The night was cold and endless, the kind of cold that wasn't just air against skin but a presence that crept into bone and stayed there. The White Desert sprawled around them in every direction, a sea of pale dunes shifting like a living thing under the silver light of the moon. The stars burned faintly overhead, distant and uncaring.
A small fire cracked and spat in the sand, the only island of warmth in an ocean of silence.
Cidolfus sat on the far side of the flames, his black cloak wrapped tight though it did little against the chill. His arm still ached from the fight earlier that night. Clain rested across his knees, the black-steel blade catching faint flickers of firelight. The edge was still stained with the drying blood of men he had cut down. He hadn't cleaned it—not yet. It felt wrong to wash away the last proof of what had happened in Moonlight.
Across from him, Emily huddled beneath a thin cloak. Her small frame seemed even smaller now, her shoulders hunched, knees pulled to her chest. She had stopped crying hours ago, but her eyes were red, her cheeks raw from tears. The silence stretched too long, until even the crackle of the fire felt unbearably loud.
"Can we even survive without Mom and Dad?" she whispered at last, her voice so soft it nearly vanished into the desert wind.
Cid didn't answer immediately. He stared into the flames, caught between the present and the screaming echoes of the village. The smell of burning wood was too close to the smell of burning thatch. His jaw tightened.
"We will," he said finally, his voice quiet but certain. "That's what they would've wanted."
Emily's gaze flicked toward the dunes, toward the endless dark. "This is the most dangerous place in the Middle Lands. Everyone says so. There are monsters here, Cid. Real ones. Things that—"
"I don't care if it's soldiers, monsters, or even the gods themselves," he cut in. His tone sharpened, not in anger but in promise, words carved deep like stone. "No one's touching you. You hear me, Emy? You're all I've got left. I won't let anyone hurt you."
Her breath caught, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "Promise me you'll protect yourself too. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to lose you, Cid. I can't lose you too."
He looked at her then—at her hair fallen loose from its braid, the tremor in her lips, the stubborn spark still buried in her gaze despite everything. His tone softened. "I promise, Emy. I'll protect you, and I'll survive. I swear it."
She shifted closer, resting her head against his side, her face turned toward the fire. Within minutes her breathing slowed, light and steady in sleep.
But Cid didn't sleep. His eyes stayed on the horizon, fingers resting on Clain's hilt. The desert was too quiet. He thought about his father's voice, the rules Charlie had drilled into him, and the weight of the sword now his alone.
"We have to go east," he murmured, almost too low to hear. "It's our only chance."
That was when he heard it.
A sound, faint but wrong. Not the hiss of wind or the shifting sigh of sand. This came from below—deep, heavy—like something vast was moving under their feet. His mother's old warnings surfaced in his mind: stories of predators older than kingdoms, the things that tunneled beneath the White Desert.
"Emy," he said, calm but urgent. "Wake up."
She stirred, rubbing her eyes. "What…?"
"We have to go. Now."
She sat up groggily, confused—then the ground split beneath them.
A monstrous head erupted from the sand, scattering fire and embers. Four black eyes gleamed in the moonlight above a maw lined with jagged stone teeth. Two horns curved back over its skull, ridged like the spine of a mountain.
The Mersomufs.
Emily's scream tore through the night.
"Run!" Cid shouted, shoving her away from the collapsing sand. "Don't stop until I call for you!"
"But—what about you?!"
"I'll fight it! I'll be fine—now go!"
She didn't want to, but instinct drove her. She ran.
The Mersomufs surged forward, the desert quaking beneath its bulk. Cid moved with it, circling wide, eyes searching for weakness. His father's voice whispered in his mind: the legs, the underbelly, the throat.
It struck faster than he expected. A swipe of its claw flung him aside like a rag doll. Pain exploded in his arm; a crack echoed in his head. He forced himself upright, teeth gritted.
"Cid!" Emily's scream carried across the dunes.
"I can't die here," he rasped, gripping Clain tighter. "I promised her."
The monster lunged. This time he slipped aside, ducking under its swing. Clain flashed, biting deep into its front leg.
The beast roared, stumbling.
"Fast enough now, are you?!"
Another strike—second leg torn. Dark blood hissed as it soaked into the sand. The Mersomufs collapsed, screeching. Cid ran up its lowered neck, every step burning his muscles. With a roar, he brought Clain down in a two-handed arc.
The blade split deep.
The creature shuddered once. Then stilled.
Emily skidded to a halt beside him. "Cid!" She dropped to her knees. "You're hurt!"
"I'm fine," he lied.
"You're not. Sit down." She tugged at his arm despite his protests. "Mom taught me enough—hold still."
He tried to stay upright, tried to keep his eyes open, but exhaustion crashed over him. He collapsed in her arms.
"Cid!" she cried—then realized he was only unconscious.
Her small hands worked quickly, wrapping cloth around his worst wounds. With the fire gone, she dragged him back to the meager shelter of their packs, her slight frame trembling with effort but refusing to give in.
By morning, he woke to the faint smell of cooked meat.
"Emy?" he croaked.
"Good—you're awake." Emily sat by the rekindled fire, grimacing at the spit. "It smells horrible. But it's food."
Cid sat beside her, steadier now. "Thanks, Emy. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd probably be dead," she said flatly. Then, after a pause, softer: "But you look better."
He managed a small smile. "You know I heal fast."
Her brows furrowed. "Too fast. Faster than you should. That's not normal, Cid."
He looked away, expression tightening. "Maybe it's better not to know why—as long as it helps us survive." But inside, doubt gnawed at him. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand the curse that marked him, and what it was turning him into.
Before they left, he cut a shard from the Mersomufs' horn and tied it to his belt—proof of his first true kill.
"We've got a long way to go," he said.
One and a half years later…