Baole galloped across the endless stretch of desert, a straight and barren expanse untouched by curves or crevices. The horizon lay open and vacant, the land stripped of gullies or defiles. Wind lashed at his face with arrogant force, and sandstorms kicked up beneath his horse's hooves. His breath came fast and shallow, matching the rhythmic panting of the horse, its occasional neigh cutting through the whistle of the desert breeze. His heart pounded with the urgency of his need to reach the place soon, though he couldn't explain why.
Ever since hearing about the fallen bodies, an unshakable unease had taken root inside him. It gnawed at him, fed his anxiety, and drove him to push his mount harder. He didn't understand it, but he couldn't ignore it either.
He rode without pause, the five men assigned to him trailing silently behind.
By the time night had drawn its shroud over the desert and the half-moon hovered pale in the sky, they finally reached the border of the area—forty kilometers out. Baole reined in his horse and gazed ahead. The terrain beyond was still too distant to make out clearly. He had promised the leader he would scout it alone before allowing the others to approach.
Without turning to face them, he said, "Wait here. I'll check it out. If it's safe, I'll give the signal." Then he spurred his horse forward.
As he neared the area, two figures came into view, their bodies sprawled in the sand. But from that distance, he still couldn't make out their shapes or tell if they were alive. He pressed on, though his horse had already slowed to a cautious pace. His eyes swept the area, alert for any signs of danger, but nothing felt out of place. The wariness he had before began to ease.
Baole dismounted a short distance from the bodies and approached on foot. Crouching beside them, he strained his eyes to see clearly. The moon's dim light was too faint, casting long, obscure shadows across the desert. With a swift motion, he pulled a flare from within his cloak and ignited it.
The sudden light washed over the spot, revealing the outlines of the two women—Ravenna and Dahlia, who had fallen from the stone steps and, instead of crashing into the expected void, had landed here in the open desert. Their bodies were battered and coated in dust, motionless but intact.
Baole knelt beside Ravenna, the nearer of the two, and gently nudged her shoulder. At his touch, a soft groan escaped her lips.
Alarmed, Baole leaned in. "Hey! Hey! Are you alright?" he called out in the common tongue. He was part of the convoys that journeys from place to place, definitely, he knew the common language spoken by the people in general. He planted the flare into the sand, cradled her head against his chest, and retrieved a small flask from his belt. Tilting it, he poured a strange liquor into her mouth.
The liquid wasn't strong, but its effect was almost magical. It slid down her throat like both nourishment and water, easing her strained breath. Moments later, she let out a rough, rattling cough.
Baole quickly patted her back. "You're okay," he repeated gently.
Ravenna's eyes fluttered open. Realizing she was in a stranger's arms, she instinctively pulled away, dragging herself backward in the sand.
"It's alright, you're safe," Baole said quickly, raising a calming hand. His eyes, visible beneath the bandana across his face, lingered on her with a strange sense of familiarity that caught him off guard.
Ravenna didn't seem to notice his stare, or perhaps she simply didn't care. She looked down at her hands, her arms, feeling her body in disbelief. Everything was intact. Confusion twisted her features as she took in the surrounding desert. The night air, the silence across the desert, the unexpected survival all left her expression shadowed in bitter bewilderment.
"Why am I in a desert?" Ravenna muttered to herself, the words barely audible. Even though she had spent almost her life in the dark space, she was not oblivious to not knowing that this area was a desert. At least she was served from the retrieved memories she had once lost.
Then, like a jolt of lightning, she was struck. She spun to her side. Dahlia—still sprawled in the sand. Panic flared inside her. She crawled over hastily, pressing two fingers to Dahlia's neck. A steady pulse. Unconscious, but alive. Relief swept over her like a wave, and she exhaled a shaky breath.
Baole blinked, snapping out of the daze he'd fallen into while watching Ravenna. Embarrassment flushed through him—he had forgotten Dahlia in the presence of Ravenna. He moved quickly toward them.
"Leave her to me," he said casually, reaching down to lift Dahlia up like he did with Ravenna previously.
But Ravenna slapped his hand away with a sharp snap, her eyes fierce.
"I don't know you. I won't let you touch her," she said coldly as she tried to lift Dahlia herself. But her strength faltered—her body still too weak to manage it.
Baole sighed, a flicker of resentment rising in his chest. Did she not realize I just saved her? Not even a thank-you? He grumbled inwardly, but said nothing.
