“Stay close to me!” Fenric shouted, though the words were almost swallowed by the roar of three swirling tornadoes of wind and sand.

Elena reached for him, but the wind tore them apart. The ground vanished beneath her as she was swept upward into the heart of the storm. The air burned in her lungs; she couldn’t tell which way was up.

Calm yourself… Fenric’s words echoed faintly in her mind.

She closed her eyes. Her pulse steadied. She pictured herself on the ground once more, the solid feel of stone and sand beneath her feet. The moment she did, her body lurched downward, and with a flash, her feet hit sand.

“What just happened?” she questioned.

She shook her head. Never mind that.

“Fenric!” she shouted.

Fear surged again when there was no reply, but she forced herself to breathe steadily, just like the quicksand had taught her. She was still at the base of the storm, at risk of being swept up once again. Shielding her eyes, she looked above and saw Fenric being tossed around like a rag doll.

“Reach. For. Him!” a soft female voice echoed.

She extended her hand as she wished to reach Fenric, but she believed it was no use. There was no way she could reach him this way, but to her surprise, as she closed her eyes once again, she felt something interlock with her fingers.

The wind vanished suddenly, and as she opened her eyes, Fenric was holding her hand.

“You did that,” he said calmly as he let go.

Elena stared at her trembling hands, half in disbelief. “I… think the desert did.”

“No,” Fenric said softly. “It only lends its voice, and you finally listened.

Elena stood still, feeling the weight of Fenric’s word settle in her chest. The storm’s remnants whispered through the air like a sigh, soft and fading. Around them, the dunes shimmered faintly beneath the golden sky, as if the sands themselves acknowledged her growth.

They walked for what felt like hours, though night never occurred in Solkara. The land shifted gently underfoot, forming paths where none had existed. Then, ahead, the dunes broke to reveal a village unlike the one they’d left behind. It was smaller, built around a low oasis where water reflected the light like polished glass. People moved quietly between tents of sun-bleached cloth. The scent of herbs and warm stone filled the air.

“Few have reached this place,” he said as he slowed his steps. “The sands bring those who are ready to learn, and send back those who are not.”

At the edge of the village, a woman waited. Her skin was bronze from the sun, her long auburn braids shimmering faintly, and her eyes were the soft grey of clouded dawn. She greeted them with a slight bow.

“Welcome, Elena of Lornyth and Fenric of the sands,” she said, her voice steady, calm. “Our elder spoke of you, Elena, he said the storm had marked the completion of your first set of trials.”

“Elena blinked, uncertain how to respond. “You know me?”

“I don’t have to see to know who you are,” the woman replied. “Come. We have prepared your next lesson.”

She slowly led them through the narrow streets lined with smooth stones that gleamed faintly beneath her feet. The air was warm and full of life, a contrast to the solitude of the dunes. They came to a quiet courtyard where a perfectly symmetrical circle had been intricately drawn in the sand.

From within it sat a figure in stillness, a man robed in pale cloth, his eyes closed, his expression serene.

“This is Saerin,” the woman said. “He’ll teach you to move not with your feet, but with your spirit.”

Elena frowned slightly. “Like fast travel?”

“Thank you, Sahara,” Saerin’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though his eyes remained closed. “Names limit what is limitless. Sit.”

Fenric stepped back, his arms folded as he watched Sahara leave. Elena hesitated, then lowered herself onto the sand across from Saerin.

At first, the heat distracted her. The grains clung to her clothes; her knees ached. But as she focused on her breathing, her thoughts began to slow, drawn in by her recent experiences.

“Do not chase the world,” Saerin murmured. “Let it come to you,”

The air stilled. For a moment, Elena felt weightless. When she opened her eyes, her heart skipped. She was sitting several paces away from where she’d begun.

She gasped softly. “I—how did—?”

“I will leave her with you, Saerin,” Fenric said and walked in the direction Sahara left.

Saerin opened his eyes.

“Your mind arrived before your body. You simply followed,” Saerin said calmly.

Over the days that followed, she practised under Saerin’s quiet guidance. Each success came with the stillness between heartbeats – each failure, a rush of doubt she learned to breathe through.

