounding kingdoms

Content warnings: violence and blood (no gore), character death, discussion of topics including imperialism, genocide, and slavery

Where can I read?

Chapters will be serialized on Royal Road (link), with an excerpt and announcement shared here on tumblr! Haven't worked out what kind of schedule yet but you can follow on Royal Road and/or request to be on the tumblr tag list to keep up with news 😊

Where can I learn more about the characters, story, etc?

I think this "what to expect" tag provides a good overview. You can also check out my "pathfinder talk" tag here for everything I've posted including drawings, excerpts, and general rambles.

I read the last draft, should I read this from the beginning?

Yes! As well as writing improvements, this draft contains more character development and new details. I'm also planning on carrying this into future arcs that were never posted to tumblr before.

Ask to be added to the tag list and thank you for reading!

One time tag for a few folks who've shown interest in the past: @aroyalpaininthecass, @drippingmoon, @harps-for-days, @splashinkling, @ashen-crest, @star-soupp

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy writing #wip intro #more like reintro but ya know #pathfinder talk

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deanwasalwaysbi · 2 years

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The Winchesters Pilot - What do we know about the box? Was that Samuel Campbell at the beginning?

The paper Mary found describes a magical box and says:

Follow the path of 1 toward Heaven. Second spot is four less seven Find the forth behind Hells door, Six suns set on the Western floor I will always lead you here, Ending the darkness that we all fear

My first thought was THE EMPTY - and I Screamed. but once I calmed down I started thinking dimensions and the Acreda. there are also strong Amara vibes I am choosing to ignore.

We have seen a demon get sucked inside, into this tiny box. So either it's a trap or it's a door. If it's a door I would expect it goes to another dimension.

Either way - what happens if a person we care about at some point gets sucked into the box too? 🤔 hrmm (don't hurt Lata!)

The MoL locked it up for a reason - which they wouldn't do if this awesome piece of tech was a no downsides monster trap. So maybe it can suck people in or the Acreda can use this to cross over. Per @greatcometcas Akreda is ancient Greek for Locusts and doesn't that just have Vibes.

The paper also had these symbols on it, one of which Samuel someone with a bag with the initials S.C. wrote in blood to open the Manhole of Letters at the beginning of the episode. (A bit of digital manipulation and highlighting) I was convinced the symbols would combine together to create the Men of Letters symbol. No such luck yet. Unless we separate them into their base ancient ruins. ...

Started with the assumption that this person was Samuel - possible Tom Welling stand-in notwithstanding - that leads me to some questions.

Apparently the symbol he drew into the dish is called an Odal Rune or an Othala. (thank you @swordofsun!) Unfortunately I know it as a symbol co-opted by nazis, but it's is one of the oldest and most widely used runes in ancient Norse, Germanic, and Anglo-Saxon cultures. It was used for the “o” sound and is symbolic of lineage and genetic inheritance.

So - so I had been assuming this Indiana jones looking man was Samuel Campbell, but is he? I still think that is most likely but it feels like this symbol should have been drawn in MoL legacy blood to open the door. We've seen that before. I'm fine with that being unnecessary, but it would be fun if that meant 1) Samuel had ties to MoL 2) The Campbells have some history with the Acreda or 3) That isn't Samuel.

This is about when @wigglebox asked me if that man looked like Jensen and, now that you mention it.... I don't see bow legs, but it does kind of look like the back of his head? Is this Jensen/Dean? Is this Henry/Gil? Is this just Samuel/Tom? IDK. Someone tell me who this looks like to you, where my hand freaks at?

I want it to be Dean, he's a legacy and it would be a fun twist, but I think Dean would be better able to handle himself and he's wearing a wedding ring so for that to be Dean he'd have to be married to Cas at this point - Which obv means I am fully on board 😂💙💚. Nah, I think it was likely Samuel.

Symbols on the paper (bear with me there are a LOT of interpretations online and I do not know what I'm doing):

MoL Symbol - Unicursal Hexagram associated with symbolic magical, and spiritual connections. "Our crest. The Aquarian Star, representing great magic and power. They say it stood at the gates of Atlantis itself." Combination of 2 Kauną (see below) and an ᚷ? (top right)

Apparently this is a combination rune used for protection - or protection of family. I feel like this looks like it's a combination of the two symbols Inguz - fertility or love and Isa/Isaz - ice or death. ᛝ + ᛁ (Top left)

Raido ? - Journey - combined with the symbol for message / god / odin. AR . Also seeing people referring to this as Energy - getting real "the heroes journey" vibes, Robbie. ᚮ + ᚱ

upside down Othada - apparently the main meaning of a reversed othada is “loss of home”? ᛟ

This one I could not find - the only combination I was able to come up with was a double ᛜ a ᛜᛜ which is an inguz from a different culture. Meaning seed, or energy. Creation. - Maybe the duplicate means destruction / the darkness? Like a reverse? It could just as easily be 2 Othadas doubled back on themselves which would be fun thematically.

