Original Prompt

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Originally written August 30th, 2026
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Chapter 142

Cass pushed away the flatbread Glaukos offered.

“You gotta eat,” he said.

“It smells like fire,” Cass said.

“Everything Kher cooks smells like fire.”

“I just got out of a fire, I’m not hungry.” Cass’s stomach betrayed her right then. Glaukos covered his mouth while chuckling. Cass rolled her eyes and finished tying her sandals. “I’m not that hungry.”

Shilling her eyes with her right hand, and her left arm with her body, Cass emerged into the desert sunlight. It was evening, making it easier on her, but still not exactly enjoyable. Kher’s cookfire was just being extinguished, filling the camp with the smell of smoke and spice, but the stench of the incense from Kebb’s tent still clung to her nose.

Amicable Nuu and loving Charis were tearing down a tent, mysterious Mica and culinary Kher were cleaning up the fire pit, annoying Anatu and reverential Kebb were bickering about something. Riotous Glaukos was just emerging from her tent behind her. That was eight of the ten people traveling with her.

There was no sign of young Iuven, rageful Nuut, or medicinal Maar.

Cass considered helping with tearing down the camp, but her stomach grumbled so she sought a distraction. The sun was low enough that the dunes were casting shadows she could use for shade; going out after the scouts would be a welcome alternative to manual labor.

She walked up to Anatu and Kebb, clearing her throat loudly to interrupt their argument over whatever-the-flame it was this time.

“Hey, where are Iuven and Maar?”

“They’re not back from patrol yet,” Anatu said. “We sent-”

“They’re not back yet?”

“No, we-”

“How long has it been?”

“Cassandra!” Anatu snapped. “We have sent Nuut to find them.”

“How long since you sent her?”

“Too long,” Kebb said, crossing his arms. “I was telling Anatu we should strike camp faster and be off.”

“Without them?” Cass asked hotly.

“If they were attacked then it is only a matter of time until we are,” Kebb said, coolly.

Anatu matched Cass’s heat. “We’re not leaving our people missing in the desert.”

“I’m going after them,” Cass said. She turned away from both Kebb and Anatu’s surprised protests and made for the camels.

“You can’t!” Anatu said.

“We need to get you to Keygroph!” Kebb argued.

“I’ll get there, and so will they.” Cass threw her saddle over Cassiopea and coaxed her to stand up. It was easier for her than most; she slid her arms under the lazy camel’s belly and carefully lifted. He groaned and complained at the indignity of it, but moved his legs and supported his own weight, shooting a forlorn glance at Cass.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she said, patting his shoulder before tossing the ropes over him to secure the saddle in place.

“At least let someone else go try to find them,” Anatu said.

“And let him try to abandon more of us?” Cass narrowed her eyes at Kebb.

“You are too important to get lost in the sands,” Kebb said, crossing his arms.

“Good.” Cass finished tying off the saddle then climbed up onto her camel. “Then you’ll wait until I get back with them.”

“What if you don’t find them?” he asked.

“It’s almost dark,” Anatu said. “If you just wait another hour, you could-”

“They could die,” Cass said, picking up Cassiopea’s reins. “It’s almost dark, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before the sun rises, and I’ll have them with me.”

“No, Cassandra.” Kebb grabbed Cassiopea’s reins. “I can’t let you-”

A distant shriek cut through the air. All of the activity around camp stopped.

“Shit!” Cass looked at Kebb, who stoically looked back up at her, keeping a tight grip on the reins.

Cass pulled them up and grabbed his hand. She squeezed, gently, and felt a bone crack.

“AHH!” Kebb yelled, releasing Cassiopea.

“Hya!” Cass got her camel galloping around the nearest dune and in the direction of Maar’s scream.

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Notes:
- It has been 14 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Both the author and Cass know that “Cassiopea” is a female name and I used male pronouns for the camel. This was explained in Chapter 11

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 28th, 2026
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<Fantasy/Sci-Fi>

A little chaos

“Welcome to the Fun Tea Friday Cafe,” Dee said to the crimson-suited newcomer, trying to summon enthusiasm near the end of a long, slow, boring day. “Where everyday is Friday.”

“Ahaha, charming, my dear,” the… man? said. Dee wasn’t sure; their face was fair, with sharp cheekbones and a sharper chin. Dark red irises smoldered like flame beneath heavily painted, half-lidded eyes. Their smile was too wide, and their teeth were like needles.

They continued, their voice high and nasally, “I am here for your appointment.”

“My appointment?” Dee asked, brows knitting together.

“Yes, little echo.” Their lips closed, they lifted a thin black cane, and hit the counter with a loud crack.

Blinking in surprise, Dee looked back at the strange person. They were gone. She scanned the interior of the cafe - warm, earthy tones, wooden panels, soft yellow lights - but the deep red and black was nowhere to be seen.

One of the regulars, Vlad, caught her eye and pointed. She turned around just in time to see the door to the back flap shut.

“Hey!” She followed them into the kitchen, where the stranger - emphasis on strange - was standing next to, and berating, the seven-foot tall cockroach grillcook named Frank.

“...dishes stacked far too neatly, unobstructed pathways, and don’t get me started on how clean you have this place.”

Frank clicked his pincers enthusiastically. Dee could never understand him, but she knew he was irritated. The cockroach picked up one of the plates and waved it around. The strange person cackled and shook their head.

“Oh darling, you do not want to go there with me,” they said.

