MIDAS

Making sure the triple knot sat tightly, Graf grasped the two rugged ends of the old rope, pulling on them as he heard the fibers crunch together. Standing up from behind one of the many sandstone pillars, the driver looked back at the six young men he had bound tightly onto the stone.

Iyana quietly observed the older man, resting on her knees, bandaging Midas's arm, her view grazing from Midas's back to Haya's, both of them carefully resting against the many sandstone bricks that made up the remains of a seemingly important building, its height reaching much higher than the few huts surrounding it.

Midas closely watched Inaya apply the red paste onto his bruises, two major dark spots marking his lower arm and shoulder, both placed on his right arm, rendering it now completely useless. His eyes watched closely as her fingertips ran up and down his skin, sometimes glancing up to her metal mask.

The young girl excitedly ran around the strapped group of young men, Graf glancing at her with annoyance as he was overwhelmed with her speeding from left to right, taking his focus off the strapped-down men in front of them.

„Did the man in black cloth really bleed out…?" Midas asked hesitantly, his gaze following the light movements of the young girl. Looking back to Haya, him touching his right cheek lightly, his lips distorting in pain. „Who was that anyway..." He mumbled to himself.

„He belonged to a different clan of dune wanderers… I, who follow the southern faith of the sun, differ quite gravely from their kind." Her hands stopped as she spoke with a lowered voice, her head moving up the remaining walls of the destructed building.

„I am not sure, but the people wearing black and red emerged shortly after our kind migrated out to the northern half of the dunes..."

„This building was one of their many remains... A Sabahr'Kifar. A place of worship… Built by my people to bring offerings to the sun." She tightened the bandage wrapping up Midas' right arm completely; the red paste emitted a faint spicy smell from it. Midas felt a slight undertone of sadness in her voice; not able to share the same feeling for the wreckage of the building, he wondered what it looked like before it was destroyed.

"Before they overwhelmed us three, I paid my respect to it. It may be for nothing, a gesture too late... But I tried my best to honor those who used this house for our beliefs. I prayed and gave the only offering I had on me." Her head sunk down again; during her speech, Midas glanced at a fractured stone slab in the back of what used to be a great hall. The stone emerged from the sand that found its way through the creeks and holes of the ravaged building, reminding the boy of the many ruins on the outskirts of the fort, even though the many bricks used differed quite sharply in size. On top of it lay a lonely piece of bread, delivered by her to be offered to the sun.

"So is that why you just wandered around here—aimlessly striving around a village you never even saw...?" Graf remarked, angered at the fact he had to risk his life because of her selfless act, his finger directly pointed at her, risking turning away from the group. "I won't give my life for some god I never even saw... Do you hear me?" His shrill tone resounded from the pillars, which only a few of them held up the broken roof of the building, the sun's light shining against the enchained men.

"And you... Never make me do that again! I'm not a bender—never will I use a stone like that for fighting... How do you even make such a way of using its power...? Did Alma teach you?" Midas's brows sharpened as he lightly laid his hand on his bandaged arm. Even though his idea proved to be working, Graf seemed furious at the fact he was used in such a way; the boy risked a look at Iyana, her fingers clutching the light brown robe covering her. "He didn't; I saw him use the sun shard in a familiar way... So I wondered if you were able to do so too. We can be lucky to have you and Haya around." Saying this, the reminder of Graf having the free will to decide if he gets to go with him for longer appeared in his head, paining him to speak up.

The loud rambling finally awoke some of the strapped-down men, their feet instinctively crouching up as their eyes shot up to the bald head of the driver, the movements of the rope alarming him. "You beat him...?" one uttered, his shoulders moving, trying to free himself. "Leave already; we don't have anything. These Northerners took all of our goods a sun cycle before you appeared..." Another said, his gaze shifting to the side, seemingly defeated. 

"Is the city of Alquazar reachable again...?" Graf asked, crouching to the group of men, his view over them not directed to a specific person, yet sharp, his questioning was much more directer, Midas was dimmly supriced at the shift of his tone. 

"The city is a battlefield at the moment—dune wanderers from the east fled here because of the storm's expansion along the coast... The great migration to it alerted northern troops; now your kind is scattered all around this region." A third replied, murmuring in a tone void of any hope. "I told you—working with an easterner never works out... Those barbaric, faithless people blinded you to believe their lies." He turned to the other few strapped around the pillar, his head sinking more with every word spoken.

"So that bastard made you work for him..." Graf spoke as he stood up, pausing for a while before his hand found its grip on the handle of the short dagger, his eyes looking down on the defeated men before vanishing behind the pillar.

"We were forced to—he promised us water and food—things we desperately need. The dry period in this great sun cycle is lasting much longer than the cycles that came before; we had no other option as our hunger forced us to stay in this village." One replied, his gaze not able to follow Grafs movements, his tired eyes opening, as their shoulders found freedom to move again. "You let us live?" Another amongst them mumbled.

"Well... I'm in the same situation as you are; our rations are running thin as well. Many of us are injured as well... I will let you leave if you let us leave in peace." The driver tucked his blade under his belt again, stepping away from the pillar as he watched the children get up to their feet, the windswept hall muted with his motion, leaving the men behind. Getting up still slightly cautious, freeing each other from the tight grip of the rope, some of them looked back at the group as they wandered down the broad street, not able to thank them for the act of kindness.

"Where do we head to then? The farther we go north, the less knowledge about the sands I have..." Haya asked, scratching behind his ear as he finally got to rest on the hay again, hiding Grafs blade for him. His tone appearing much dimmer, as he looked to his burst-up knuckles, the skin covering them roughed up harshly. 

"Well, we only have so many options; there was a temporary camp set up by a small northern regiment. They probably used it to stash soldiers for invading neighboring cities as well as preparing for the invasion of the northern fort... I wouldn't be too surprised if all—or at least most of them—are already gone by the time we arrive there." Graf sat in his seat broadly, the sun shard placed in his necklace flickering slightly, as he closed his lids to think, his bald head sinking, before finally facing away from the group that sat behind him.

The only one unchanged by the events was the mute girl, her body lying on top of the scattered hay without any care. Midas was only able to watch, his gaze often wandering down towards the rust flakes that sat atop the darkened metal forming the sickle's blade. The tool rested on his lap, and Midas grasped the loose wooden handle, unsure how long it would take until his right arm completely healed up. By the time, Midas was sure that Haya had used mana, somehow accumulating it in his fingers, the powers of his blows being viable evidence for it.

As the carriage began to slide along the grains, silence spanned through the group, the howling winds reminding him of the goal he originally had set himself. If Midas actually wanted to use Almas's shard or learn Hayas's technique, he had to focus on his mana flow. The boy forced himself to finally shut his eyes, the darkness making his dry eyes slightly tear up, as his iris was freed from the burning brightness of the sun.