Sands of Marokh

The sharp scent of sage hung in the air as I pressed my palm against the bark of the oldest tree in the Eldorian woods. My fingers traced the rough, ancient lines, drawing strength from the forest's silent whispers. This was home—deep, vibrant, alive. The pulse of the earth, the hum of the wind, even the rustling of the leaves all spoke to me in a language I'd long since learned to understand.

And yet, today, the forest felt different. Heavy. Like it was bracing itself.

I shook the feeling off, letting out a slow breath. My mind had been restless since the elders had summoned me, delivering their impossible command. I was to leave Eldoria, cross the Ashen Wastelands, and journey into the heart of Marokh.

Of course, they'd said, you're capable of handling it.

Capable. The word rang in my ears like a bell I couldn't silence. I wasn't sure if they truly believed it or if they just had no one else to send. I had always been the one to heal, to mend what was broken. But this? A diplomatic mission across hostile lands to negotiate with a desert prince who was more legend than man? That wasn't what I had trained for.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of dust—an omen of the desert that awaited me. The elders said it was necessary for the survival of Eldoria, that we could no longer remain isolated. But I knew what they truly feared: war. The desert kingdom had grown restless, and Marokh's Crown Prince, Serelai Khalithar, was known for his ruthless defense of his people. Some called him the Demon of the Desert, a man who would stop at nothing to protect his lands. A threat, some whispered.

But I had my doubts. I couldn't trust rumours, nor could I afford to let fear dictate my course. I had my own reasons for embarking on this journey. The dreams—visions, really—had been haunting me for weeks, growing more vivid each night. A kingdom buried in sand, fire rising on the horizon, and at the centre of it all, a figure standing alone. I couldn't shake the feeling that my path was entwined with Marokh's. Perhaps with its prince as well.

My horse, Morea, snorted, impatiently pawing at the ground. She could sense it too—the change coming, the ripple of fate shifting beneath our feet.

"I know, girl," I muttered, stroking her neck. "We don't belong in the desert."

But it didn't matter. The path had been chosen for me, and now it was time to walk it. The elders' decision was final. Their words still echoed in my mind: Go to Marokh. Ensure peace. Or prepare for war.

I pulled myself onto Morea's saddle, the weight of the mission settling like a stone in my chest. Eldoria's future, it seemed, rested on me, convincing a man I had never met to trust me—an outsider—while standing in the heart of his own domain. And not just any man. Serelai Khalithar. The rumours painted him as a monster, a commander who wielded the desert itself as his weapon. But I had to believe there was more to him than the stories told.

With a deep breath, I nudged Morea forward, guiding her toward the edge of the woods, where the wastelands stretched beyond like an unforgiving sea of ash. My life had always been simple, centred around healing and the forest I called home. But now, that world was about to change. I was leaving behind everything I knew, stepping into the unknown with only my wits and a fragment of hope.

And yet, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind, a part of me craved this. The adventure, the unknown. I wasn't content with the quiet life of a healer anymore. Not after the dreams, the signs. Something in me—something wild and unspoken—drove me forward.

"Time to go," I whispered to myself, urging Morea into a trot. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the land ahead. The first step was always the hardest. But I had taken it now. There was no turning back.

The desert awaits, I thought, tightening my grip on the reins. And with it, whatever awaited me on the other side.

The elders may have sent me to secure peace, but I had my own mission. There was something broken in this world, something tied to the prince they called a demon. And I intended to fix it.

Even if it meant confronting the darkness in him—or in myself.

As the fading light stretched its fingers across the forest's edge, casting the first hints of twilight, I rode deeper into the unknown. The weight of Eldoria's future pressed on my shoulders, but there was another, more personal burden that clung to me—the visions, the sense that something far more dangerous than politics or kingdoms awaited me in the desert.