“Go where?” Dee asked. She shook her head. “Wait, who are you? Why are you-?” They tossed a business card at her. She looked at the blank red side, flipped it over to the blank back side, then looked at the red again, which now had smoking black letters burnt into it:

Whimsical Advisor Ninc.

“‘Ninc’?” Dee asked.

“Not incorporated,” they said matter-of-factly. “Your boss hired me to put the ‘Fun’ into your little cafe.”

Dee tried to think of a boss. The closest thing was the skeletal manager, who only came in every third-Friday. “Patty?” she asked.

“Mmmm, I didn’t get their name,” the advisor said, walking around the kitchen and pushing stacks of plates partially over the edge of their shelves. “But they were quite insistent that this place was at risk of simply becoming the ‘Tea Friday Cafe’, and that that was not an outcome they found desirable.”

With a flick of their wrist, one of the counters slid out from the wall at an angle, cutting off one of the paths through the kitchen.

Frank chittered away angrily.

“You’re just making a mess,” Dee agreed, in spirit.

“No, you are.” The advisor pointed two fingers at the grill with their thumb raised. Clicking their tongue and lowering their thumb, a glowing blue bullet shot from their fingertips to the grill and flames erupted.

Frank made a screeching sound and ran for a fire extinguisher, having to jump over a counter and knock some plates over with a loud clatter.

“Allow me to prove my point.” The uncomfortably proportioned man spun around, clicking their tongue and firing more of the chaotic blasts around the kitchen and then through the wall into the cafe. Dee heard a howl - from Fenrir, most likely - and ran for the door.

She slipped in some soup that the mad advisor splashed onto the floor, scrambled to her feet, and crawled out front.

Ferir was at the counter, holding his teacup out and snarling; grey and brown muzzle curled up, baring his teeth, eyes glowing yellow with barely repressed fury.

“What happened!?” Dee asked, rubbing a wet soupy spot on her back.

“IT FROZE!” The werewolf overturned his teacup and a block of ice fell out.

Behind him, a robot was holding up a bottle of motor oil. “Pardon moi, but you ‘ave zerved moi ze wrong bevera-h-ge.”

“One sec, Aîndre D'. Fenrir, what did you order? I’ll make another-”

Aîndre’s head started spinning rapidly and sparks flew out of its audio receptors as more upset customers lined up behind him.

“eRrOr ErRoR!” Aîndre’s normally suave - if poorly calibrated - voice crackled and hissed. “iNaPpRoPrIaTe InPuT!”

A high, nasally cackle behind Dee preceded a strong smell of sulfur.

“Much more fun now!” The stranger walked through the counter like smoke and left Dee to the chaos.

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 23rd, 2026
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Chapter 141

Nuut ostensibly started her search for Iuven and Maar by following the path they would have taken away from the camp and out to the perimeter. The patrol routes were standardized practices for a reason; if anyone were to get injured or lost, it was easier to be found if everyone knew which way they were going. If Nuut’s goal had been to find them, she knew where to start.

But she wasn’t looking for Iuven and Maar. She was looking for the hunters that had been following the caravan since leaving Nihimlaq. The shadows stalking them day and night that she had set on their trail.

Out of sight of the camp, around a bend between the dunes, the Vultures were waiting for her.

The setting sun cast short shadows across the desert. The leeward side of the mounds of sand with their steeper slopes gave enough space for a small cadre of horsemen to idle.

She felt their eyes on her as she approached. Nuut counted fewer than a dozen of them, one prisoner - a bald man with his arms bound - and no camels. If the Vultures had been here when Iuven and Maar passed there would have been signs of a fight, two more prisoners, and extra camels among the waiting bandits

“Who is that?” Nuut asked when she entered the shade.

“Just a quaint little fellow who thought he could short us on owed debts,” one of the Vultures quipped. His hood obscured most of his face, leaving only a salt-and-pepper goatee and a bad case of evening shadow along his jaw.

The de-facto leader of the group dismounted his camel. Nuut did the same and stood before him.

“Good job on not being followed,” he said.

Nuut narrowed her eyes. “You were watching me, then?”

“We’ve been watching the whole camp. Seems like our target is out of commission, and now you’re out of the line of fire.”

“It’s too late in the day.” Nuut looked toward the edge of the dune and the blue-fading-to-pink sky. “If you attack now, they’ll-”

“Your people will soon begin packing up their tents,” the Vulture interrupted. “While occupied and in disarray, we will strike.”

“No.” Nuut shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You don’t understand. If you attack after dark-”

The Vulture placed a hand on Nuut’s shoulder. “You are the one who does not understand, Desheryan. We have been in this business for many years. Our fathers and their fathers have been doing this for generations.” He squeezed her shoulder and grinned as Nuut stiffened before him. “You are right to fear us. Merely taking the legendary Shadow of Sammos was not going to quench our palate.”

But Nuut wasn't afraid. She just hated being touched.

“The attack is already beginning,” he said, looking away in the direction of the camp. Nuut made a fist, flexing a tendon, and loosening a knife in her sleeve to slide down into her palm. She would not permit this treachery.

The man continued, “We will burn some tents, sow chaos, kill whoever fights back and take the rest into-”

Nuut slid her blade up under one of the Vulture’s ribs and into his heart. He tensed up, his last breath raspy like a cough, and slumped over. By the time he hit the ground, Nuut was already beside the next Vulture.