Othada / Odal- Heritage/Legacy/genetic inheritance or separation or possession ᛟ

combination of Kauną/Kenaz & Igus ᚲ + ᛜ - getting so many interpretations off of these - Kenaz - love/relationship/fire, Igus seed/energy/creation.

If I didn't know better - and I think I do - I'd think this was about Amara - the elusions to god (reverse) and the darkness. But given what we already know I expect this to be about the Acreda. Mostly I think this is a warning about an interdimensional door. I was clowning for a second when I found an interpretation relating to a journey in time, but I don't think it holds up.

Thank you to @escapingpurgatorypodcast @endofthebookpod & dearly to @deanncastiel for the image source!

I sincerely hope someone who knows better can make some sense of this

#the winchesters spoilers #the winchester speculations #tw meta #spntw meta #tw tinhatting #(although it could also be a combination of the symbol for year and two symbols for elk. help. this is too available for interpretation)#original content #DOES ANYONE KNOW ABOUT ANCIENT RUNES? HELLO?#chuck won #supernatural meta #tw acreda #apollo #akreda #akrida

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wolfnanaki · 20 days

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Are you the storm that is approaching? The one that provokes black clouds in isolation? You planning on reclaiming your name?

I was born in flames, I have been blessed.

My family crest is a demon of death. 🐺

Forsakened, I am awakened. A phoenix's ash in dark divine.

You're in descending misery, destiny's chasing your time.

Disappear into the night, your lost shadows left behind.

Obsession's pulling me, fading...

I've come to take what's mine.

#ask box

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yet-another-heathen · 10 months

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Rising to the West - I

2,576 words. The first re-penned chapter in my original series, The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. I am so excited for this unveiling, the love that you all have shown this series over the past several years means more to me than I could ever say. This is for you <3

- Masterpost -

<< | previous | next | >>

Chapter Warning | environmental whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the massive sandships they sail, marooned in the middle of the desert with no hope of rescue, deadly levels of dehydration, very near-death experience, very brief allusion to noncon, prayer/fantasy religion, evading capture, foot injury

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump

His name was Nadeem el-Azimi, and things had not gone according to plan.

He stumbled on the loose crest of the dune, barely able to blink his eyes open enough to right his path. His body swayed as he adjusted back onto course, aching with the effort it took to take those few extra steps. Sand cascaded down the face of the drift in steady intervals behind him, rushing toward the base like trickles of water.

Of all things, his mind kept circling and circling about how raw his feet felt. The loose, ever-shifting sand ground between his toes, and there was nothing he could do to make it stop.

The sun had set over the An-Nadr desert, and the temperature had plummeted with it. Nadeem pulled his waist sash tighter around his shoulders, clenching his jaw to keep it from clattering against the cold. The stars overhead were dying out one by one, but the warmth of dawn was hours away, even though the light would come sooner.

He kept walking. It only made it harder if he stopped.

In the distance, a low patch of scrub hugged the earth. The traders had taunted him with it when they marooned him amongst the sand. A sun-wrinkled face leered down at him as the others dumped him over the stanchion, the breath knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground. He struggled and gasped against his binds, while the men above him laughed.

“Three days to the east!” the old one said to him. The one whose filthy hands he could still feel roving over his body when he closed his eyes. He leaned over the rail and grinned as the other men tamed the mast behind him, the wind catching its girth and pulling it taut.

Nadeem thrashed and cursed through his gag, shouting desperately as the sandship began to move.

“Three days to the east you’ll find water,” he called back, “Better get going, little thief!”

And the shadow of the hull slid over his body, sunlight blinking between strips of rope. And then the white of the mast shrank beyond the waves, and the sandship had disappeared from sight.

It had taken him nearly half a day to struggle free of his bonds. By then he was utterly, entirely alone. For hundreds of miles in every direction, the only thing was sand.