He cleared his throat as Ravenna leaned over Dahlia, gently calling her name, trying to rouse her. That was when Baole finally made the connection—this unconscious woman was Dahlia.
"Let me—" he started, but before he could finish, Ravenna reached back toward him without a word, palm open.
"Huh?" Baole stared at her hand, puzzled. "What do you—?"
Ravenna turned her head, her expression hard. "What did you give me earlier? Give it to me."
"Oh," Baole muttered as realization dawned. He scratched the back of his head, tempted to swat her hand away out of petty annoyance, but thought better of it. With an awkward smile, he handed over the flask.
Without another word, Ravenna focused on Dahlia, tipping the flask gently to her lips. Baole stood nearby, watching. After a beat of silence, he finally asked, "W-what can I call you?"
There was no response. The silence stretched awkwardly until she finally spoke.
"Ravenna."
Baole inhaled sharply at the name. A thought flickered through his mind—something long buried, but he shook it off with a grimace. "I'm Baole," he offered. "That's a beautiful name. My older sister had the same name once, but… she left us years ago."
At his words, Ravenna's hand trembled ever so slightly. The flask tipped, spilling a few drops down Dahlia's cheek. She quickly steadied her hand, recovering as if nothing had happened. She was tempted to look back at the moment and study the man behind her, but she controlled her impulse.
Baole noticed the slip but didn't think much of it. He wasn't the sharpest when it came to subtle cues. Encouraged by her earlier reply, he launched into a stream of questions. Surprisingly, Ravenna answered them—calmly, without the hostility from before.
Although she had kept muted when he had asked about how they had fallen from the sky, it wasn't that she didn't want to, but she herself was rather confused when he had said it. Other than that, all answers that responded to his questions, she had provided.
By now, Ravenna already felt her strength recovered to an extent, which made her secretly marvel at the wonders of the liquor. She could now fully stretch her body and gather herself on her feet. But she remained by Dahlia's side, feeding her from the flask.
She finished feeding Dahlia the last of the liquor just as she stirred. Dahlia's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, Ravenna was relieved as she noticed Dahlia's face no longer streaked with tears—but that relief was short-lived. The moment Dahlia's eyes focused, tears welled up again and began streaming silently.
Ravenna froze, not knowing what to do.
Seeing that Dahlia was awake, Baole smiled and crouched down a little. "I'm Baole," he said again, pretending not to remember the name. "What's your name?"
"She's Dahlia," Ravenna answered. "She's not well enough to speak."
"Oh." Baole nodded. He could barely see in the dark and could not get the clues from Dahlia's tearing face at the moment. He extended a generous offer. "Will you come back to the tribe with me? We can take care of her—and you too. You look like you could use the rest."
Ravenna turned and looked at him fully for the first time. Even in the dim flarelight, her gaze cut cleanly through the dark. She saw him clearly—his eyes, not his face, which remained hidden beneath a bandana.
"We won't be going with you," she said flatly. Her tone was raspy, but firm enough to startle Baole.
He blinked. Her sudden change in tone left him confused. "Why? Do you have somewhere else to go out here in the desert?"
"Thank you," she said, her voice softening. "You've done enough. You should go back to your men before they begin to worry."
Baole stiffened. He had nearly forgotten about the others—his escort of four riders, waiting far behind. But Ravenna… how did she know about them?
He turned toward the direction they'd come from, squinting. Even with the pale moon overhead, the desert was a wall of darkness. He couldn't see a thing, not even the faintest silhouette. Can she really see that far? he wondered. Did I accidentally mention them?
He gulped, then steadied himself as he pulled out another flare and fired it into the sky. The burst of light scattered above like a silent call to the others.
Then, unable to hold back his curiosity, he asked, "How did you know I came with other men? Were you able to see them from here?"
His voice trembled slightly, not just from curiosity, but from something else. A chill of uncertainty.
Ravenna didn't respond. She simply helped Dahlia to her feet, supporting with care. Then her eyes swiftly scanned the endless stretch of desert, and her heart faltered.
If they left now, just the two of them, it would be a desperate gamble. The desert was vast—how far it reached, she didn't know. With them having no medium of transport, using legs to cross was an unavoidable option. And come daylight, was the searing heat that would drain them faster than they could endure—she had always known this peculiarity about the desert before her years in the dark space. And with Dahlia's condition fragile, every step forward would be a heavier burden.
Should I really be stubborn at this point? she wondered.