The man with the goatee fell from his horse as Nuut pulled the rope that kept him tied to the prisoner. The bald man was quick to act, and took the same rope that bound him and noosed it around his warden’s neck.

Nuut smacked the flank of the horse. It reared and snorted, alerting the other horses which grew irritated by the sound and by the smell of blood from Nuut’s kill.

As the rest of the Vultures drew their weapons, shouting curses and threats, several were carried away by their startled mounts. The four that retained control of their steeds quickly dismounted.

One lunged for Nuut, but she was ready and had her second dagger drawn. With a quick parry she got in close and kicked him between the legs. He grunted and fell back, giving her room to maneuver and back away from the other three, lest she get surrounded.

Retreating from the shade, Nuut used her knives to angle sunlight into the eyes of her attackers. One of them stopped approaching and covered his eyes, but the others were coming on too quickly.

Their swords gave them more reach than her blades and Nuut had to run. Her brass pegleg did not fare well in the sand. She saw their shadow gaining. The one on the left loomed larger so she turned his way.

Clang! The sword hit her raised dagger. Knocked off balance, she staggered away, trying to keep the near Vulture between her and his charging comrades.

Motion in her peripheral; the one she’d flashed with her dagger charged, then cried in pain.

The bald man stood behind him, hands no longer bound. He pulled a sword from the Vulture’s back and looked as pissed as Nuut was.

Now it was an even fight.

With a roar, the bald man charged at the other Vulture. Nuut engaged the nearer man, leaping at him to stay close. His sword gave him greater reach, but within arms-length her shorter blades gave her the edge.

The point of her dagger went into his sword-arm elbow, just enough for him to drop the weapon. The other knife found his side and he fell to the ground. With a quick slash across his neck, the fight was over.

The bald prisoner executed the other Vulture.

Silence fell. Nuut regarded him a moment until it was broken by a distant shriek.

Maar!

Nuut ran back to her camel and mounted it, taking off in the direction of Maar’s scream. The bald man followed on one of the horses.

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Notes:
- It has been 14 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- The bald man has been seen before, but as his name was not given I’ll leave it for you to figure out for now

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 22nd, 2026
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<Sci-Fi/Romance>

Memories

Si^\1]) traveled^\2]) to Dee’s^\3]) apartment^\4]) to help^\5]) her nail^\6]) a tricky^\7]) ClipClop^\8]) transition^\9]) for their^\10]) anniversary^\11]) post^\12]). When Dee^\3]) hit^\13]) ‘record’^\14]), the “glitch”^\15]) revealed^\16]) a collage^\17]) of Si’s^\1]) past^\18]) visits^\19]), spelling^\20]) “I^\3]) choose you^\1]) every time^\21]).” They^\10]) laughed into^\9]) a kiss^\22]).

The End^\34])
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References:
1- Pronounced “See”, short for^\23]) [redacted]^\24]), a cisgender female-identifying (she/her) time-traveler and romantic partner of Dee^\3]). They are from a generic time known as “the future”, where a mixture of fantasy-esque magic and various types of -punk technology (cyber, solar, etc) are seamlessly mingled. Si’s first appearance in this series was in Early to being late
2- Specifically “time traveled”, using TimeJump^tm - the friendly time travel service provider^\25]) - to move through both time and space^\26])
3- Pronounced “Dee”, short for^\23]) “Deborah”, a cisgender female-identifying (she/her) waitress^\27]) from the Fun Tea Friday Cafe^\28]), “Where everyday is Friday” (Dee, multiple timelines)^\29]). Dee received this position^\27]) after being fired from her job at Costco^\30]), and was first introduced to work at the cafe^\28]) in First Day. Dee’s first appearance in this series was in Early to being late
4- “A room or set of rooms fitted especially with housekeeping facilities and usually leased as a dwelling” - Merriam-Webster^\31])
5- To render assistance
6- To succeed with accuracy. Not related to a hammer or a small, thin piece of piercing metal
7- Somewhat difficult and requiring a degree of finesse and aptitude to overcome
8- Legally distinct version of TikTok. Dee^\3]) has long struggled to get a footing on the platform
9- To link two different actions
10- Referring to two or more parties, not an individual’s pronoun
11- A celebration of an annual event, in this case the formalizing of their^\10]) (Si’s^\1]) and Dee’s^\3]) ) relationship
12- A message, in this case video and audio, shared in a public space, in this case the internet
13- Pressed, or tapped, a button; referring to older technology where significant force was required to press much larger buttons
14- To save aural and visual information. Not a large flat circle with engravings that encoded aural information
15- In reference to a digital visual issue wherein data was compressed or encoded incorrectly. In this case, it was intentionally done
16- Si^\1]) loaded the data and spliced out the “glitch”^\15]) to help^\5]) Dee^\3]) determine what was causing it
17- A collection of images organized in a specific way
18- Specifically, in Dee’s^\3]) chronological experience of collecting visual references of Si’s^\1]) visits. Some number of the images were from Si’s^\1]) chronological future. Traveling^\2]) can be weird.
19- The act of traveling to, arriving and only temporarily staying at, another location
20- The collage^\17]) in this instance was organized specifically to form a series of letters that, when put together in the proper order and with appropriate kerning^\33]), form a discernable word
21- This is a pun aimed at the fact that Si^\1]) is a time traveler^\2]) and that both she^\1]) and Dee^\3]) meet “out of order” with respect to their^\10]) individual timelines
22- The touching of the outward flappy parts of one’s mouth to the outward flappy parts of another’s mouth
23- Denoting that this is a “nickname”, or shortened form of, a legal name
24- Si’s^\1]) full name is, as of yet, unknown to the reader and to the writer. Or, if it has been fully spelled out in a past chapter, the writer was too lazy as of this time to find it
25- TimeJump^TM’s competitor is MeanTime Inc
26- Time travel necessitates space travel as the planet is moving
27- The official job title of Dee^\3]) at the cafe^\28]), though the job description included “other duties as assigned” 28- An interdimensional tea and coffee shop wherein beings from all across multiple realities can come in and get a nice cup of tea. The entrance only materializes on Fridays
29- The slogan was invented by Dee^\3]) near the end of her life, which coincided with the beginning of the cafe. This is considered a spoiler as neither event has been formally written yet
30- An interdimensional big box retail store wherein consumers can buy bulk products at bulk prices. Membership is required. A hot dog and soda will always cost the local equivalent of $1.50
31- Merriam-Webster, Incorporated is an American company that publishes reference books and is mostly known for its dictionaries. - Wikipedia^\32]) 32- Wikipedia is a free online encyclopedia written and maintained by a community of volunteers - Wikipedia
33- Spacing between letters
34- Ta-da!

