Thus we resumed our journey toward Arpa once more, departing from Gesri with renewed purpose and determination. This time, our expedition felt considerably more prepared than it had at any previous point in our travels. We had adequate supplies, proper equipment for desert crossing, and clear objectives guiding our path forward.
We slowly entered the desert proper, leaving behind the last outpost of civilization and venturing into territory that operated under entirely different rules than the settled lands we had grown accustomed to. From this point onward, we were truly alone in this vast sea of sand—isolated from the normal support structures and infrastructure that characterized more populated regions.
Well, not entirely alone, I corrected myself. Several other caravans had joined our party from the rear, taking advantage of the security our large military escort provided. The merchant group that had attached itself to our expedition wasn't particularly large, Arvid had explained when I asked about the additional travelers. There were approximately fifteen merchants total, along with their hired drivers and assistants. They had brought ten caravans laden with various goods they intended to sell in southern markets. According to what Arvid had learned, this merchant company had originated in Gorei and had made a stop in Kima—following roughly the same route we had traveled, just somewhat before us.
The merchants were absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to join our much larger, heavily protected group. Traveling alongside twenty thousand imperial soldiers naturally meant exceptional security against the bandit raids and attacks that plagued less defended caravans attempting to cross the Great Sand Desert.
The leader of the merchant company—an elderly man with weathered skin that spoke of decades spent traveling trade routes—had approached Arvid personally to express his gratitude for being permitted to accompany us. During their conversation, which I had been present for, the old merchant had shared some concerning information.
"We actually arrived in Gesri nearly a week ago," he had explained, his tone carrying a mixture of frustration and relief. "We had originally planned to cross the desert immediately upon arrival. But we kept hearing increasingly alarming rumors about bandit activity—reports of multiple caravans being attacked and completely destroyed, their goods stolen and their people killed or taken captive."
He had shaken his head, clearly troubled by these accounts.
"So we made the decision to delay our crossing and wait in Gesri, hoping to join up with a larger, better-protected merchant party," he continued. "It's essentially up to the goddess of luck out there in the desert. Some caravans pass through without attracting any attention from the bandits—they're simply fortunate in their timing or their route. But most aren't nearly so lucky. Most face at least some form of attack or harassment."
His expression had turned genuinely sad as he spoke about the less fortunate travelers.
"We've heard reports of entire merchant companies being wiped out," he said quietly. "Goods stolen, animals taken, people murdered. It's become increasingly dangerous over the past year or two. The bandit groups seem to be growing bolder and better organized."
So we traveled deeper into the desert's embrace, leaving behind even the distant view of Gesri's modest buildings. The sun was absolutely brutal—violent in its intensity, exactly like what I had witnessed in Aiona's domain during my visits there. The heat was oppressive, overwhelming, inescapable. We all began sweating profusely almost immediately, even those of us sheltered inside the relative protection of the carriages.
I had opened both windows of our carriage, hoping the moving air might provide some relief. But the breeze that entered was hot rather than cooling, offering almost no respite from the suffocating temperature. The heat felt genuinely unbearable, pressing down on me like a physical weight.
I had already removed the outer layer of my clothing—the heavy overdress that was standard for formal northern attire—following Arvid's advice that shedding unnecessary layers was the best course of action for surviving desert heat. But even stripped down to my lighter underlayers, I still felt like I was slowly being cooked alive. Sweat soaked through my remaining garments, making them cling uncomfortably to my skin.
"Your body is still in the process of adapting to southern weather patterns and temperatures," Aiona explained when I mentally complained about the unbearable conditions. "It takes time for your physiology to adjust—to learn to regulate temperature more efficiently in this kind of extreme heat. But the adaptation will happen."
"And exactly how long will this adjustment process take?" I asked with considerable impatience, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
"At least a full day," she replied matter-of-factly. "Possibly longer, depending on various factors."
I rolled my eyes at her mentally. A full day? I would be dead from heat exhaustion long before that adjustment period completed. I was certain of it.
Yes, dead. Because that's genuinely what it felt like—like I was slowly dying from the relentless, inescapable heat.
So in a moment of desperate boldness, I did something fairly radical. I began removing even more clothing, stripping off my gown entirely down to just my petticoat. Then I started unlacing my corset, needing to escape its constricting embrace.
"What are you... what exactly are you doing?" a shocked male voice asked.
In my single-minded focus on escaping the heat, I had completely forgotten about Arvid's presence in the carriage with me. When I finally remembered and looked up, I found him staring at me with wide eyes, a deep blush spreading across his face. His gaze wandered—perhaps involuntarily—across my exposed cleavage for a second or two longer than was strictly appropriate before he forcibly redirected his attention elsewhere.
