Exhausted, but genuinely happy, Kangassk fell asleep in the obelisk’s shade. He dreamed the airy, breezy dreams full of pure emotions, sparkling and gentle like a spray of fountain water back at home.

It was already evening, burning red and orange at the horizon, when Vlada woke him up. They were no longer alone. A caravan was approaching them by the ancient road, breaking the desert silence with lively human chatter.

“I travelled with them all the way from Torgor,” Vlada explained, “until we parted on the crossroads. They went to Aldaren-turin to trade there. Meanwhile, I made a detour to buy a gun in Aren-castell. I’m glad we’ve caught up with them. They will give us a ride.”

Kangassk nodded. Soon, after Vlada’s brief conversation with the merchant, he found himself travelling in the greatest comfort possible: on the back of a dunewalker. These huge beasts of burden, both obedient and quiet, have been traversing deserts since the beginning of days, heat and dust storms notwithstanding. Riding one felt like being gently rocked in a giant cradle. Kangassk found it quite pleasant, especially considering the fact that he shared a saddle with a beautiful girl. He even took the liberty of holding onto her waist pretending he’d fall otherwise.

“If it weren’t for the caravan, we’d be in for a rough journey,” explained Vlada. “The road is not safe. There can be bandits.”

Kangassk nodded knowingly. He had heard his share of merchants’ tales, most of which involved raids and bloodshed.

“You may stop clutching on to me, by the way,” Vlada mentioned casually. “Dunewalkers are not wild bulls, you won’t fall.”

“What if I get drowsy and fall asleep?” asked Kan. He didn’t like the idea of keeping his hands off the girl.

“Don’t.” Vlada refused to get the joke. “Stay awake and keep looking around. Tell me if you see anything suspicious. Lives may depend on it.”

It was getting dark. Kangassk, a typical city dweller used to associate nights with noisy crowds and brightly lit streets, faced the real darkness of a wild Kuldagan night for the first time. The darkness was terrifying, blinding, impenetrable. Evil. It swallowed the caravan whole, weak torchlights that people were carrying were barely visible against its cold black velvet, under a gorgeous milky way of stars burning above. Every noise, even the most harmless one, now made Kan’s heart race.

“We’ll have to stay in the saddle tonight,” Vlada whispered to him. “It’s not safe to camp here.”

“In the saddle…” Kan sighed, unhappy with the news. “Damn, my ass is already all numb and tingling…”

Vlada burst out laughing. It was such a brief moment of joy – for she had covered her mouth with her hand almost instantly – that it barely disturbed the silence of the night, yet it was enough to kill Kangassk’s anxiety altogether. He could no longer be serious about the horrors he used to imagine behind every dune. He caught himself smiling like a foolish child and thinking of how nice it would be to hear Vlada’s laughter again. This was the last thought the young man remembered before he saw the world suddenly swing above him and go dark…

There was no proper waking up. Kan’s consciousness was returning to him gradually, bit by bit: first the pain, then everything else. He touched his head and felt something warm and sticky in his hair. Blood? As he opened his eyes and raised himself upon an elbow to look around be found himself in the middle of the battlefield, most of which was hidden from his eyes in the darkness, but the sounds – cries of pain and clashing of steel – said it all.