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WC: 750/750
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson

Notes:
- Trope: Bad influencer - Dee is very bad at social media
- Genre: Bad romance - the couple make a romance pun
- Skill/Constraint: Dee puts on a fake valley girl accent
- The Fun Tea Friday Cafe and many of its characters have been written about before

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 16th, 2026
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<Sci-Fi/Fantasy>

Rough and Course

Dee fixed her hair then made her way from the employee bathroom to the kitchen of the cafe. She passed a seven-foot tall cockroach standing by the oven, and waved. He waved three of his hands while the rest continued to roll dough.

“How do I look?” Dee asked, flicking her fingers through her hair.

Frank clicked his mandibles a few times and gestured wildly with one hand.

“Thanks!” Dee gave him two finger-guns and went out to the front.

Her eyes drifted across the wood-panels and earth-tones of the cafe’s interior, spotting an unfamiliar face by the register.

“Welcome to the Fun Tea Friday Cafe,” she gave the dirty-blonde man her usual greeting. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Where everyday is…” She followed his gaze to the floor near Vlad and Remus’s table. The vampire and werewolf couple were resting their chins in their palms as they, too, looked at the floor.

A massive man was laying on his back and struggling to roll over. The depth of the creases around his musculature made Dee worry that he was severely dehydrated, but the amount of oil glistening off of his pecs and biceps and abs - all eight of them - made him look plenty moist.

He rocked like a turtle and grasped at the air, grunting. His face was pinkish-tan and growing redder by the second. Veins bulged on his forehead and neck as he gritted his teeth and reached out to grab anything in reach.

All of the customers gawping at the sight were smart enough to back off.

“WILL SOMEONE NOT HELP KORG UP!?” he roared.

“Oh, shit!” Dee realized it was probably her job. She hurried around the counter, wiped her hands on her dark blue apron, and reached for his hand.

“Sorry, sir!” she said. “Let me just…” she grabbed his wrist and he grabbed hers. But when she pulled, she slipped through his grasp. His very oily grasp.

“Uh, you seem to be a little…” she tried again, and slipped, “hard to…” a third attempt, this time she wrapped both arms around his forearm - which was nearly as thick as her torso - and leaned back, but he slipped through and she fell on her ass. “Oof!”

“OIL MAKES KORG GLISTEN LIKE MORNING DEW!”

“Uh-huh, but what-”

“KORG FALL ON BOTTLE OF UNIVERSAL GLUE!”

“Universal glue…” Dee muttered, pulling a notepad out of her apron pocket. A cheat sheet from her girlfriend to help navigate the strange cafe.

Dee flipped through the notes and found ‘UG’.

UG: ugh, you need to tell Nohalorm. Ritual on page 2

Turning to page two as she got up, she said, “Okay, everyone, we gotta summon No…ha…lorm?”

“Ugh!” half the customers groaned. The ones who groaned got up out of their seats and told whoever they were eating with to follow along. Dee shrugged and read the instructions; she joined all of the customers in standing in a circle around the central pillar in the main room.

Everyone changed, “Nohalorm! Nohalorm! Come to us and take your form!” while taking two steps clockwise, then four steps counter-clockwise around the pillar. They repeated this twice, and then Vlad - who was closest to the register - grabbed the tip jar and threw it at the pillar where it vanished.

The pillar rippled and pulsed, unfolding like a box, and an old man stepped out. He looked like a skeleton with ten-times too much grey skin layered over it; wrinkly and sagging. He was carrying a paper sack that looked entirely too heavy for him. Dee stepped his way to offer help, but Fenrir put a big, furry paw on her shoulder and shook his head.

Muttering, the old man - Nohalorm, Dee expected - approached Korg. He ripped open the paper sack and poured sand on Korg. A lot of sand. More sand than could have possibly fit in the bag. Nohalorm tossed the empty bag over his shoulder, into the opening in the pillar. Then he slowly hobbled over to the pillar and pulled a broom out.

With about three sweeps, all of the sand was gone; whisked into the gap in the pillar. He reached down and grabbed Korg’s no-longer-glistening wrist and hoisted him up to his feet.