They had barely escaped the dark space, and she still couldn't explain what had happened. One moment they had fallen off the stone stair, into the hollow darkness, and the next, Baole claimed they had dropped from the sky. She tilted her head back, staring up at the tranquil blue above them. No rifts. No fissures. No sign of rupture in the sky.
Even so, by all logic, falling from such a height should've killed them. But they were alive.
Then again, after years under Hecuba, Ravenna had long ceased to find the world logical. She had seen enough of its strange and twisted corners to know that reality often defied reason.
What Ravenna didn't realize was that when they were jumping from one stone step to another, it wasn't that the overcast sky was truly moving farther away. Instead, the stone steps themselves kept changing altitude—one moment high, the next moment low. She hadn't noticed this. So when they fell, they had luckily landed on a step that was rising upward. That rise, along with the forceful impact of their landing bodies on the stone step, propelled them into the overcast, which was filled with swirling winds. The winds caught them, threw them out of the overcast, and scattered them in random directions across the desert.
Baole mistook her silence for hesitation; although it still counted as such—and stepped forward, urging her.
"You both need help," he said. "You're weak, and Dahlia's barely conscious. If you try to cross this desert alone, you'll collapse. And next time, you might not get back up. You are even lucky that you've fallen when we were passing by. Else, how do you think you are going to survive?"
Ravenna thought about it. It is true that if Baole and the rest of them weren't passing, there wouldn't have been anyone to help them. They had had such secured luck since the fall. Should they miss it? If they miss this opportunity because of her action, then wandering the endless desert will be inevitable.
Ravenna suddenly snapped her gaze to him, her voice edged with unwarranted suspicion. "How should I trust you? You won't even show your face. How do I know you don't have some hidden agenda?"
Baole blinked, caught off-guard. He frowned, sensing her accusation wasn't fully sincere. Is she just using that as an excuse to force me to reveal my face?
Ulterior motive, my ass… he thought bitterly. Her mood had whiplashed more than once already. First cold, then unexpectedly open, now back to prickly.
He sighed and crossed his arms. Is she deranged or what?
With a cough, he answered, "We wear coverings for a reason. All of us. We don't reveal our faces outside the tribe. But I swear to you, I mean no harm."
Ravenna realized she may have pushed too far. Her gaze dropped, and she muttered reluctantly, "A-alright."
Baole gave a satisfied nod. "That's a good decision. My people are kind, and you'll be safe with us."
Then she hit him with an unexpected question.
"What about your parents?"
He froze, frowning. Where did that come from? Her tone was soft, her expression unreadable. He studied her, trying to piece together her intent.
"My parents…," he began, but the sudden sound of hooves interrupted him. The others had arrived.
The riders dismounted and gathered around. Baole spoke to them in their native tongue, and they nodded, glancing over at the women with curious but reserved expressions.
"They're with me," Baole told Ravenna, stepping forward with a horse. "We'll all return together."
He held out the reins. "Take it. You can both ride together."
The flare had long died, and now only the pale half-moon cast its dim light across the desert. Baole couldn't see the look that crossed Ravenna's face as a flicker of uncertainty.
She took the reins without a word and attempted to mount. But her legs trembled, coordination lacking from her inexperience with horses. After several failed tries, she finally pulled herself up. Reaching down for Dahlia, she was just about to lift her when the horse suddenly neighed and reared. Ravenna lost her balance and was thrown off.
But as she fell, her body twisted midair, and she landed with uncanny grace—knees bent, soft into the sand.
None of the men saw the precision of her landing. All they'd seen was the fall.
Baole dismounted quickly and rushed to her.
"Are you okay?" he asked, surprised to see her already standing.
"I'm fine," she muttered, brushing sand from her tunic and tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were slightly red.
"Do you not know how to ride?" he asked, more curious than critical.
"I've never ridden one before," she admitted with slight embarrassment.
Baole chuckled softly. "Then how should we handle this? Are you okay riding behind one of us?"
Ravenna looked at Dahlia, then at the group of strangers. Her eyes settled on Baole.
"I will trust you… to take Dahlia. I'll ride with someone else."
He nodded, understanding her unspoken reasoning. "Alright."
They helped Dahlia into the saddle behind Baole, and one of the other riders offered a hand to Ravenna. She accepted, climbing up behind him.
With everyone mounted, the small group began riding back across the vast expanse of desert, the hooves of their horses echoing beneath the moonlit sky.