The desert burned beneath the merciless sun, turning each step into a trial. Cain trudged forward—not guided by direction, but by something else. Something strange. As if an invisible thread was pulling him onward.
Fragments of stories he'd heard in slavery rose to the surface—whispers of cities ruled by gods, lands consumed by Chaos where law, faith, and conscience held no sway. They'd always sounded like mirages.
Now he walked through them.
Dust swirled in ghostly spirals as a caravan crept over the horizon. Heavy wagons groaned and kicked up clouds of sand, their movements slow and deliberate, like the shadows of sleeping giants. The caravan folk eyed Cain with suspicion and curiosity—the kind of gaze that weighed and measured. No questions. Just judgment.
One of them stepped forward—a broad-shouldered giant, sun-bronzed, with eyes the color of midnight. He raised a hand, and the caravan halted.
He jumped down from a wagon, boots stirring up sand as he approached.
"Lost?" His voice was rough, tinged with amusement. "Loners don't survive out here. But that sword says you're no drifter. A warrior, huh? We could use one. Where you headed?"
"East," Cain said flatly.
"East, huh..." The man nodded. "Get in."
Cain climbed aboard without a word. The wagons creaked into motion, slithering like cautious beasts between the dunes.
As the first hints of night bled over the horizon, the caravan made camp. Fires danced above the sand, flickering like spirits.
The traders sat in circles, swapping tales. They spoke of the lands of Chaos—no-man's-lands where even the gods tread carefully. Beside Cain, an old merchant with a torn ear guzzled wine, snorted, and laughed:
"Out here, you can't trust anyone. Not even yourself."
Cain didn't reply. His gaze kept drifting toward one wagon, slightly apart from the rest—guarded, quiet. The armed men around it barely spoke, exchanging only silent glances. He couldn't say what it was, but something felt... wrong.
Night cloaked the camp in silver. The moon hung like a cold eye above the dunes. Cain wrapped himself in his cloak and lay beside the fire. Sleep came in jagged flashes—fractured images, voices not his own, words he couldn't grasp.
"Wake up."
The voice cut through the silence like a blade.
The same voice. The one that once whispered, "Find the fire..."
A chill stabbed down Cain's spine.
He opened his eyes.
Figures stood before him—armed. Caravan guards. Their leader stood at the front, smirking.
"Sleeping among strangers in these lands?" the man drawled, like he was discussing the weather. "Not the best idea."
Cain didn't move. He stared them down, face unreadable. No fear. No anger. No emotion.
"Cat got your tongue?" The leader chuckled. "Take off the hood. Let's see the goods. If you're pretty, we'll send you to the goddess Khalisi's city. If you're not... off to the Bastion mines. They take everyone."
Cain's eyes ignited—cold fire.
"Slavers..." His voice was low. Metallic.
"Slavers, smugglers, cutthroats..." The man shrugged. "We'll be whoever pays—"
He never finished.
His head spun through the air in a clean arc before hitting the sand with a dull thud.
Everything froze.
Cain stood behind them.
His face was pure fury—contained and glacial. His grip on the sword was so tight his knuckles looked ready to split. The cracked blade glimmered black in the moonlight, like a tear in reality.
The slaver's blood sizzled as it hit the burning sand.
The fire crackled.
The caravan stood paralyzed. Fear hung in the air, thick and choking.
"Who's next?" Cain's voice was quiet. But in the silence, it roared like thunder.
No one moved. One guard twitched—then froze again.
Cain lowered his sword. Slowly. He still held it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
He stood among them like a judge. An executioner. A corpse with nothing left to lose.
"This one..." Cain muttered, eyes on the headless body. "He sold others because he himself was sold. For bread. Sold... and rotted."
Rage clawed at his chest.
"There's thirty of us!" someone yelled. "For Salim!"
They charged.
Cain didn't move.
"You're not worthy of life..." he whispered.
The desert exploded in steel.