“Uh…” Korg looked as surprised as Dee felt. “Thank yo-...”

Nohalorm returned to the pillar. It closed, the paint rippled, and the tip jar flew back out, now empty, landing next to the register.

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 16th, 2026
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Chapter 140

“Nuut was followin’ the path Iuven an’ Maar woulda been takin’, right? But she was a mite nervous about-”

“Ahem,” one of the beleaguered soldiers cleared his throat.

Lacus closed his mouth. The pinewood cart fell silent but for the creak and bump of the wheels and the clop clop of hooves. A soft slosh as the liquid in the barrel of pickled peppers he sat on shifted with the rocking of the cart.

“Yeh?” Lacus asked, lifting a dirt-encrusted grey eyebrow.

“How in the Seven Shadows do you know any of this? You just said that Anatu was in the tent and sent Nuut away, now you know what Nuut’s doing all the way away from camp?”

“Cuz I was there.”

“You can’t have been in both places.”

Lacus rolled his eyes then rested his face in his hand. He muttered, “Patience for the young is a young man’s game, and it’s been a time since I’ve felt young.”

“What was that?”

“Just talkin’ in Harenese.”

“What in The Seven is Harenese?”

A deeper voice answered, “Our mother tongue.” A grizzled soldier with short, grey hair and beard leaned forward, calloused hands laced together. He wasn’t quite as old as Lacus, but from the wrinkles on his brow and the patches in his travel cloak.

Unlike the young men riding in the cart, who were all on the journey full of mortal ignorance of the dangers, the grey beard - Quintus - was here with Lacus for the same, simple reason.

Revenge.

“First nation the Bastard King took,” Quintus grumbled.

“Near on thirty years ago,” Lacus added, nodding as he rolled a spear back and forth in his lap. “Before your time, I guess. How old are you all anyway?”

“Twenty-two,” the first soldier answered. The other four were similarly young. None of them would have been born when the Bastard arrived from the East.

Children then, and children now.

Thump thump thump.

The cart driver kicked the backboard. Everyone stiffened. The cart began to slow.

Lacus laid his spear down over the barrels he was sitting on then lifted up his legs and laid down as well, using his body to cover the weapon. Balling up his coat for a pillow, he feigned sleep.

The cart stopped and the crunch of boots on gravel approached. Lacus heard the flap open and strange voices spoke in Sammosan.

”Who are these?”

”The merchant has no tongue, ask them.”

“Who are you?” one of the strangers asked in the trade language. “What brings you to Sammos?”

“Traders,” the other old Haranae man grumbled. “My sons, and my father.”

Lacus resented being called Quintus’s father, but he was probably old enough. Looked it too, for sure.

“Wake him,” the Sammosan ordered.

One of the younger men jabbed Lacus in the ribs with his knuckle. “Hey, gramps, up.”

“Ugh,” Lacus grumbled. He muttered, ”In mari meri miri mori muri accidit,” and rolled a bit to lift his head and look out the back of the cart.

“What’d that mean?” the stranger asked. Now Lacus could see him; clad in dented, charred metal, and missing an eye. This one wasn’t some coward playing guardsman; he’d seen action. Recently.

“Just angry at my son,” Quintus said, reaching over and smacking the young man on the forehead. “Need anything from us?”

“What are you trading?”

“Peppers,” Quintus said. He kicked one of the barrels under Lacus. ”Pater, piperataria.”

Lacus sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He sat up slightly, made sure to keep himself between the peering eyes of the guards and the spear he was hiding. Lifting the lid of a barrel, he pulled one of the shriveled green peppers out and tossed it at Quintus. ”Foetorem extremae latrinae.”

“What’s that?”

“He said not to give it away again,” Quintus lied easily, handing the guard the pickled pepper. “But it’s not giving away if it’s a gift.”

“Right you are,” the guard said. He examined the pepper then took a bite and made a face, spitting one of the seeds out. “Fine enough. Get on then.”

The guards left and the cart started moving again.

“Well, that was easy,” one of the young men said.

“Eh, Fariba probably paid them off first,” Lacus grumbled as he sat up. Age may have made him seem less threatening, but it sure made laying down on barrels uncomfortable.

“The mute merchant?”

“He wasn’t always mute,” Lacus said. “Truth be told I like him better this way.”

“Speaking of truth, how in the Seven Shadows-”

“Because he was there,” Quintus interrupted. “And what he wasn’t there for, he was told. By Anatu. By Cassandra.”

“Yeah sure, fine,” the young man said, rolling his eyes. “You were there with Cassandra the Great in Nihimlaq, yeah, but now we’re traveling to Sammos to see her?”

“Find her, if we can.” Lacus nodded. “She’s the reason the Bastard King didn’t take these lands.”

“Then why didn’t she do to him what she did to the Emperor?”

“Reckon she ain’t ever heard of ‘im,” Lacus said with a shrug. “Figured he was piss scared of the legend.”

“You believe the legend, then?”

Lacus leaned forward, then slapped the kid across the forehead.

“I. Was. There. I've seen what the Shadow of Sammos can do. You shut up, and I’ll tell you how I became part of the legend, and how I got this spear.” He pulled the weapon back around.

Quintus bristled.

“This belonged to Iuven, who I just told ya went on patrol with Maar but neither of them came back. So Anatu sent Nuut out to find’em. Only, Nuut wasn’t lookin’ for them when she went out into the sands. She was lookin’ for the Vultures.”