At dusk, when her lessons ended, she met with another teacher – an older man with sun-cracked hands and eyes a bright orange. He sat among intricate patterns etched into the sand, each line glowing faintly.

“I am known as Orren,” he said. “I shape the paths between long distances. You will learn not to step through one, but to create it.”

Elena watched as he drew a simple curve with his staff. The air shimmered faintly above the line, rippling like water under moonlight.

“Magic follows intent,” Orren explained. “A gate opens only when it knows where the heart wishes to go. You must memorise the circle to open the gate.”

She followed his movements, tracing her own lines into the sand. The first few dissolved instantly, the grains scattering in the wind. But the more she focused, the more her circles began to hold their shape, glowing softly for a heartbeat before fading.

Days flew by.

Under the golden sun that never set, Elena knelt in the courtyard, learning to quiet her thoughts until space itself responded. She blinked and found herself yards away. Later, she stood with Orren beneath the sunlit dune, tracing new patterns in the air until faint ripples stirred in the air like the beginnings of a gateway.

Through the rest of the practices, Fenric watched from the sidelines—silent, composed, proud.

When at last the air before her ripped with light that did not fade, Orren lowered his staff.

“You have learned to listen,” he said. “Now you must trust, then you will be ready to return home.”

Elena stared into the faintly glowing space before her. It flickered like a half-formed memory, uncertain yet alive. Her reflection shimmered on its surface.

She touched the glow lightly, her fingertips meeting a warmth that hummed against her skin.

“Soon,” she whispered, a promise to herself as much as to those waiting beyond the gate.

The light pulsed once, as if the desert had heard her, then slowly dimmed, and above them, the endless Solkara sky shimmered—vast, knowing, eternal.

Elena fell back into the sand, exhausted from using so much power across the months spent in Solkara.

Orren and Saerin leaned over her.

“You are ready,” Orren said.

“First, you must rest so you can travel safely through your first gate,” Sarin warned.

Elena closed her eyes there and then, passing out from exhaustion.

“You should have allowed her breaks,” Sahara said softly.

“Haha. You always amaze me in the way you view the world without sight, Sahara.” Orren chuckled. “But yes, maybe we should have. I didn’t realise how determined she was to complete her training.”

Fenric scooped her up and carried Elena towards her room.

“You did well, Fenric,” Sahara said. “Your elder will be proud of you. We will take care of her highness tomorrow. You are welcome to return to your village.”

“It’s okay. I would like to see her off,” Fenric said as a small smile spread across his lips.

The next day, Elena didn’t wake.

“Sahara, there’s something wrong with her highness,” Fenric called from the window.

Sahara quickly and elegantly rushed into Elena’s room and felt her forehead. Sahara gently removed her circlet and put a cold cloth in its place.

“She’ll be alright. Elena over-exhausted her mana and developed a mana fever. Within a few days' rest, she will have recovered.” Sahara explained.

The room had fallen silent except for the faint rustle of the curtain swaying in the desert breeze. The light outside shifted softly through the sand-coloured fabric, painting long strips across the floor.

Fenric sat by the open window, his cloak draped over the back of the chair. The desert shimmered under the sun that never set. For the first time since Elena’s arrival, he allowed himself to breathe.

Elena still lay motionless on the bed, her breathing slow but steady. The damp cloth on her forehead gleamed faintly, replaced every so often by Sahara’s careful hands before she left them alone to rest once again.

“She’s strong,” he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the dunes. “Stronger than she realises.”

The wind carried the faint sound of the oasis outside—the soft lap of water, the distant laughter of the villagers, the hum of quiet life continuing beyond the walls. Fenric leaned his elbows on the windowsill and looked toward the horizon, where the dunes curved like gentle waves.

He thought of the elder’s words when they first stepped into his village: The desert does not reveal its purpose at once; it watches, listens, and waits.

He smiled faintly. “You certainly have been watching,” he said to the sands beyond, as if expecting an answer.

A light breeze brushed across Fenric’s cheek.

“We certainly have,” Sahara said quietly from behind him. “She’s looking better. You get some rest too, so you have the energy to see her off.”

Fenric believed her; the colour had returned to Elena’s cheeks. He sat beside the bed, his eyelids heavy, and soon drifted into sleep. As he drifted, Sahara placed a blanket over him.

