The night deepened around them, the stars stretched wide and cold across the sky, watching in silent indifference. Levi sat curled against the rough stone, knees to his chest, the sword he'd taken lying beside him, half-buried in the sand. Every few minutes, he glanced over at his mother, who remained standing near the entrance of the rocky crevice, her silhouette sharp and still.
She hadn't relaxed once.
Neither had Levi.
Beside him, Sera had fallen into an uneasy sleep, her head resting on her arms, her breath shallow but steady. The firelight that had once painted the horizon was gone now, swallowed by the desert. In its place came a quiet so complete it made every sound—the wind, a distant shift of sand, a clink of metal—feel like thunder.
Levi watched his mother. He could see how tense her shoulders were, how her hand never drifted far from her blade.
"You should rest," he whispered.
She didn't look at him. "I will. When I know you're both safe."
He swallowed hard. "Do you think they'll come after us?"
There was a pause. Then, "They always do." He didn't like that answer, but he didn't press. He could tell she was thinking—calculating distances, water, time, options. She always thought like that, like survival was a puzzle she could solve if she just looked hard enough. The fire inside him—the one that had burned when he saw that man about to kill her, when he saw Sera bound and terrified—it hadn't gone out. But now, in the quiet, it flickered lower. He was just a boy again. A scared boy in the sand.
"I was scared," he admitted, voice small.
His mother stepped over and sat down beside him. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she put her hand on the back of his head, gentle but firm.
"I was too," she said.
They sat like that in the dark, the silence around them like a blanket pulled tight. Sera stirred a little in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, then settled again.
After a while, Levi whispered, "What happens now?"
We survive," his mother said. "We find shelter. We find water. We go north—there's a village beyond the ridge, hidden near the old salt flats. If we make it there, we might find someone who can help."
"Will they help us?"
She hesitated. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's the only direction we can go."
Levi nodded slowly. He looked up at the stars, wondering how far the sky went, how many nights it would take to stop feeling like they were still being hunted.
But as long as his mother sat beside him…
As long as Sera was breathing…
He could keep going.
Even if the desert never gave anything easily.
Even if survival meant walking through hell barefoot, bloody, and afraid.
He would keep walking.
The dawn came slow and silent, brushing pale orange and pink across the endless dunes like faded paint over cracked canvas. Levi woke to the cold—surprising, for the desert—and the sight of his mother already on her feet, scanning the horizon with wary eyes.
Sera stirred beside him, blinking against the harsh light. Her face was drawn, dry, but alert now.
"We have to move," his mother said. "The sun will be brutal in an hour."
Levi nodded, rubbing the sand from his eyes. His muscles ached, and the events of the night before clung to him like soot. But there was no time to linger—not in the desert, not while they were being hunted.
His mother led the way, her movements sharp, efficient. She knew the sand like a second language—where the dunes softened into traps, where the stone ridges could offer shade, and how to walk so their tracks wouldn't be easily followed. Levi and Sera fell in step behind her, both of them quiet, the weight of survival keeping them focused.
They passed a dry ravine, its walls cracked and sun-bleached, then climbed the edge of a dune that felt like it stretched into the sky. From the top, the world looked endless—a sea of golden waves under a hardening sun.
"There," his mother said, pointing toward a jagged outcrop in the distance. "The salt flats are just beyond that ridge."
Sera squinted. "That's… far."
"Half a day if we don't slow down."
Levi's throat was already dry, and they had little water left—just what she'd managed to grab from a fallen guard's satchel before they escaped. Still, he nodded. There wasn't another choice.
They walked in silence. The heat came fast, baking the sand until it shimmered like a mirage. Sera began to lag, her steps faltering, and Levi slowed beside her.
"You okay?"
"I hate sand," she muttered, panting. "It's coarse. It's dry. It's everywhere."
He couldn't help it—he laughed, even though it came out more like a wheeze.
His mother glanced back. "We stop in twenty minutes. There's a rock shelf up ahead—we'll rest there before the final stretch."
When they finally reached the slanted ledge, it was barely a scrap of shade, but it was enough. Levi collapsed, feeling the heat leech from his skin. Sera joined him, slumping down with a groan.
"Tell me," she said breathlessly, "this hidden village you mentioned actually exists."
Levi looked at his mother. She didn't answer right away.