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Notes:
- It has been 18,522 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- The tongue twister translated from latin is “In a sea of delicious wine a mouse happened to die.” - “piperataria” was the latin word for black pepper - “Foetorem extremae latrinae” means you stink like a sewer

Original Prompt

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Originally written August 9th, 2026
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Chapter 139

Anatu’s fingers twitched. Their lower lip trembled. They touched the gold-inlaid box beside Cassandra’s bed, gently running their fingertips along the inlaid gems and opal carvings. That it contained the Emperor’s head… her grandfather’s head… filled them with a revulsion and a need to both run away from it, and throw open the lid to see it for themself. To see him for themself.

Glaukos had left to get something to eat after Anatu insisted that he take a break. They promised to come get him if Cass had any trouble breathing or started coughing again. But the moment the tent flap fluttered shut and dimmed the light within, they had all but dove for the fancy container they’d struggled not to ogle the entire time.

They could scarcely believe that Helen would make this request. The woman was mad with power, Anatu could see that plain as the sun in the sky and the stars at night, but she had never seemed cruel. Not to her enemies, at least. To Cassandra… well, Anatu found nothing strange about the way Helen spoke to Cass when they thought no one could hear them.

Public and private personas were the life of a royal, after all. Helen may not have been of royal blood, but she was of royal authority now.

They slid their fingernails along the seam that separated the lid from the rest of the box. Anatu was in desperate need of a manicure, but for the first time in days they did not get upset at the sight of their dirty nails. They barely saw them at all as they looked at the filigree within the woodwork.

Fariba of Shen had made this container themself, or so they claimed. Anatu found it hard to believe such an energetic and boisterous trader could do such fine, delicate work. Each grain of the wood seemed to have been painstakingly replaced with a precious metal. Gold, silver, electrum, platinum, copper, tin; it all flowed so naturally, as though the tree itself were grown of the material before being cut and finely carved into smoothness.

With the lightest pressure, Anatu lifted the lid.

The sickly sweet aroma of tree sap mixed with the acrid odor of oil assailed their nostrils.

Anatu wanted to retch, but held themself together.

When they’d first heard of this box, back in Dehenet, before this journey had begun, all they knew of it was that it contained a message for General Ronka all the way out in Keygroph. They knew that Cassandra had been tasked with delivering it, and that the Council considered it a fitting punishment and humiliation for the disgraced general.

Anatu had also known that they’d chosen them to escort Cassandra to humiliate them as well. They knew Anatu was from Dehenet, though only Helen - so far as Anatu knew - was aware of their bloodline. Anatu did not know what the box contained, or the cruel joke that Helen was partaking in. The Council sent Anatu away to make sure that they could not attempt any influence on what local power did remain in the city, or in the country as a whole.

And that was fine. Anatu wanted to be far away from that palace of death.They wanted to get lost in the bureaucratic shuffle of the transferring power and find some place to hide in for the rest of their life. A small town like Nihimlaq would have been tolerable. Disappearing in a large city, like Keygroph, would have been easy as well, and had been an option.

Until they’d heard what was in this box. Until Cassandra’s drunken blunder had revealed the sickening truth. Until their ornery altercation with Kebb while they’d attempted to find this very box back in Nihimlaq.

A hair’s breadth at a time, Anatu lifted the lid off of the container. Their hands trembled with the weight of it. So light, yet resisting their command - their need - to move it aside. To reveal the hidden contents. The lid remained a shield between their gaze and their dread.

The truth was known, yet until they saw it, it need not be real.

Anatu’s vision blurred with unshed tears. They could close the box and pretend. They could deny what they could not see until the end of their days. Chosen ignorance could be as blissful as natural if given the chance.

But just as easily as they could, they simply could not. It was impossible.

They pulled the lid to their chest, clinging to it with numb fingers, and blinked the tears from their eyes. As the warm drops of water tickled down their dry cheeks to their chin, the sudden fidelity of their vision showed the grotesque remains of their grandfather.

His eyes were unblinking, unseeing; cloudy in the amber gel that held his face in a dazed expression. Not fearful, not proud, not content nor in pain. Just… dull. Slack. As lifeless as the rest of his corpse, wherever it was.

No hint of life nor of the man he had been. No glow of imperial regality, no warmth of grandfatherly love.

Just a head with a familiar face.

Anatu replaced the lid.

Their throat constricted as they tried to inhale. The scent of the sap clung to their nose and tongue. They forced themself to exhale and tried again. Then again.

Warm air flooded their lungs and they stifled a scream of rage by biting their fist. Closing their eyes, they let the tears flow.

They hated Helen. They hated Cassandra. They hated the Council. But most of all, they hated themself. Their final memory of their grandfather would no longer be his warm smile at dinner.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written August 1st, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 138

Glaukos dabbed Cass’s forehead with a damp rag. Then he yawned. It was warm, and the sunlight was dim, but not wholly blacked out. There was only so much that could stop the sun in the middle of the day. Sleep was one of those things, but he couldn’t indulge.

Not while Cass was still struggling to breathe.

The raspy choking she made with each short, panting breath had his teeth on edge. Each inhale sounded like someone was gripping her throat, and each exhale was a death rattle.