She gazed out the window as the wind stilled and the sun sank beyond the horizon, the first sunset she’d seen in years. A faint smile touched her lips, and as the light faded, she seemed to disappear with it, slipping quietly into the darkness.

“Have a pleasant rest, tonight will be cold,” she whispered before fully disappearing.

As the golden light dimmed across the walls, Elena stirred faintly—her fingers twitching before her eyelids fluttered open.

“Fenric?”

He was fast asleep. She slowly climbed out of bed and stepped over to the window. A cool breeze brushed across her warm skin, sending a relaxing shiver through her body. Each breath of wind carried away a fragment of exhaustion, easing the aches that lingered beneath her warmth.

Outside, Solkara no longer burned gold. For the first time since her arrival, the desert lay beneath a deep blue sky. Stars glittered like shards of crystal scattered across velvet, their reflections shimmering faintly in the oasis. The dunes seemed softer, less harsh, as though the land itself was exhaling after holding its breath for too long.

Elena pressed her palms to the windowsill and leaned into the breeze. The night wrapped around her gently, and despite the fever’s heat, a quiet peace began to settle through her.

The wind had grown a little colder, so Elena grabbed her blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders as she continued watching the stars flicker in the night sky.

***

As light shone through the window, Fenric slowly opened his eyes and looked where Elena should have been lying.

“My lady!” he blurted.

He searched the room to find her asleep next to the window.

“How is she?” Orren said, stepping into the room.

“Have a look yourself,” Saerin said, pointing at the window.

Elena was kneeling at the window, resting her head and arms on the sill.

“Sahara did a great job; she should return next nightfall,” Orren muttered.

“Huh?” Fenric said.

“It’s nothing,” Saerin said. “When she wakes, bring her down, and we should be set up when she arrives.”

Elena stirred not long after the men left. The warmth of sunlight brushed against her face, softer than before, gentler. She sat up slowly, blinking away the haze of sleep. Her body still felt weak, but the fever had passed, and with it the exhaustion.

The village was quiet when she stepped outside. The morning light shimmered across the dunes, gold spilling into the clear sky. A few villagers nodded as she passed, their eyes kind, as though they already knew this would be her last day among them.

Fenric waited near the courtyard entrance, his cloak already dusted with sand.

“You should still be resting,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice.

“I’ve rested enough,” Elena replied softly. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

He nodded and gestured ahead. The courtyard was exactly as she remembered—the lines she and Orren had drawn now carved deeply into the sand, their shapes glowing faintly beneath the sunlight. Orren and Saerin stood at its edge, waiting.

Sahara’s voice echoed gently in Elena's mind.

“You have healed,” Sahara said calmly. “And I have watched you closely. Now you must show them you can do this alone.”

Elena stepped into the centre of the circle. The patterns beneath her feet pulsed once, like a heartbeat.  She knelt and pressed her palm to the sand.

Orren’s staff tapped lightly beside her.

“Do not force it,” he said. “Gates do not open on command. You must picture the place first.”

“Elena closed her eyes. She thought of the dusty roads, the Lornyth forest, the sound of rivers, and laughter carried through the castle halls. She thought of Elira, Nyra, and everyone dear to her.

A wind rose from the dunes, circling her. The sand stirred, tracing the shape of the gate until the air rippled like heat above a flame.

“Well done,” Orren said softly. “Now, let it see you.”

Elena stood as she lifted her gaze. Light coalesced in front of her, swirling into a tall, shimmering oval. Through it, colours blurred—gold and white, blue and green—fragments of her home fighting to take form.

Fenric stepped forward, awe flickering across his usually calm expression, “My la… I mean… Elena…”

She turned slightly toward him, her voice soft but steady. “It’s Lornyth. I can feel it.”

Orren nodded. “You have opened the way. When you step through, the gate will close slowly.

The wind eased. The gate shimmered brighter, forming its full shape—a clear, golden veil alive with motion. The scent of Lornyth drifted through, blending with the spice of Solkara’s air.

She took one step closer. The golden light rippled, waiting, welcoming. Beyond it lay home… and whatever awaited her return.