The herald now stood before the Desert Fangs, his posture impeccable, his expression calm but authoritative, exuding formality and control. His gaze swept over the group with unwavering focus.
"Good day, Desert Fangs. Your timely arrival is noted. As you are likely aware, there has been another incident involving unidentified individuals entering the Land of Armagh. The king has assigned you to address this matter directly.
"You are to proceed to the docks at the southern edge of the desert. Observers have reported a vessel anchored along the barren coast of the island. Your objectives are as follows; conduct a thorough reconnaissance of the area, ascertain the nature and intent of these individuals, and submit a detailed report upon your return."
"Exercise caution and maintain operational discipline; engagement is secondary to accurate assessment. The security of the kingdom and the success of this mission depend upon your professionalism and vigilance."
Rhyven stepped forward, raising a hand slightly, his brow furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "And once we confirm whether they are hostile or not?" he asked, his voice measured, reflecting the seriousness of the mission.
The herald's gaze shifted to him, unwavering, his expression remaining calm and composed. "If they are deemed hostile, neutralize the threat with minimal risk to yourselves and the surrounding area. Capture if possible, eliminate only if necessary. If they are not hostile, ensure they are monitored and escorted safely away, and document all relevant details for the king's review. Discretion and precision are paramount. Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of nods followed, the Desert Fangs understanding the weight of the responsibility entrusted to them.
As the Desert Fangs dispersed slightly, murmurs filled the back of the group. One member, shifting his weight from foot to foot, whispered, "I just hope it's not some trap… last time we got sent out, we barely made it back." Another chuckled nervously, "Yeah, and who knows what kind of trouble a mysterious ship is bringing to the desert coast?"
Zevros, standing a little apart, frowned and folded his arms, his voice carrying over the low chatter. "I don't understand," he said, directing his question to no one in particular. "If these people aren't hostile, why are we supposed to assist them? Escorting strangers we don't even know—how does that serve the kingdom?"
A few members glanced at him, some shrugging, others looking uneasy. The herald's presence remained imposing in the distance, but the weight of Zevros' question lingered, unanswered, as the group readied themselves for the journey ahead.
The herald's eyes swept over the group, settling briefly on Zevros before he spoke, his tone calm but firm.
"Your concern is understandable," he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs. "Even if these individuals are not hostile, your assistance serves a vital purpose. First, it ensures the safety of those who may be unaware of the dangers present in this region. Unattended strangers in the desert can fall victim to natural hazards, pirates, or worse—threats we cannot ignore."
"Second, by providing guidance or escort, you maintain the kingdom's reputation for order and vigilance. The king expects that any unknown presence within our lands is monitored and, if necessary, managed carefully. Lastly, these missions are an opportunity for you to gather intelligence: even those who appear harmless may carry knowledge, connections, or items that could prove crucial in future operations."
"In short, your role is both protective and preventive. You act not only to safeguard the kingdom but to anticipate threats before they materialize. Does that clarify your duty?"
Zevros and the others exchanged glances, the reasoning settling in, giving weight to the importance of their mission beyond mere combat.
Zevros straightened slightly, his voice firm but edged with concern. "Do we have any idea how many of them there are? How many were spotted on that vessel?"
The herald's expression remained calm and authoritative. "Their exact numbers are unknown at this time. Observers report some activity aboard the ship, though it appears relatively small—likely a single crew or just a handful of individuals. Exercise caution. Even a few can pose a serious threat if underestimated."
The Desert Fangs nodded in unison, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they prepared to move toward the southern docks with heightened vigilance.
Rhyven shifted his stance, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Honestly… I don't really see why we should bother with this. Feels like a waste of time."
The herald's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone sharpening as he prepared to respond. "Discretion and duty—"
"I'll still do it," Rhyven cut him off firmly, raising a hand to stop the interruption. "I get it. We carry out the mission. No complaints."
The herald's expression softened only slightly, acknowledging Rhyven's resolve, while the rest of the Desert Fangs remained silent, understanding the tension between duty and personal inclination.
The herald's gaze swept over the group, his expression settling back into calm authority. "Good," he said, his voice steady. "I'm glad to see your resolve. You have your orders—proceed immediately. The docks await, and time is of the essence. Move out."
With that, the Desert Fangs straightened, adjusting their gear and preparing themselves. The tension of the mission hung in the air, but the group began to move, leaving the herald behind as they set their course for the southern edge of the desert.