The Ashen Wastelands loomed ahead, their barren stretches a sharp contrast to the vibrant greenery of my homeland. The tales about the wastelands were not comforting—jagged stones that clawed at the earth, winds that could strip flesh from bone, and creatures that prowled the shadows. But none of that scared me as much as what lay beyond: Marokh. A kingdom of sand and stone, with a prince said to be born from the desert's fury.

I had heard the stories my entire life. How Prince Serelai was raised under the burning sun, trained to defend his people with ruthless precision. They called him The Demon of the Desert not just because of his victories on the battlefield, but because of how he wielded his power. Rumors whispered that he controlled the very sands, summoning sandstorms to crush his enemies. Some said the creatures of the desert obeyed his call.

My stomach tightened at the thought. I couldn't afford to let the stories cloud my judgment, but how could I ignore them entirely? What kind of man was I about to face?

The wind picked up, carrying the first hint of dry, acrid air from the wastelands, snapping me out of my thoughts. The forest had thinned behind me, and the ground began to shift, turning to the cracked, pale earth that marked the boundary between Eldoria and the wilds beyond.

Sir Kaelan rode ahead, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dimming light. He was quiet, as he had been for most of our journey, only speaking when necessary. A knight, bound by duty to protect me, but I knew his heart still lay with the safety of Eldoria. Like the rest of the elders, he feared what lay ahead.

After several hours of riding, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, leaving only a trace of gold in the sky, quickly swallowed by the vast expanse of stars. We set up camp in a small crevice sheltered by a ridge of jagged rock. The wastelands were unforgiving, but even here, there was beauty. The sky, free from the dense canopy of Eldoria's forests, stretched out endlessly, dotted with stars that flickered like distant flames.

"I'll take the first watch," Sir Kaelan said, his voice low but steady. He kept a careful eye on the surrounding darkness, though I could see a hint of tension in his posture. He was prepared for trouble, as always.

I nodded, too exhausted to argue. The journey had only just begun, but already the weight of it pressed down on me. As I settled into my bedroll, the ground beneath me hard and unyielding, my thoughts turned back to Prince Serelai. What kind of man would I find at the end of this journey? A monster? A warrior? Or perhaps something else entirely?

I closed my eyes, hoping for sleep, but the visions returned almost immediately. Fire. Sand. A shadow in the distance, watching me. The figure was indistinct, but I felt its presence as if it were breathing down my neck. It was always the same—this feeling that I was being watched, that something was waiting for me.

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding. The fire crackled nearby, Sir Kaelan's silhouette steady against the backdrop of the night. Everything was still. Safe. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the edge of something far larger than myself.

The elders had sent me to secure peace, but something deep inside me whispered that my task was much greater—and far more dangerous—than even they realized.

Tomorrow, we will reach the desert. And beyond that, the capital of Marokh, Tal'Khar.

I pulled my cloak tighter around myself, staring up at the stars. In the stillness of the night, the truth settled in: whatever awaited me in Marokh, whatever Prince Serelai truly was, it was tied to my fate. Whether I liked it or not, I was no longer just a healer from Eldoria.

I was about to step into a world where survival was more than just a test of skill. It was a battle of will. And somehow, I knew that my own journey was just beginning.

The desert, with all its secrets and shadows, was calling me. And soon, I would have to answer.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the rocky walls of our camp. I lay on my bedroll, staring at the stars above, their cold, distant light unable to soothe the knot of tension tightening in my chest. The winds had died down, leaving a heavy stillness in their wake, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting.

Waiting for what, though? That was the question that gnawed at me.

I had always trusted my instincts, the quiet sense of premonition that came with the magic in my blood. It was this same magic that had guided me through countless healing rituals and had pulled me back from danger more times than I could count. But lately, that inner voice had grown quieter, more elusive, as though whatever fate awaited me lay beyond even my power to comprehend.

Sir Kaelan's steady presence nearby was a small comfort, but not enough to chase away the unease. I turned on my side, propping myself up slightly to get a better look at him. He was still as a statue, sitting with his back straight and his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Ever vigilant, even in the middle of nowhere.

