MIDAS

"What exactly does that mean?" Midas turned back to Graf, unsure of what he was implying with his remark. Grasping the wooden support nailed onto the back of his sledge, keeping the hay from falling over it when driving.

Graf stayed silent for a while, watching the group of children run into the wide street that bisected the tiny village, bleak sandstone buildings making up the majority of it. "I might be wrong when I tell you this—From what I know, that place lies on the eastern bay. The way there is quite far; from the edge of the dunes, you'll have to go around a major mountain range, which keeps the storm to the east from passing the desert..." Stepping down from the sledge, he raspily described a rough way the boy must take.

"This university... Is it on the way there?" Midas watched Graf slowly stretch, his eyes not leaving his shiny forehead until the driver grabbed his wooden sandals; the wooden boards sunk into the sand softly as he equipped them, his bodyweight pressing them down. Midas looked down at his fingers, vain in color, seeming much thicker than usual.

"There are multiple you could visit—the one I suggested lies in the west, so you most likely will need to backtrack the path you'll take to it." Sticking his hand in a bundle of hay, roughly being the place Haya sat on, Graf fished a tiny dagger out from the dry grass before nodding with his head, suggesting Midas follow. "Now, since many decide to seek to go to this school, a real transport service has been established by multiple people, waiting for the wave of southerners to arrive on the border... You should use these." Graf tucked his short blade under his belt, Midas following him as he held onto his numbed hand. 

Midas watched closely, his eyes fixated on the leather sheath in which the blade rests, Graf hiding it beneath his thin white garn, the man wore around his neck to protect him from the stinging sunlight. The boy was quick to match the pace of the man, his uncertain view crossing from left to right into the many dark windows of the simple sandstone huts, his eyes aching to find someone peek from the frameless windows.

The place seemed much more barren than the few other settlements Midas saw; hollow mud pots and other dishes were scattered around the big walkway, some halfway swallowed by the sand. "Is that blade for your protection? This village seems to be completely empty..." The boy uttered, his voice travelling to Graf, without risking a glance away at the houses.

"Yeah—who knows? I wouldn't be surprised if this village was raided... The northern troops tend to do that after all. I once saw it happen with my own eyes—they take their food and water without a second thought... That's especially deadly for these people when the dry season arrives." Graf, seemingly weighed down by an unseeable weight, hid one of his hands under his cloth, sounding a dry reply as the wind blew against their backs. "Who knows who or what these brats alerted with their playing—I don't like this one bit." The driver hissed to himself.

A shrill scream, as if summoned by the stress of the two, sounded through the village. Roughly emerging from a broader building at the end of the pathway, it didn't take long for the both to arrive. Midas's gaze widened, alerted, his grip onto his right hand tightening as Graf was already prepared to slash someone down with his dagger. As the both of them arrived, they saw a broad man stand in front of Haya, turning to the two of them as Midas got the chance of mustering him.

Unlike the other robed men he saw, this one was different, keeping the usual features of a metal mask and a cloth hood covering him, even though the robe was much more ripped apart, not even able to extend past his shoulder, stained in black. The metal hiding his face was tainted in red color, with extorted lines of striking color stretching across it. His arms and stomach were exposed, his skin poking through the loose cloth he wore. The broad stance he took when he laid eyes on Graf matched with his look perfectly; even though he barely was taller than the driver, his chin was held high up to the sky.

"Finally—he showed up! Surround him!" Stretching out his broad arms, the man chanted loudly, his words muffled by the metal, which were enough to cause turmoil in the surrounding huts. People, unclothed and most sunburnt, only equipped with old leather or stained bandages, filled up the broad walkway behind Midas, a group of roughly 5-7 men, mostly younger adults holding out long sticks or rusted farming utensils out to them. "I knew you fool would finally arrive here; I just had to make that girl scream for me..." 

Laying eyes on Haya, Midas saw him crouch down to Inaya, bowing over her, making him wonder what their enemy did to the girl. However, his daydreaming was interrupted by the salesman, touching shoulders with him while holding his blade out at the man in black. Midas turned around to face the group of seven, protecting Grafs's back. "You have a sunstone, right? Use it to bend the sand..." The boy uttered as his left hand stretched out to find something useful to protect himself with.

"You idiot, do you think I can do something like that? My mana capabilities only suffice for riding sledges—that's it! I don't bend..." His teeth fletching as he watched the masked brawler slowly grasp his wooden club from his back, hissing at Midas. "Haya, get your ass up already...!" He screamed at the boy, his voice howling against his enemy, his grasp shaking as he gave command. The group of youths splitting up to target both of them, three of them heading towards Midas.

Trusting Haya unconditionally, he turned his back towards the brawler as he managed to cut through the wooden stick of one of the young men, kicking him to the ground as he clashed his blade against the rusted steel of an old hoe. Slowly getting up to his feet, watching Midas run to the left, Haya dashed towards the back of the broad man, his fingers curling into each other without forming a fist, as he pressed his knuckles into the unprotected calf of the brawler. Making him tumble easily, not watching as he fell face flat into the sand, as he dashed off towards Midas, using the same method to immobilize one of the young men.

Midas didn't wait long, finally able to grasp something to use as one of them fell, outpacing the overwhelmed two, running back behind Haya to grab a rusty sickle that was dropped by the immobilized foe. His grip uncertain, he coordinated with Haya as best as possible; unable to use his right hand to support his stability on the clunky weapon, Midas tried his best to avoid being hit by the metal, being hit on his right shoulder by one of the swings.

Shook by the pain lightly, Midas tried to not care about being hit, as his right hand rendered useless in a fight. His entire set of fingers paralyzed and bloated, he wasn't able to do anything with it. Looking at his enemy dash towards him, the metal piece of his crude weapon behind his head to swing once more, Midas risked his slim advantage of being able to theoretically take in any hit with his right arm, dashing into the enemy, their weapons exchanging hits, the boy's loose swing proving to be effective as the young man began to scream, falling into the ground as splatters of blood escaped from his stomach.

Midas wasn't able to watch him crouch up onto the sand once he fell, busy with taking in the pain of suffering a complete swing against his upper forearm. Joining his foe in crouching together on the grains of sand, groaning to himself while holding onto the spot. His thoughts dashing between not taking away Hayas's attention from aiding Graf and the sheer luck it took for him to land such an effective slash, his eyes wrinkling at the numbing pain while his groans escaped flashed sets of teeth.

Haya was quick to render the third one unable to move with quickness, using his knuckles to press deeply into the muscle fibers of their unprotected enemies, joining in on Grafs fight as the last one of the four, which the driver had to face, fell. Balancing on his club before finally raising his body completely, the man shrouded in torn black cloth screamed in anger, his roar similar to a beast, angered to be struck so sneakily from behind, only to look at his company to be beat up as he finally gets his footing back.

As the duo of Graf and Haya prepared, their daggers held up in front, their flat hands directing their knuckles towards the leader of the enemy force, they prepared for his attack. Midas clutched onto his arm in pain as he haltingly began to find stability onto his feet, his left hand grasping the grip of his rosted sickle before laying eyes on the mask of the enemy.

"I will make your kind pay for what you did to Jah'Gul..." The brawler snorted.