"Ugh—ptui-ptui!" Kain couldn't help recoiling and spitting out a mouthful of sand that had blown into his mouth.
Kain's heavy eyelids remained closed.
But he didn't need sight to know that his surroundings had changed. The brittle chill that had clung to his skin like frostbite was gone. In its place came a dry warmth, heavy and pressing.
A grainy, soft texture cradled his body—sand, he realized distantly, coarse and cushioning. A slow, arid breeze rustled his hair, teasing the edges of his clothing, while the long absent sunlight poured across his face with an intensity far stronger than he was used to.
He grimaced and sat up slowly, fingers already tugging at the thick winter layers he no longer needed. The air clung to him, the heat making the fur-lined coats unbearable. Still squinting against the brightness behind his eyelids, he tugged the last sleeve free before opening his eyes.
A pale wasteland stretched before him, dunes rippling in the distance. A familiar horizon. A familiar sun. They had made it back.
His gaze swept across the sand until it caught the figures nearby—scattered, slowly stirring.
Serena was already standing nearby a just-coming-to Malzahir, brushing grit from her sleeves with practiced grace. Lina knelt beside Zareth, who still looked drained from linking to the core so quickly—Kai remembered that in his previous mission that relic core had been steadily saturated with spiritual power over the course of days. But Zareth managed a shaky nod when Kain met his gaze. Pete was stretching with a groan, wincing at some pain in his side. And then there was—
He froze. Counted again.
Six, if he counted Malzahir.
Five, if he only counted the Order.
They'd gone in with twelve team members. More than double their current number. And among those lost was their original team leader—Idrias. Yeah, they had 'succeeded' in this mission, but it was hard to feel that way. Kain exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
Their bodies were still inside. Preserved in the cradle of that ancient relic. Alone. Cold. Waiting.
Zareth would return. The relic core now rested in his hands. Once he handed over the core to the Order, Kain was certain that others from the Order would come. They would recover their bodies. They had to.
Movement drew Kain's attention. Malzahir was still curled on the sand, the last to stir. It made sense—the man was the weakest among them since his cultivation was abolished, though he had shown remarkable endurance. But it wasn't exhaustion, or a lack of physical strength, that kept him down.
It was the look on his face. That blank, hollow stare toward the empty sky. The same look he'd had when they first met him in the ruins and he'd talked about going off on his own—beaten, betrayed, and emotionally broken.
Kain walked over quietly. He crouched beside him, eyes steady. *"It's not over,"* he said, voice low in a language the others, aside from Zareth, couldn't quite understand. *"You know it. That pain you're feeling—you know why it's still there."*
Malzahir didn't respond at first. His hands trembled slightly, fingers digging into the sand.
*"We're going back to the Empire,"* Kain continued. *"If you want revenge—real revenge—not just pain thrown into the void, then come with me. I'll help you get it. You've seen what I can do. You've felt it. So stop wasting time wallowing in confusion and self-pity and start doing something about it."*
Then Malzahir turned his head. His dark eyes met Kain's—and for a long moment, he simply stared. But the emptiness was gone. Replaced with something harder. Sharper.
*"I'll come,"* he said quietly.
Kain nodded once, stood, and offered his hand. Malzahir took it.
The others had gathered by then. Serena gave the pair a small nod—of course, she had expected this outcome.
But Pete blinked in surprise, and even Lina tilted her head with a questioning look. Zareth, also gave a brief surprised glance at the temporary addition to their team suddenly becoming a little more permanent.
But none of them objected.
Whatever doubts they may have held about the foreigner had been erased in the relic. Malzahir had survived and proven resourceful. He'd bled beside them. Fought beside them. And that was more than enough.
Their small, scarred group turned toward a seemingly endless sea of sand with no distinguishing characteristics. Miles of desert stretched between them and home.
It took them around five days to reach the southern border of the Empire.
Five days of walking, rationing, and fighting.
The desert gave nothing freely. Even the path home required blood.
Still, no one else died.
That fact alone felt like a miracle considering that they were now a much smaller, more exhausted, team than when they first entered the cruel desert.
"Is that...?" Pete's voice cracked from the dryness. He pointed, arm shaking slightly.
There, beyond a thin ridge of dunes, stone pillars jutted from the horizon like the bones of a long-dead titan. The gate to the Empire's southern watchpoint. It was the last checkpoint before entering the safer, patrolled lands of the Empire. A distant banner bearing the imperial crest rippled in the wind.
Kain didn't answer. He didn't have to. They all saw it.
Relief passed silently between them like smoke, no one voicing it in case it vanished like a mirage.
They quickly closed the remaining distance, a sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through them with their destination in sight.
Packed sand gave way to dry, cracked earth. The wind smelled different too—less of dust, more of heated stone and faint iron. And more importantly, people. Soldiers on patrol. Shouts from training yards. The clang of metal on metal. Civilization.
Kain felt the weight in his chest loosen just slightly.
"Thank the stars," Pete muttered. His knees almost buckled when they stepped onto the road.
Lina let out a dry laugh. "You'll thank the medic first, once we find one."
They passed through the outer checkpoint without delay. The guards, seeing the insignia on Zareth's cloak and the badges provided to them by the Order, saluted hastily and parted the gate. Kain noticed the way their eyes lingered on the state of them—filthy, sunburned, and half-dead. But no one questioned them.
Inside was a variety of strange and familiar sights. Vendors selling food, armour, spiritual creatures, and specialty items only available in the south.
Kain didn't stop to appreciate it. His eyes drifted to Malzahir, who had said little since agreeing to join them.
The foreigner walked with the group but never within it. Always just a half-step behind, as if waiting for someone to tell him to turn back. Kain hadn't—because he wouldn't. Not now.
Malzahir caught him watching. "This place… is your home?" he asked, voice low and hoarse.
Kain shook his head. "Not quite. Just a step closer to it."
A pause. Then, softer: "It's weird."
Kain smirked faintly. "Get used to it. It'll be yours now too."