"It used to," she said. "When I was a girl. My village traded with them sometimes. They kept to themselves, mostly. Sandwalkers."
"Sandwalkers?" Levi asked.
"A desert people. Nomads. They know how to survive where most would die. If they're still there… we might have a chance."
"And if they're not?"
She met his gaze, calm and grim. "Then we keep moving."
Sera went quiet.
Levi sat up straighter, sweat stinging his eyes. "We'll make it," he said, not because he knew it, but because he had to believe it.
His mother reached into the satchel and passed them each a small sip of water—barely enough to wet their lips. Then she stood again.
"No more rest. We move now, or the heat will kill us."
Levi rose, legs burning, heart pounding with the endless rhythm of sand and sun and silence.
He didn't look back.
He only looked forward—toward the broken ridge and the hope beyond it.
The sun hung high in the sky, a pitiless blaze that bleached the sand to blinding white. Time had dissolved into heat and silence—no birds, no wind, no sound but the crunch of tired feet dragging across dunes. The fire of the attack had faded into a memory behind them, swallowed by distance and haze.
Levi's lips were cracked, his tongue thick in his mouth. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—heavy, slow, aching. Each step was a battle, but he kept moving. His mother led them through the sand, her eyes locked on the horizon, following landmarks only she seemed to know. Long ridges of wind-swept stone. Distant dust pillars rising like smoke. She knew this desert. She had once called its border home.
But even her steps were faltering now.
"Sera, keep up," Levi murmured, glancing behind him.
No answer.
He turned—and his stomach twisted into a knot.
Sera had fallen behind, her steps erratic, hands dangling limply at her sides. Her skin, once fair and flushed with rage, now looked dangerously pale beneath the red burns blooming across her face and shoulders. Sweat no longer clung to her—her skin was dry, tight, sun-scorched.
"Sera!" he called, hurrying to her side.
She took another shaky step—then collapsed to her knees with a soft gasp, her body folding like paper.
Levi dropped beside her, panic sharpening his senses through the haze of exhaustion. "Hey—hey! Look at me. Sera—" Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. "It's… hot," she whispered. "I don't feel my hands…"
Levi's mother had already turned back, kneeling beside them with quick, efficient movements. She pressed a hand to Sera's cheek, then to her throat.
"She's burning up," she said grimly. "Too much sun. Her skin isn't made for this heat. She's going into shock."
Levi's breath caught. "But we're close, right? You said there was a valley."
"There is. Beyond that ridge," his mother said, nodding toward a towering stretch of rock in the distance. "But she won't make it without shade. She needs water. Her organs could shut down if she stays exposed."
Sera let out a quiet laugh, delirious. "Told you… I hated sand…"
Levi's throat tightened. He could barely hold her upright, let alone carry her far.
"We need to get her out of the sun," he said. "Now."
His mother scanned the nearby rock formations, sharp eyes darting along the ridge. "There." She pointed toward a weathered outcrop shaped like a crumbling tooth. "Sometimes the wind hollows pockets beneath the cliffs. If we're lucky, there'll be shade. Shelter."
Levi didn't wait.
He looped his arms beneath Sera and lifted her, gritting his teeth. She was taller than him, but light—too light—and the way her head lolled against his shoulder made something inside him twist.
His mother led the way, breaking into a limping run, her feet kicking up puffs of dust. Levi followed, sweat dripping from his face, his arms shaking with the effort of carrying her. His vision blurred with the shimmer of heat.
The bluff rose in front of them, casting a thin, blessed shadow across the sand. As they neared the base, his mother ducked low and shoved aside a curtain of tangled desert vines—dried but still clinging to life. Behind them was a narrow opening, jagged stone lining a shallow cave, dark and cool by comparison.
"Inside!" she called.
Levi stumbled into the hollow, nearly dropping Sera as his knees buckled. He set her down gently on the smoothest patch of stone, then dropped beside her, gasping for breath.
His mother crouched, pulled out the last of their water, and soaked a strip of cloth. She pressed it to Sera's face, her neck, her wrists—anywhere the blood ran close to the surface.
Sera groaned weakly but didn't open her eyes.
"She'll live," his mother said, though her voice was tight with uncertainty. "For now."
Levi watched her chest rise and fall, slow and shallow. He reached out, brushing a strand of sun-bleached hair from her brow. "She has to live," he said.