That had been two and a half days ago. Anger had burned out into sorrow, then to hopelessness, then to a numbness that he couldn't shake. The leagues had passed underfoot slowly, pace worsening as his body had slowly begun to fail. Nadeem had never been a particularly stout man and, while he knew hunger like an old enemy, his body still was not made to endure the absence of water. Not like this. He rubbed mindlessly at the friction burns circling his wrists to try to distract himself from the endless drone of thirst.

Through the dark he could just barely begin making out the green against the washed-out blue of the surrounding sand, peeking between the dunes. He thought he could make out the shape of date trees, but he no longer trusted his eyes not to play tricks on him. They couldn’t be more than a few more hours away.

And as soon as he saw the oasis he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

And still he kept walking.

---

The first pearls of sunlight caught his shoulders, and he shuddered with relief. It wasn't enough, but with the night having long since sapped away his warmth, he’d take whatever he could get.

Those who crossed these deserts knew to travel after dusk once the savage temperatures had fallen, and to take shelter and sleep as much as they could through the long days when the heat would kill anything that moved. Any other day, he would have kept walking for another hour as the sun rose, then taken shelter behind one of the dunes to collapse until night fell again.

But not today. Today he could not afford to stop even for the dawn prayer. He knew it in the ache of his bones and the relentless throbbing of his head. He was dying. And if he stopped now, even for this, he wouldn't get back up.

He could not begin to describe how tempting the thought was. How loudly his body begged him to let him rest one last time, how shrilly his heart tried to convince him he had already done all he could. He could lay here and watch the colors of the sky change, feel the warmth wash over him. He could give himself one more sunrise. One more chance to watch the beauty of it all before it was gone.

His feet slowed to a stop, despite his commands. A slow breath, in and out through his nose. He reached up with puffy fingers to fumble with his face cloth, loosening it until the linen fell free.

Nadeem turned slowly back toward the glint of the sunrise, and closed his eyes. He had both won and lost his own bet. He had lived for one more day. He would take that victory, even if…even…

Keep moving, Nadeem. Those thoughts are going to kill you.

Today he would either make it to the oasis, or his body would be slowly being covered up and buried by the ever-creeping drifts that surrounded him. Those were the only two possibilities left, and it was getting harder and harder to believe that he had any hope of the former.

Control of his body was slipping, and apathy dulled his thoughts more and more with each passing breath. And still he mumbled out the soft, broken consonants of the prayer he had been clinging to, words repeated so many times in the last day that they had become nothing more than foreign sounds devoid of whatever had once made them words.

The comforting lines he had known since he was a child fell from him in a broken, confused tangle of what they were meant to be. He hoped the gods would still take the whisper for its intention rather than its delivery. He was fairly certain someone had once told him they would. That they knew.

He couldn't remember their face. He hoped it had been Hanona. She had always been right about such things.

Keep moving, Nadeem. You have to take one more step.

He whispered a quiet little apology to the air before him, reaching out as if to gently cling upon the fabric of someone’s robes. His fingers closed over nothing, and he let out a shaky little breath as he pulled the imagined cloth closer to the ache of his chest.

He swayed, felt the knot of dry tears in his throat. But he knew crying was beyond him now.

When eventually he realized that the strength to continue on was slipping for good, he summoned one last, Walk, Nadeem.

His foot answered him sluggishly, one barely-there step backwards. He cracked open his eyes.

And stopped.

Far in the distance, slipping along the razor’s edge between waves and sky, a pinprick of black was making its way across the sand.

A mirage. It had to be.

He stared at it in doubt, blinking to see if it would fade.

He watched it for what felt like a lifetime, so afraid that if he looked away it would be gone. But as the minutes passed and the shape grew closer, a fragile hope began to smolder in his chest.

A ship.

His head was swimming. The mast rose and dipped over a bank, light catching flecks of metal. But he could still make out the shape of the bow, cutting across the tops of the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength to cry out. He didn’t have the strength to move.

They were coming straight for the oasis, straight to him.

He couldn’t—he...he…

...he stopped.

The sandship rose to the top of another peak, sail catching the light of the sun beyond. For a moment everything was dark, then the cloth rippled and his heart ground to a stop.

The vibrant, cobalt blue sails of an Al Qururaqin cutter shone in the morning sun.

He stumbled backward, and ran.

The ground gave away beneath him as he bounded down the dark side of the dune, slipping and catching himself when he hit the bottom. His heart was pounding as he pressed his back into the side of it and began pulling armfuls of sand over his body.

He barely managed to cover his legs and the lower half of his chest, limbs burning with exertion. Black spots swam across his vision. His breaths came shallow and ragged through split lips. Still he clawed at the sand until he’d covered as much of himself as he could.