He was glad his friend was sleeping through the heat and through the labored breathing. How she slept was beyond him, between her near-choking every moment, and the strange yelling from the neighbouring tent - where Mica and Fariba were arguing over something in a language he couldn’t understand.

The tent flap opened and Anatu entered, carrying a small cup.

“I’ve got some wine,” they said, sitting it on the small box beside Cass’s cot. “Kher smuggled a barrel on the cart, fortunately.”

“Wine won’t help breathing problems,” Glaukos said through a second yawn. He rubbed his eyes. “Where’s Maar? She’s good with this niche healer stuff.”

“She was out scouting with Iuven, but they haven’t come back yet,” Anatu answered. “I sent Nuut out to find them.”

“Good call, don’t want her setting fire to another tent.”

“Hmph,” Anatu grunted. They crossed their arms around their midriff, hugging themself as they looked back at the tent’s entrance. “I cannot believe Kebb’s actions.”

“I can’t believe you nailed him with such a strong left hook,” Glaukos said, chuckling at the memory.

“It was that, or let Mica cut his throat.”

Looking at Cass in her bed, sweating, struggling to breathe, Glaukos wondered if that wouldn’t have been a better idea.

Anatu knelt down by Cass and pressed their ear to her chest. They said, “It sounds like there’s sand in her lungs.”

“More like rocks,” Glaukos suggested.

Anatu pulled the blanket back some and started. “Why is she naked?”

“It’s sweltering in here,” Glaukos said, taking the cloth and dipping it in the water bowl. He dabbed his own forehead, then re-wetted it to dab Cass.

Glaukos continued, resting back on his heels, yawning. “Her robes reeked of smoke and incense. Was gonna make me sick, so I tossed them around the side of the tent to air out.

“Don’t you think it inappropriate to strip her like this?”

“No?” Glaukos furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”

“She’s unconscious, and you’re…” Anatu’s eyes went up and down as their hand reached for words they couldn’t find.

“I’m… what? Her best friend?” Glaukos dabbed water behind Cass’s ears and around her neck. “This isn’t the first time she’s been like this.”

“It isn’t?”

“Well… unconscious and a mess. Usually it’s from drinking.”

“Ah, that’s believable.”

Fariba and Mica’s argument got louder and moved closer. Anatu and Glaukos watched their shadows progress around the side of Cass’s tent before the two fell silent before entering.

“Friend Glaukos… oh, and Anatu of the Golden Sands,” Fariba said, falling into a deep bow in front of Anatu.

“What are you two arguing about?” Glaukos asked when Mica entered behind Fariba.

“Arguing?” Mica asked.

“Fariba of Shen and the sister-wife of-” Fariba was silenced when Mica smacked the back of their head.

“Sister-wife?” Glaukos asked. “I’m curious.”

“And you can stay that way,” Mica said.

Fariba continued, “The invigorating discussion was more to do with the delicious aroma-”

“You mean ‘disgusting smell’,” Mica interrupted.

“-of what Kher is preparing. But Fariba is not here to discuss midday meals. What is important is Cassandra the Great’s burns.”

Glaukos looked back at Cass. There were angry red marks on her cheek and lips; as if she had been slapped by fire.

Fariba produced a small glass jar out of a fold of their colorful robes. Pulling a large cork stopper off the top, they dipped their fingers into a bluish substance and extracted a healthy glob of goo.

The air in the tent at once took on minty tones and Fariba spread the pungent gunk around the red marks on Cass’s face, then rubbed some more under her nostrils.

“It will also assist in cleansing the lungs,” Fariba said upon seeing Glaukos’s confused expression.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t quite believe the manic merchant, but he also didn’t disbelieve enough to stop them. It didn’t immediately make Cass’s breathing worse, so there didn’t seem to be any harm in the medicine.

“Okay, it’s getting really warm in here,” Anatu grumbled. “Glaukos, keep an eye on Cass and come get me or Fariba if anything changes.”

“Or Maar, if she comes back,” Glaukos said.

“The second she’s back I’ll send her in,” Anatu agreed.

“You should all get some sleep,” Mica said. “I’ll stay up and wait for Maar to come back.”

“You need sleep too,” Glaukos argued.

“I’ll sleep in the cart tonight.”

“Why should you get to sleep in the cart? I can stay up all day and do it, too.”

“Because I volunteered first.” Mica didn’t wait for a response and ducked out through the tent flap.

Anatu shook their head and left the tent. Fariba followed close after, chuckling.

Glaukos sighed, sat down on the floor, and yawned. He adjusted the sand beneath the tent fabric a bit to get comfortable, then took the cup of wine Anatu had left for Cass.

Better he drink it now, than Cass when she wakes up.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written July 26th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 137

Cass ran her fingers through her long, black hair to help fan it out. Helping set up tents for camp had her work up a sweat and she wanted to make the most of the soft dawn breeze. Soon the sunlight would finish cresting the sand dunes and all attempts to stay cool would be for naught.

Glaukos finished hammering a stake into the sand, stood up, and groaned. “Sometimes I don’t know if Anatu likes me and never gives me scouting duty, or hates me and always makes me help build the tents.”

“Bold of you to assume they think about you at all,” Cass said. “But we can go ask them?”

“What? No!”

Cass grinned and looked around. Anatu was nowhere to be seen at-a-glance, despite usually micromanaging something, but she did spot Kebb approaching.

“Cassandra,” he said, a light in his eyes and a smile on his face.

“Kebb,” Cass greeted, nodding her head politely. She never recalled seeing him this happy.

