After scavenging a few meager supplies from the high mountain peaks, Lucius paused to consult his tattered map. The reality of his situation was grim: he was trapped on the edge of a desolate wasteland. To reach the southern sea and escape this barren expanse, he would need to march straight south for at least twenty days. His master's parting advice echoed in his mind—to travel southeast toward Solvania, a rare beacon of civilization and economic prosperity ruled by King Arthur. In a world where order had collapsed into barbarism and only a handful of true kingdoms remained, Solvania was a dream of peace. Yet, Lucius was stubborn; he set his sights on the southern horizon and prepared to move.
With his loyal dog, Hero, at his heel, Lucius checked his compass and began the descent into the dunes. The transition from mountain air to desert wind was brutal. The morning gusts were sharp and frigid, biting at his exposed skin until he wrapped his face in a heavy cloth. They marched into the "straight lands," a world composed of nothing but undulating mountains of sand that stretched to the very edge of the sky. By the time the sun climbed to its zenith, the cold had been replaced by a scorching heat that made movement impossible. Finding a rare outcropping of stone that offered a sliver of shade, Lucius decided to make camp and wait out the midday fire.
While the desert simmered around them, Lucius set about preparing a meal. He butchered a chicken he had carried from the mountains, skewering the meat for a makeshift barbecue while simmering mushrooms and wild leaves into a thin, earthy soup. The aroma began to fill the small canyon of rocks, but Hero was not interested in the food. The dog suddenly stood, hackles raised, barking fiercely at a human shadow cast against the tall stones above. Lucius grabbed his hilt and scanned the ridges, but the shadow vanished as quickly as a mirage. Finding no one, he allowed his guard to drop. They ate their fill and, exhausted by the morning trek, fell into a deep, rhythmic sleep as the sun began its slow descent.
The lapse in vigilance proved nearly fatal. Lucius was jolted from his dreams by the frantic, guttural barking of Hero. He scrambled to his feet, but he was already surrounded. Ten bandits, their faces weathered and cruel, stood in a semicircle, each brandishing a heavy machete. Lucius drew his sword, the steel singing as he prepared to defend his life. He fought with desperation, Hero snapping at the heels of the attackers to keep them at bay. However, as Lucius engaged the men in front of him, a bandit circled behind and brought a heavy blunt object down on his skull. The world shattered into darkness. As he spiraled into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was the fading, desperate howl of his dog.
While unconscious, Lucius slipped into a vivid dream of his youth. He saw himself as a young boy sitting beside his master on a lush, green hillside. His master was patient, guiding his small hands to perfect the arc of a wooden training sword. It was a memory of safety and purpose. Suddenly, the image of his master fractured, replaced by Hero's face. The dog was licking his cheek and barking with an urgency that pierced the veil of sleep.
Lucius groaned, his head throbbing with a rhythmic heat. He opened his eyes to find himself face-down in the sand. He wobbled to his feet, his vision blurring. The realization hit him like a physical blow: the bandits had taken everything. His food, his supplies, and the rare artifacts he had collected on the trail—items that would have fetched a fortune in a civilized market—were gone. Worst of all, they had stolen his sword. It was more than a weapon; it was a gift from his master, a symbol of his protection and his honor. Now, he stood in the middle of a desert with no food, no money, and no means of defense, save for the dog standing faithfully by his side.
Disappointment in himself tasted more bitter than the desert dust. He had failed his master's legacy. However, there was no time for mourning. Though the shifting sands had swallowed the bandits' footprints, Hero began to wag his tail, sniffing the air with intent before bolting toward the east. Lucius followed, his body aching with every step.
By dusk, they reached a small, dilapidated town tucked into a rocky crevice. It was a lawless place, consisting of barely ten sun-bleached houses. Lucius commanded Hero to stay hidden on the outskirts, knowing a dog would draw too much attention. He slipped into the town under the cover of twilight, finding the local tavern overflowing with the worst dregs of the wasteland: bounty hunters, thieves, and murderers.
Scanning the room from the shadows of the doorway, he spotted his mark. One of the ten bandits was sitting at a corner table, his master's sword leaning carelessly against the bench. Lucius waited with the patience of a predator. When the bandit finally stumbled out of the bar into the dark, narrow alleyway, Lucius followed. With a heavy stone gripped in his hand, he struck from the darkness, catching the man behind the ear. The bandit fell cold. Reclaiming his sword and fastening it to his waist, Lucius felt a surge of renewed strength. He didn't stay to scavenge the rest; he retreated to Hero and disappeared back into the dunes.
The night was unforgiving. Without blankets or a tent, the pair marched until they could no longer keep their eyes open. They found a patch of hard-packed earth where the sand was thin and huddled together for warmth, using their body heat to stave off the freezing desert night. Lucius lay awake for a long time, thinking of his lost fortune. The life savings he had intended to use to build a home in Solvania were gone, likely spent on ale and gambling by now. He was starting from zero.
By morning, hunger was no longer a dull ache; it was a sharp, demanding roar. They were dehydrated and starving. Lucius knew that if they didn't find sustenance before the sun reached its peak, they wouldn't survive the day. They ran through the sand, driven by pure survival instinct, until Lucius spotted a movement in the distance. A wild goat was picking at a dry shrub near a cluster of rocks.
It was their last hope. Lucius signaled to Hero, and the two split up, moving with a silence born of desperation. Hero circled around to the opposite side of the goat, while Lucius crouched low behind a ridge. On his command, Hero burst from the shadows, barking and snapping. Terrified, the goat bolted directly toward Lucius's hiding spot. As the animal leapt past, Lucius lunged with a primal cry, catching one of its powerful hind legs. The goat kicked violently, nearly breaking his grip, but Lucius refused to let go. He wrestled the animal to the ground and, with a swift motion of his reclaimed sword, secured their future.
Covered in blood and gasping for air, Lucius collapsed beside the carcass. He looked at Hero, then at the sword at his side, and finally toward the southern horizon. The journey was far from over, and the desert remained a cruel master, but for the first time since the ambush, Lucius felt he might actually survive to see the sea.