"She needs more water. Shade. Salt. If the Sandwalkers are still in the valley… we'll find them tonight."
Levi nodded, gaze fixed on Sera. The desert still raged outside, the wind rising in hot bursts of dust and silence.
But inside the cave, he stayed close, listening to every breath she took.
They had escaped the fire. Survived the sand.
But the desert wasn't finished with them yet.
The cave's shade cooled the air, but it wasn't enough. Not for Sera.
She lay against the stone, her breathing shallow, her skin mottled with heat blotches and pale in places it shouldn't be. Her lips had started to crack, and she no longer responded when Levi whispered her name. Only her chest moving—slowly, stubbornly—proved she was still holding on.
Levi crouched beside her, wringing out the cloth again with the last drops of water. His hands trembled. The silence between each breath was beginning to stretch too long.
His mother stood at the mouth of the cave, eyes narrowed against the horizon. The sun had begun to fall, bleeding gold over the dunes, but the heat still clung to the world like a curse. Beyond the nearest ridge, a faint shimmer of green danced above the sand—barely visible, but there.
Levi saw her shoulders tense.
"They're out there," she said, voice low. "The Sandwalkers. I see movement—see it? Past the third rise."
He squinted. Dust swirled faintly along the line of dunes. Shapes—tiny and shifting—moved in and out of view.
His heart leapt.
"They can help her, right? They'll have water. Shelter."
"Yes." Her voice was firm. "They live by the sand's rules. They know how to survive in it. They can save her."
"Then let's go," Levi said, rising.
She turned to him, gaze steady. "You can't both go. She's too weak. She needs someone to stay and cool her. Talk to her. Keep her awake if she wakes."
Levi looked down at Sera. Her hand twitched faintly in the dirt. Her face was flushed and too still.
"I'll go," he said immediately.
But his mother stepped forward, shaking her head. "No. I know how to approach the Sandwalkers. If they don't recognize you, they might see you as a threat—or prey."
Levi hesitated. "But what if they don't listen to you?"
"I know their signs. Their ways. Trust me."
Silence stretched between them. Then she knelt, pressing a firm hand to his shoulder.
"You're strong, Levi. You saved her once already. You can keep her alive a little longer." Her voice cracked then softened. "I need to know she won't be alone if she opens her eyes."
Levi looked back to Sera. Her face was turned slightly toward him, strands of her pale hair stuck to her cheek. Even half-conscious, she looked like she might fight if given half a chance.
"Okay," he whispered. "I'll stay."
His mother nodded, reached for the waterskin, and tilted the last few drops onto the cloth for him.
"I'll come back with them. Before the stars fully rise, And if I don't come back —" She swallowed. "Follow the stars north. Don't stop for anything." He didn't like that answer. He didn't like any of this, But he nodded.
She pressed a kiss to his head, fingers lingering in his hair, then rose and slipped out into the fading light—her figure a shadow against the endless dunes, growing smaller with every step.
Levi turned back to Sera, dipping the cloth and pressing it to her wrists and neck again. He settled beside her, brushing more dust from her forehead.
"You're not dying out here," he muttered. "You hear me? You're not."
Her fingers twitched slightly at the sound of his voice, but she didn't wake.
Levi leaned closer, voice low, steady.
"I came back for you once. I'll do it again if I have to."
Outside, the wind shifted. The desert began to hum with the first breath of night.
And Levi waited, guarding the blonde-haired girl as the stars began to claim the sky.He looked at Sera again. Her eyes were cracked open now, barely.
"You look like crap," she croaked.
Levi snorted. "So do you."
She didn't laugh. Her throat worked. "You… should've left me."
"Not a chance."
Her gaze wandered the cave. "Your mother?"
"Went to find help." He hesitated. "Sandwalkers."
"Thought they were a myth."
"So did I," he said. "She didn't."
Sera closed her eyes again, body curling slightly. "If I die out here, I want it to be after I punch that slaver who called me 'pretty meat.'"
"You can't do that if you're dead," Levi said. "So don't die."
A beat passed.
"Bossy," she murmured, but she didn't argue.
he looked back at Sera—this fierce, stubborn girl who had once fought her chains with spit and fire, biting scratching and hitting the slave traders…who swore not to be broken, was now a slave to the heat of the dessert.