Just as the group began to shift into motion, Rhyven raised his hand once more, his brow furrowed with thought. "One more question," he said, his voice carrying a mix of caution and curiosity.
The Desert Fangs paused, glancing toward him as he continued. "Why exactly should we head out into the desert… in the middle of a sandstorm like this? Seems reckless, even for a mission."
The herald's eyes narrowed slightly, his calm demeanor unwavering as he prepared to address the concern.
The herald's gaze sharpened, his voice calm but edged with authority. "Asking questions like that isn't your concern. Your duty is to hunt down threats in the dunes, regardless of the hazards. Sandstorms, shifting terrain, or whatever the desert throws at you—it is your responsibility to navigate them. That is why you were chosen for this mission; because you are the ones capable of acting where others cannot, striking where enemies are difficult to track or stop."
The Desert Fangs absorbed his words in silence, the weight of their responsibility pressing down as the roaring winds of the desert beyond the city walls seemed to echo the peril that awaited them.
The herald's expression darkened slightly, his voice growing colder and sharper. "Let me be clear," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Refusal to carry out this mission, or failure to do so, will not be overlooked. Those who neglect their duty risk severe reprimand at the very least, and at worst… removal from service."
"The kingdom depends on the Desert Fangs to act where others cannot. Hesitation or disobedience in the face of danger puts countless lives at risk—not just your own, but travelers, civilians, and the stability of the region itself. You were chosen because you are capable. Do not mistake this for a request; it is an order, and the consequences of ignoring it will be yours alone."
A tense silence fell over the group, the gravity of the herald's words settling over them as the desert wind howled beyond the city walls.
Rhyven closed his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath, his features settling into a calm, serious expression. "Yeah… yeah… yeah," he murmured, almost to himself, as if reaffirming his resolve.
A murmur passed through the group, but the herald's gaze stayed steady, waiting for him to continue. Rhyven opened his eyes, meeting the herald's stare. "Still… we weren't exactly meant to work for the kingdom. Desert Fangs were supposed to be lone hunters, roaming the dunes on our own terms. Not… royal pawns."
Zevros, standing nearby, shifted uneasily, his hands tightening slightly at his sides. "That… that was my decision," he said quietly, almost defensively. "I chose to align us with the kingdom's orders. We still act as hunters, yes—but under the king's authority now."
The group fell silent again, tension mingling with reluctant acceptance as the wind outside carried the distant roar of the sandstorm.
Rhyven shifted his weight slightly, his tone calm but firm. "I still don't see us as pawns," he said, eyes cool and measured. "Being under the king's orders doesn't change the fact that we're hunters. It was smart of Shanya to leave our old group intact—kept us free of politics and nonsense."
Zevros narrowed his eyes, his voice steady but carrying a subtle edge of frustration. "Freedom only gets you so far, Rhyven. Shanya messed up by leaving us to her own devices. She'll regret those choices. Aligning with the kingdom ensures we're not ignored when it matters, and it gives us resources we wouldn't have alone."
Rhyven smirked slightly, almost amused. "Maybe. But I'd rather rely on skill and instinct than some crown's idea of 'resources.' Power isn't in bureaucracy—it's in what we can do ourselves. That's what Shanya understood, and that's why she left us that choice."
Zevros crossed his arms, exhaling slowly. "Choice or not, we still have a mission now. Whether you like it or not, we follow the orders—and I expect you to keep up."
Rhyven's eyes glinted with quiet defiance, but he nodded once, accepting the reality without surrendering his principles. "I'll keep up. Doesn't mean I'll forget what we are, though."
A tense calm settled over the group, the wind outside howling like the desert itself was listening.
Rhyven lingered a step behind the group, his voice falling to a low, intense whisper, meant only for himself. "It's better to work for ourselves… to go wherever we want, hunt where we choose," he murmured, eyes narrowing as they scanned the endless dunes. "No royal orders, no politics dictating our moves. Just us… free. That's how we're meant to live—no strings, no one telling us what's right or wrong. Freedom is the only thing that matters."
His words carried a quiet fire, almost tangible in the way he breathed them out. The wind swallowed his voice, leaving him alone with the desert, yet the conviction in his tone painted a picture of a man who thrived on autonomy, who valued independence above all else.
To be continued..