When the second-brightest Star of the autumn night rose into the sky, Mahazar pushed himself up from the sand.
The sand still held the leftover warmth of the day, faintly hot to the touch, but that was nothing to the Sand Thieves.
The movements of the King of the Sand Thief seemed to ripple through every Sand Thief nearby, making them rise to their feet one after another. No one spoke in the darkness; their gestures were silent and desolate, leaving only pairs of glowing eyes, fixed on the blaze of lights in the distance.
"It's time."
Mahazar mounted his lizard.
The Curved Blade and Ring Armor clinked against each other on the man's body, and his calloused hands felt the familiar texture of the reins—the flickering images of plunder and Combat had pierced through every Sand Thief's life, yet never before had any raid awakened their buried ambition and bloodlust as this one did.
