-The desert, Western Road-
In the desert, the skirmish was still in full swing. Between blows, Talia saw how the Diviner was dividing her focus between the skirmish and something else. On more than one occasion she had parried or shielded her from a blow that would have hit.
"Get a hold of yourself!" she shouted over the screeching of iron on iron "What is with you?"
The Diviner did not respond right away. Her staff swept low over the battlefield, knocking a few raiders over.
"Something is coming…" The Diviner's voice was but a whisper.
Then she saw it.
At first, Talia thought it was only smoke. But the horizon darkened quickly, the wind rising in a low, growling howl. A haze thickened, swallowing the far ridges. Sand whipped at her face, stinging her eyes.
"Storm!" a soldier cried. "Sandstorm!"
The battlefield dissolved into chaos. Men coughed and cursed, the enemy scattering in half-seen blurs, valuing their lives over loot they made a run for it. Horses shrieked as the wind howled, tearing at banners and cloaks. It was Stonefang that kept them from storming off into the desert. His behavior revealed he had experience in the desert. Using his size, and sometimes his thick fur as protection, he kept the horses together. A desert was no place for a horse to wander about. He already knew the Diviner wanted him to get the horses out of this alive. Switching from predator to herder, he set about guiding them.
The Diviner switched her focus completely to the sandstorm now. In a series of moves, Talia recognised some from her encounter in the alley, she motioned the sand to follow. With the staff in hand, Talia thought it almost looked like a dance. She saw what she was doing though. Through her movements, the sand obeyed and formed a large sphere around them. She used the sand to shield them from the sand. She ended with planting her staff in the earth and stretching her arms as far as she could. The runes in the staff flared violently as the storm's fury broke against the shield, grains of sand sparking like fireflies where they struck the barrier.
But Talia could see the strain immediately. The Diviner's jaw was set, tendons in her hands visible from tension. Her body trembled with each lash of the storm. The runes pulsed erratically, as though the staff too resisted the desert's rage, or felt the strain on the Diviner.
"You can't hold this," Talia shouted over the roar.
The Diviner's blind eyes turned toward her, her face pale with the effort. "I'll hold this as long as I have to. As long as you're still standing."
The words landed like a blow. Talia finally dismounted from her mechanical mount and took a step forward, one hand tightening on her sword, the other on her shield.
"Don't you dare throw yourself away for me—"
A wave surged through the barrier. The Diviner sank to one knee, teeth bared, sand battering against her. Even as her strength faltered, she spread the shield wider, catching soldiers stumbling in the gale, pulling them into their protective bubble with her power.
The storm had already been raging for over an hour, but the Diviner held on, sacrificing herself to hold them together. Talia's chest ached in a way she couldn't name. She had seen soldiers fall, seen comrades bleed, but this was different. This was her. This was her tearing herself to shreds to protect them.
"Diviner!" she barked, kneeling beside her, raising her shield to take some of the storm's sting.
"You don't have to do this alone. I'm not letting you!"
She tried using her light magic to enforce the barrier. But even though she had improved by leaps, she still wasn't ready for something on this scale.
The Diviner's lips curled in a faint, pained smile. "Finally… you see me."
The storm roared louder, but for Talia, the battlefield had gone silent.
The world shrieked around them — a storm of knives in the air, endless, merciless. It had been going on for hours. The Diviner's barrier shuddered, streaks of lightning arcing across it from friction, but then… it steadied. The howling softened, just enough to make the soldiers believe they might survive it. Shapes of men clung to one another within the circle of sand, their faces streaked with grit, their bodies trembling.
And there she was, standing in the middle of it all. Kneeling. Pale. Her shoulders bowed under invisible weight. The Diviner breathed in ragged gasps, sweat and dust streaking her skin. Her blind eyes were open, unblinking, fixed on nothing and everything.
Talia stood beside her, shield still raised, watching the tremor in the woman's hand as she clutched her staff. This was no invincible sorceress holding back the desert. This was someone breaking herself just to keep others safe.
For a fleeting moment, Talia forgot her anger, her rivalry, her defenses. All she saw was the quiet, brutal cost of the Diviner's strength. And it burned in her chest like guilt.
The storm eased further, a strange silence falling. Men dared to breathe.
Someone muttered, "It's passing."
Talia turned, about to steady the Diviner's shoulder—
The world howled again. Louder. Harder. The wall of sand slammed back with twice the fury, shredding the barrier like cloth. The runes in the staff screamed with a piercing note, fractures spiderwebbing across the length of it. The Diviner held back with all her might, trying to hold the barrier up. But it shredded, piece by piece.