If the ship hadn’t already spotted him, the dunes gave him a chance of being passed unseen. If they had...

He held his breath, straining to keep his gasps under control.

And then he heard it. Someone singing loudly enough for their voice to carry. The unmistakable shuffing of wood, the sound of voices calling back and forth to one another.

It grew closer until someone gave a sharp shout, and the sound of the sail straining at its rigging changed. The sandship was close—far, far too close—and it was slowing to a stop.

Something heavy hit the ground and he shrank further back into the dune. Then another, then more.

Too late he realized his mistake. As he lay there straining to stay calm, there came the petrifying moment when he remembered the trail of footprints he’d left along the tops of the dunes. The ones that would lead them straight to him.

The sand gave him nowhere else to hide. If he stayed here, buried or not, they would find him. Casting around, he caught just the barest hint of green through the split in the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength. He knew he didn’t. But panic summoned every last shred of energy into his trembling legs, and before he could think he pushed to his feet and stumbled into a run.

His feet pounded against the earth. All his vision was a blur as he slid around the corner of a dune and up the channel between.

Dizziness swept over him, and he gasped and shook his head to try to clear it. He scaled the next dune on his hands and knees, sinking deep into the sand as he sprinted for the shelter of the brush.

He knew the moment they’d spotted his trail. Strange voices rose into the dawn behind him, and when he couldn’t resist the urge to look back he saw the sharp rise of a mast against the sky.

Vibrantly embroidered bolts of sailcloth whipped and curled in the breeze, the sun’s first strands of light striking it from behind and setting the fabric ablaze. The blue sails burned against the pale of the morning sky, and dread smothered his thoughts.

He didn’t see the shale until it was too late. Something sharp speared up through the bottom of his foot, and before he could catch himself he’d gone sprawling across the outcropping and into the dirt. He let out a low groan of pain as he blinked the darkness from his eyes.

He'd collapsed at the edge of the oasis. Behind him a jagged shard of rock pointed in the air, covered in blood.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled into the bank of shrubs, barely slowing as he made his way deeper into the growth. His ankle kept trying to give out beneath him, the thick litter of sticks and twigs jabbing into the wound. Slowing him down.

He bit back his voice as he clambered over the thickest piles of stone he could find, hoping to every single god he could name that they would help hide his footprints. The distant shouts were growing closer.

He stumbled over a ridge and found a thicket of shrubs, and realized that the glinting just beyond was water. He slid down the bank into the spring, wading out into the knee-high water that spread out between pools of algae.

He realized then that there was no cover. None but the branches of shrubs that overhung the basin, clinging to the overgrown shore.

Without even stopping to savor the feeling he never thought he’d have again, he fell to his knees in the water and ducked beneath their low branches. Spines ripped at his clothes as he crawled toward shore, as close as he could get to the place where the water met the earth underneath their leaves. He wormed his way deeper into the silt until his back was pressing against half-submerged trunks and the surface of the water reached his throat.

He forced his shivering body to still, schooling his breath in an attempt to hide the sound. As quickly as the ripples around him faded into the reeds the sound of snapping twigs approached.

On the shallow ridge, less than a hundred paces away, a dark figure broke through the trees.

Nadeem forgot how to breathe.

As a boy, bright-eyed and impatient, the Mothers had spun tales of Al Qururaqin caravans, moving from port to desert port. Tales of four-armed demons with ashen skin as dark as the mud at the bottom of the Parattu, swords gleaming in their hands. Of monsters who steal boys away from their ships, taking them away into the blackness of their holds.

Stories of the ifrit.

He never thought he'd be cornered by one.

Nadeem may have been scrawny, but he was no short man—by the time he was twelve he’d already stood a full head taller than his Maaman, as well as half the men in his town. This ifrit dwarfed him. It must have stood three heads taller than he did, with such strength coiled in its body that he felt sick with fear.

It scanned the water, a beautiful and broad face silhouetted by the rising of the sun. Thin wisps of smoke rose from its shoulders, disappearing into the air. One of its upper limbs rested at its hip, blackened fingers curling loosely around the hilt of a sword.

As its gaze swept out across the bank and over his hiding place, he could only pray that it didn't see the impressions his feet had left in the algae.

An entire lifetime passed as the ifrit searched the grove, scanning the silhouettes of trees. So many times Nadeem was certain he’d been spotted, and yet the figure came no closer.

Then it turned, cast one more look out over the water, and went back the way it had come.

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