"It's simply too hot," I explained, stating what I thought was obvious. "I can't breathe properly with all these layers. I need to remove them or I'm going to faint from heat exhaustion."
Arvid cleared his throat awkwardly, his blush deepening further. "I shall... I'll send a maid to you immediately. With more appropriate attire for desert conditions. Clothing designed for this climate rather than northern weather."
He practically fled from the carriage, exiting with considerably more haste than dignity.
Some time later, Rora appeared at the carriage entrance carrying an armful of different clothing. These were clearly southern garments—I could identify them as such at a glance, even without her explanation. The material they were constructed from felt notably different from what I was accustomed to wearing. The fabric was soft and remarkably breathable, designed specifically to allow air circulation and wick away moisture rather than trap heat against the skin.
After I had closed both carriage windows to ensure privacy, I changed into these new clothes with Rora's practiced assistance. She helped me navigate the unfamiliar garment structure with patient efficiency.
The outfit was divided into two separate pieces rather than being a single unified dress as I was accustomed to wearing. There was a top and a pair of pants—a style I had never worn before, as northern women's fashion universally favored skirts and gowns. Both pieces were made from light-colored fabric that would reflect rather than absorb the sun's heat.
The top featured an extremely wide neckline that exposed my collarbones and upper chest—far more skin than I would normally show in public. It had strap-like sleeves that left my arms mostly bare, and the garment ended just above my waist rather than extending down to cover my hips as northern clothing invariably did. The pants were wide-legged and loose, designed to allow maximum air circulation around my lower body. Most surprisingly, they featured long slits running up both sides from ankle to mid-thigh, creating an almost skirt-like appearance when I moved while still maintaining the practical benefits of bifurcated garments.
After donning this outfit, I felt incredibly, uncomfortably bare. Northern clothing covered nearly every inch of skin from neck to ankles—that's simply what proper attire meant in my culture. Standing here with my arms exposed, my midriff visible, my legs occasionally showing through the slits in the pants... it felt profoundly wrong, like I was walking around in my undergarments rather than being properly dressed.
Rora must have sensed my reluctance and discomfort, because she quickly produced an additional item from the pile of clothing she had brought. It was a long scarf made from some kind of translucent, gauzy fabric—light enough to provide minimal additional heat while still offering coverage.
"This is traditionally worn as a modesty covering," she explained gently, clearly understanding my cultural discomfort without me having to articulate it. "Many women wear such scarves to cover their midriffs or drape over their shoulders."
She also produced a special kind of fabric wrap designed specifically for hair. With deft movements, she wound my hair up and completely covered it with this wrap, ensuring that not a single strand remained visible or exposed.
"Sandstorms can arise with very little warning in desert regions," she explained as she worked. "When they hit, having exposed hair is extremely unpleasant—sand gets embedded in it, it's nearly impossible to remove completely, and it can cause significant irritation to your scalp. It's much better to keep everything covered and protected. This same principle applies to covering exposed skin—hence the scarf. If a sandstorm comes, you'll want to wrap it around your face and neck."
Despite my initial profound reluctance about wearing such revealing clothing, I had to admit that after completing the change, I felt considerably better physically. The difference was remarkable and immediate. After we reopened the carriage windows to allow air circulation, the moving breeze actually felt refreshing against my skin rather than just pushing more hot air around.
We had been traveling for perhaps another hour when the carriage came to an unexpected halt. There was some kind of commotion up ahead—I could hear raised voices and sounds of disruption. Curiosity overcoming my reluctance to venture out into the heat, I decided to investigate what had caused our progress to stop.
I climbed down from the carriage and made my way toward the front of our long column, where the commotion seemed to be originating. The forward soldiers had stopped advancing and were gathered around something, their postures tense and alert.
After getting closer and pushing through the cluster of soldiers to see what had captured their attention, I finally understood what had caused such concern.
There were approximately half a dozen caravans abandoned directly in our path, positioned in a rough cluster. These weren't just caravans that had stopped for rest—they had clearly been attacked and pillaged. The vehicles bore no horses or other draft animals; those valuable beasts had been stolen or killed. The wheels were damaged, some completely broken, rendering the caravans immobile even if anyone had wanted to move them. And there were several disturbing blood stains darkening the sand around the vehicles—not yet covered by shifting sands, which indicated this attack had occurred very recently. The blood was still relatively fresh, meaning this violence had taken place just a few hours ago at most.
The bandits had evidently stolen the horses, kidnapped or killed the merchants, and looted the food supplies from inside the caravans. Interestingly, however, some valuable items had been left completely untouched. I could see expensive-looking jewelry scattered in one caravan, fine fabrics visible through torn canvas in another. The bandits had taken what they could easily transport and use—animals, food, people—but had abandoned anything that would slow them down or be difficult to sell quickly.