She cried out, the sound torn from her throat, as the barrier collapsed inward. The full force of the sandstorm crashed down. Soldiers staggered, raising shields in an attempt to keep themselves safe.
And the Diviner fell, crumpling forward, her staff slipping from her grip.
Talia didn't think. She lunged, catching the woman before she hit the stones. The storm battered against her armor, clawed at her eyes and throat, but she braced herself, planting her feet, raising her shield to cover them both.
"Diviner!" she shouted, voice raw.
No response. Just the faint, uneven breath against her collar.
For the first time since she'd known her, Talia felt panic — sharp, suffocating. This wasn't some untouchable, infuriating rival standing on her own. This was someone broken, someone who had chosen to shatter herself rather than let Talia fall.
And now it was on her.
With a grunt, Talia hauled the Diviner close, shield braced against the screaming wind.
"I've got you," she whispered fiercely, words swallowed by the storm.
"You're not dying here. Not for me."
Her eyes burned, but whether from sand or something deeper, she didn't care. All that mattered was holding the line — her line — until the storm relented.
-Tan'thalon, noble district-
Tan'thalon slept easy behind its walls. The storm in the desert was a distant rumor at best—an inconvenience swallowed by stone and distance. That was what the Arc Wall was for. To keep danger far enough away that it stopped mattering. Most believed it. Those who didn't… chose not to think too hard about it. Far behind that towering shield, in the noble wing of his estate, Eldarion stood alone.His private chamber was a shrine to himself as much as to any god. Martial trophies lined the walls—blades dulled by victory, banners taken and never returned. Between them, carefully placed, were icons of Kaelor, the god of protection. Gold and steel. Faith and force. A champion. A saint. Or so the room insisted. Eldarion stood before a polished bronze mirror, stripped to the waist. His frame was powerful, honed through discipline and pride. Not a scar marked his skin. Not one. Untouched. Untested. He studied himself, a slow, satisfied smile forming. For a moment, it held. Then it broke. His fists slammed against the table.
"She was mine," he muttered, voice tight, fraying at the edges. "Promised. Bound by her parents' word."
His reflection stared back, unchanged.
"And yet every glance—every spark in her eyes—she gives to that blind witch."
His jaw tightened.
"Talia belongs with me. Not… not her."
Silence pressed in.
"How can she choose her over me?"
His hand snapped up, gesturing sharply at the mirror—at himself—before crashing down again. Bronze goblets rattled, one tipping, wine spilling across the table in a dark red streak. And then— A voice. Soft. Close. Too close.
She doubts you. Eldarion stilled. The council doubts you.
The whisper coiled through the air, slick and intimate, as though it had always been there—waiting.
They would sooner kneel before a sightless charlatan than their paladin.
Eldarion's breathing deepened, uneven now. His eyes locked onto his reflection.
"No," he said, low, forcing steadiness into the word. "I am strong. The strongest."
The mirror did not argue.
"I am Tan'thalon's sword," he went on. "They only… forget."
Then remind them.
The voice sharpened, just enough to hook.
Bend their ears. Twist their wills.
His fingers curled against the table's edge.
The council is brittle. Waiting. Waiting for a hand strong enough to shape it.
Images flickered behind his eyes—seats of power, heads bowed, voices silenced.
With Lazulli in your grasp… with the Wardens at your back…
His grip tightened.
None could oppose you.
Names followed, like stones dropped into still water.
Not Maranth. Not Veyra. Not the Diviner.
At that, something flared. Hot. Immediate. Ugly.
"The Diviner poisons her," Eldarion snarled, the restraint cracking. "She turns Talia against me. Hides behind May'jahan's name like it means something." His reflection seemed closer now. Sharper. "She steals what's mine," he hissed. "Makes me look—"
He stopped. The word stuck. The whisper finished it for him.
Weak.
Eldarion's breath hitched.
And weakness cannot rule.
The voice pressed in, firmer now.
Kill her light, Eldarion.
A beat.
And Talia will have no choice but to turn to you.
The words settled deep.
Then you will stand as the city's savior…
A flicker—approval, admiration, everything he wanted.
…while the blind girl lies in the dust.
Eldarion staggered back. Air caught in his lungs, sharp and thin. His gaze snapped to the mirror— and for a heartbeat, it smiled. Not him. Something else. He tore his eyes away, grabbing the nearest goblet and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound cutting through the suffocating quiet.
"No." His voice came rough. Strained. "Not weakness. Never weakness."
He straightened, shoulders squaring, as if posture alone could force the world back into place.
"The council will hear me," he said, louder now. Firmer. "The city will see me." A pause. "And Talia…" His jaw set. "She will be mine."