"Kaelan," I whispered, my voice barely louder than the crackling flames. He turned his head slightly, acknowledging me without breaking his watchful stance.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm, the voice of a man trained for duty.

"Have you ever been to Marokh?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I needed something to distract me from the creeping thoughts in my mind.

He nodded, though there was a trace of hesitation in his movements. "A few times, on official business. I've seen its capital, Tal'Khar, but not much beyond that. The people there—well, they're different from Eldorians."

I sat up, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders to ward off the chill that seeped in from the desert night. "Different how?"

"Tradition is everything to them," he said, his voice low and measured. "They value order, strict laws, and loyalty above all else. Marokh is a harsh land, and its people have learned to survive by being as unyielding as the desert itself."

His words only fed my curiosity, but something still lingered in the back of my mind, the reason I had asked him in the first place. "And what about the prince?" I finally asked. "Prince Serelai. I've heard the stories—about how he's... different."

Kaelan's expression darkened slightly, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, though he remained composed. "Ah, the Demon of the Desert—yes, I've heard the rumors too." His tone was light, but there was something guarded in his gaze. "People say he's ruthless in battle, a warrior shaped by the trials of the desert. But more than that, they say he has a... connection to the land, one that makes him dangerous."

"A connection?" I echoed, my heart beating faster as the mystery around Prince Serelai seemed to grow deeper with every word.

Sir Kaelan nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right way to explain. "They say he understands the desert in a way that no one else does. That he can control it—or at least, bend it to his will. The creatures that prowl its depths, the sandstorms that come from nowhere... some believe they follow his command."

I shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. "You don't believe that, do you?"

Sir Kaelan met my gaze, his eyes steady and thoughtful. "I don't know what to believe. But the prince has a reputation that's hard to ignore. His people respect him, fear him, even. The desert is unforgiving, and so is he."

A long silence followed as his words sank in. I had come here to secure an alliance, to build a bridge between our kingdoms. But now, with every new piece of information, I felt less certain of the man I would soon face.

The wind picked up again, carrying with it the scent of sand and dry earth, a reminder of the journey still ahead. Tomorrow, we would leave the relative safety of the wastelands and enter the heart of the Sel'thura Desert. And beyond that, Tal'Khar—and the prince who ruled it.

I stared into the fire, watching the flames dance and flicker. What was I walking into? Would Prince Serelai be the monster of the stories? Or was there something more to him, something hidden beneath the layers of legend and fear?

Sir Kaelan stirred beside me, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "We should rest. The desert is merciless during the day, and we'll need our strength."

I nodded, though sleep felt like a distant possibility. But as I lay back down, pulling the rough blanket over my shoulders, one thought echoed in my mind: the stories may not tell the whole truth, but they always begin with a spark of it.

And I would soon find out if that spark was a flicker of hope—or a flame that would consume me whole.

The next morning, we broke camp at dawn, the last remnants of night still clinging to the sky as we rode further into the wastelands. By mid-afternoon, the landscape began to shift once more. The ground beneath us grew softer, the cracked earth giving way to loose sand. The horizon shimmered with heat, the first true sign that we were approaching the Sel'thura Desert.

It was vast—more immense than I had imagined. Waves of golden dunes stretched endlessly in every direction, their peaks glowing under the relentless sun. A sea of sand with no beginning and no end.

Sir Kaelan guided his horse alongside mine, his expression unreadable. "The desert will test us," he said quietly. "But stay focused, and we'll make it through."

I nodded, determination flooding my veins. I had come too far to turn back now. Whatever awaited me in Marokh, I would face it head-on.

As we rode toward the edge of the desert, I couldn't help but think of the prince once more. Somewhere, in this vast sea of sand, Prince Serelai was waiting.

And soon, our paths would cross.

End of Prologue