"This significantly complicates our strategic situation," Arvid finally said with a heavy sigh, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the gathered soldiers.
He was absolutely right. If we launched our planned assault on the Dergu stronghold now, there was a very real possibility that the bandits might use any captured merchants as hostages, threatening to kill them if we attacked. The presence of these civilian prisoners completely changed our tactical calculations. Our priority would necessarily have to shift from simple eradication of the bandit threat to a more complex rescue operation first, followed by dealing with the Dergu forces.
"We need to completely restructure our strategy," Arvid announced, turning to General Rohan. "Gather the other military leaders. We'll need to develop an entirely new operational plan that accounts for probable hostages."
The General bowed respectfully and moved away to collect the other commanding officers, who would need to participate in this urgent strategic revision.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" I asked Aiona mentally, watching the preparations begin.
"Let's observe the situation first as it develops," Aiona counseled with her characteristic caution. "If we identify an opportunity where our intervention could meaningfully improve the outcome without creating additional complications, then we'll act. But rushing in without proper assessment would be foolish."
I agreed with her measured approach. Sometimes the best assistance one could provide was simply staying out of the way and not creating additional problems that would need solving.
By the time night had fallen across the desert, bringing blessed relief from the day's brutal heat, the revised operational plan had been finalized. Rather than approaching the Dergu stronghold with our full military force—which would be impossible to move quietly and would certainly be spotted long before we could achieve any tactical surprise—the new strategy called for forming a small, elite reconnaissance team. This group would ride to the Malwa Dunes location that Yasmine had identified during her interrogation as the site of the Dergu's main encampment.
The plan specified that this advance team would leave their horses at a safe distance and approach the stronghold on foot, moving with maximum stealth to assess the situation without alerting the defenders. They would determine whether hostages were indeed being held, identify defensive positions, count enemy numbers, and locate any vulnerabilities that could be exploited in a later assault. It was fundamentally an intelligence-gathering mission rather than a combat operation.
Overall, it was a sound, cautious plan—exactly the kind of careful approach that minimized unnecessary risk while maximizing useful information.
The chosen team began preparing for departure. Arvid had decided to join this reconnaissance mission personally rather than remaining with the main force. He donned his military gear with practiced efficiency—equipment he had clearly worn many times before, each piece going on in a specific order that had become automatic through years of use. He strapped on his bow and filled his quiver with arrows, ensuring the fletching was all properly aligned for quick draws. His wide sword—a weapon designed for powerful slashing strikes rather than precise thrusting—was secured to his side in a well-worn scabbard.
"Let me come with you," I said as I watched these preparations, making the request before he could depart without me.
Arvid smiled at me—a gentle, slightly patronizing expression that immediately told me he was about to try manipulating me into staying behind.
"Please wait here with the main force," he said in that carefully reasonable tone people use when they're trying to be diplomatically firm. "Your presence here would actually serve an important protective function. You could help guard all these people we're responsible for."
Oh my. How transparently manipulative. Did he really think I would fall for such obvious maneuvering?
"You're taking exactly twelve soldiers with you on this mission," I pointed out calmly. "That leaves approximately nineteen thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight soldiers remaining here with the main camp. The only civilians present are those fifteen merchants and their associated caravan drivers—perhaps thirty people total. Are you seriously suggesting that almost twenty thousand trained soldiers would somehow be insufficient to protect thirty civilians without my assistance?"
I fixed him with a level stare.
"If those soldiers genuinely cannot protect a mere thirty people, should they even be considered soldiers?" I asked pointedly. "That would represent a rather spectacular failure of military capability."
I stepped closer to him, my tone becoming more serious.
"Let me come with you," I repeated. "That way I can actually be at ease, knowing what's happening rather than sitting here imagining worst-case scenarios. I can protect myself, and I might even prove useful during the reconnaissance. You know I have capabilities that could be valuable in this kind of situation."
Arvid studied my face for a long moment, clearly weighing various considerations. Then, somewhat to my surprise, he nodded his agreement.
"Alright," he conceded. "But you follow my orders without question once we're in the field. This is a military operation, and I need to know everyone will respond to commands immediately. Can you agree to that?"
"Absolutely," I promised.
So I quickly changed into more practical clothing—keeping the loose desert garments but adding sturdy boots and securing my hair more tightly—and mounted one of the spare horses. I positioned myself toward the rear of the small column as we departed, riding out into the moonlit desert with twelve soldiers, Arvid, and whatever fate awaited us at the Dergu stronghold.
The adventure, it seemed, was truly beginning.