The words echoed—less certain than he wanted, but standing all the same. He drew in a breath, steadying, gathering himself piece by piece. Resolve settled over him like armor, rigid and unyielding. But the whisper didn't leave. It lingered. Curled. Patient. Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall. As if on que – and in Tan'thalon it actually was. Soft at first—then steady. A quiet hiss against the window. Like applause. Or mockery. In Tan'thalon, it was hard to tell the difference.
-The desert, Western Road-
Back in the desert, the sandstorm roared as if alive, swallowing the world in shrieking fury. Visibility dropped to nothing — soldiers vanished one by one into the churning wall of sand. Their shouts, once near, became muffled echoes, then nothing at all. It was worse than the densest fog Talia had ever witnessed. She had a nightmare like this once, but the real deal was so much worse. Wherever she had exposed skin, it felt like she was being excoriated. Sand crept into the nooks of her armor, making movement feel like wearing sandpaper. She stumbled forward, the Diviner's limp weight over her shoulder, every step an act of defiance against the storm. Her shield took the brunt, but her armor rattled, grains of sand cutting against every seam. She could barely breathe, every gasp choking her lungs with dust.
The glow of Lazulli torches, the silhouettes of comrades — all gone. It was only her now. Her and the Diviner, dragged into the storm's merciless core.
"Hold on," Talia muttered, though she knew the Diviner couldn't hear.
She shifted her weight, gripping the woman's arm tighter around her neck, ignoring the burning protest in her muscles.
"I won't let it take you."
But the storm didn't care. It hit with another furious blast, a hammer of wind and grit that tore her shield arm wide. She staggered to her knees, the Diviner slipping half out of her grasp. Panic flared. She lunged to grab her, pulling the woman back against her chest, curling over her like a shield of flesh and steel. Her thoughts raced.
I can't hold us both. Not like this. I'll—
The next gust rose, shrieking like a thousand voices. Sand crashed over them in a choking wave, and for the first time, Talia truly feared they would be buried alive.
But then—
A spark. A pulse. A trembling vibration against her chest. The Diviner's fingers twitched, brushing weakly against Talia's armor. Her lips moved, cracked and dry, words forming with difficulty but carrying power.
"Down."
Just as soon as Talia had carefully set the fragile woman on her feet, the ground beneath them trembled. The storm slammed down — and broke. A wall of stone thrust up in a jagged arc around them, a cocoon of rock and sand that took the brunt of the fury. Talia's breath caught. The sudden stillness inside the stone shell felt unreal, like they were standing in the hollowed-out lung of the storm itself. She looked down. The Diviner was awake, barely — blind eyes fluttering open, pale face strained, every muscle taut with effort.
"You—" Talia started, only to swallow the knot in her throat.
She had no words for the mix of fear, awe, and… something else clawing through her. The Diviner's head tipped against her shoulder, her body trembling but her lips curving in the faintest, defiant smile.
"Told you… not… helpless."
Then she sagged again, body limp but breathing, leaving Talia alone with the weight of her and the storm pounding just beyond their fragile stone shield.
The world outside their stone shell raged on for what felt like hours. The storm pounded and tore, every blast rattling their fragile haven as if determined to break through. Sand seeped through cracks in thin streams, pooling around their knees. Talia held on, one hand braced against the trembling wall, the other clutching the Diviner against her chest. Every time the wall shuddered, her grip tightened. Her arms burned, her legs ached, but she refused to let go. She tried not to think about how still the woman was in her arms. Tried not to think about how close she had come to losing her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, louder than the storm.
Until finally—silence.
It came suddenly, so abrupt it felt unnatural. The howling was gone, leaving only the soft hiss of settling sand. The air tasted stale, heavy with dust, but the crushing pressure lifted. Talia dared a breath. She shifted carefully, easing the Diviner's limp form against the wall, brushing grit from her pale face. The blind woman stirred faintly, lips parting with a shallow exhale. Alive.
Relief flooded Talia so sharply she nearly laughed, though it came out as a choked sound instead. She sat back hard against the wall, head tipping up toward the cracked ceiling of their earthen cage. She didn't notice it yet, but parts of their cage looked an awful lot like the walls of an old building. For the first time since the fighting began, she let herself feel it—the raw, shuddering terror that had driven her forward. Not of the storm. Not of the enemy. But of losing her. She glanced down. The Diviner's hair clung damply to her temples, her face pale but composed even in exhaustion. Somehow, even unconscious, she looked steady, untouchable—everything Talia wasn't right now.
"Damn you," Talia whispered, fingers curling into fists against her knees. "Damn you for doing this to me."
Outside, the storm had passed. But inside, in the quiet of their fragile cocoon, a different storm raged on.