“I have something important to show you, please come with me.”

Cass cocked an eyebrow. She looked at Glaukos, who shrugged and said, “Might as well. We’re done here and I’m gonna go see if I can taste whatever Kher’s cooking.” He clapped his hands together, rubbed them with eager intent, and headed towards the campfire.

Kebb led Cass back to his tent and held open the flap for her. Inside she found a ring of candles, small miscellaneous burning sticks, and four small braziers alight with different colored flames.

“Stand in the center,” Kebb said.

“Why?”

“Helen wishes to speak to you.”

Cass blinked slowly and looked at him, unsure if she’d heard him right. With an eager nod, Kebb gestured for her to get into the center of the fiery circle. She hiked up her robe to step over the candles, the warmth of the flames all around her uncomfortable as the rising sun had been.

Kebb grabbed some incense pellets and put them in each of the colored flames. Plumes of smoke rose and thickened the air with smoke and heavy scents.

“Breathe deep,” he said, ducking back out of the tent.

Cass tried, but the haze filled her lungs and she coughed. Covering her mouth, she knelt down and tried to take a breath of cleaner air, but coughed again and again.

The flames around her grew taller and hotter. The smoke thickened into a dome of blackness. Cass couldn’t breathe.

“Kebb!” she struggled to shout between coughs.

The fire from a brazier leaped toward her. Cass leaned to one side, trying to back away but finding no direction to retreat from the flames. The rolling blaze slowed its approach, bending and pressing into the ground. It rose up in a bent pillar, swiftly joined by another, and another. The conflagrations combined into a humanoid figure that stood over Cass

White fire draped around the orange and rend burning, as brilliant and painful to behold as it was burning the air around her. Cass felt droplets of sweat running freely down her face and neck, dripping from her nose. She tried her best to keep her body between the flaming figure and her agonizing arm that felt as though it were itself wreathed in flame.

Cassandra, my love, the flames hissed and whispered. Cass looked up from the floor. The fire and heat rippled above her, casting a monstrous mirage of Helen standing like a towering inferno of pain.

“H-help!” Cass choked on the smoke, her eyes tearing up and burning. She couldn’t get up.

Shhhh, the fiery figure pressed a flame - a finger - to Cass’s lips.

It burned.

Cassandra, you are so strong, you can push through this, the fire whispered, a slight tenor entering its willowy hiss. Hear me, Cass. Listen, please.

“He…Hel…Helen?”

That’s right, Cass, Helen’s whisper burns Cass’s ear. Open your eyes, my love. Look at me.

“I…cough... I can’t. It burns.” Cass choked. The heat was pressing down on her. Her arm was agony.

You struggle so much for me, but I must ask you to do more, Cass. I am so very, very sorry my love. But you must finish your mission.

“I’m doing my- m-my best.”

You are turning away from me. I can feel it from Dehenet.

“I’d never-”

I see it, Cassandra. I see you through every fire and flame. Your lackadaisical manner, your irreverence, your-

“P-please!” Cass gasped, trying to cover her face from the scalding heat. “I can’t… I need you.”

I’m right here, Cass.

“It’s too bright. Too hot.” Cass sobbed.

Just lift your head, and open your eyes.

Cass struggled. Every movement exposed more of her to the scorching air. The smoke filled her nose, her mouth. When she opened her eyes all she could see was light and heat and black wisps of pain.

Cass…

“Cass!”

Cass’s clothes were tugged at.

“Cassandra!”

The world spun around. Cass felt a sudden weight on her back, then her side.

An icy breeze slapped her face. Cass opened her eyes and saw blue sky. She gasped and choked on fresh air, the taste and scent of smoke still filling her senses. Rolling over to her side, coughing and gagging, Cass saw Kebb on the ground; his nose was bleeding, one eye swollen shut, and Mica had a knife to his throat.

“Cass!” Glaukos said, pushing her onto her back again. He leaned over her, eyes red, face streaked with tears.

“Hel… Helen… where…”

Anatu appeared beside Glaukos. Their face was pale, eyes wide. “Here,” they said, pressing a waterskin to Cass’s lips. The tepid water was like ice on her skin and she drank deep as the black spots around the edge of her vision grew and swallowed her.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Kebb performed this ritual before in Chapter 65

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written July 19th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 136

The background rumble of the refugee caravan was finally gone, and the silence of the desert settled in around Anatu and their group. They lead tonight, riding well ahead of everyone else except for Iuven, who was near to help Anatu keep an eye on their surroundings.

With the lad’s sharp eyes on the horizon, Anatu let their own gaze drift side to side. They’d left their torch unlit for the time being to preserve their night vision. Kebb would give them an earful for the sacrilege later, but he was bringing up the rear of the caravan today. There was a chance he might not even catch them.

The starlit sands drifted by in peaceful quiet. It had been many nights since they’d felt this at ease.

No Kebb breathing down their neck. No Cass contradicting their every word. No Glaukos cracking his annoyingly silly jokes. If they were alone together, Anatu might laugh again and they did not want that embarrassment.

Having Maar up here to talk with would not have been unwelcome, but the silence was, itself, enjoyable. A lovely reprieve from the arduous journey they found themself on.

Closing their eyes for a short while and letting the camel simply walk forward, Anatu listened to the silence. The distant sound of conversation behind them was near enough to inaudible that Anatu could ignore it.

Inhaling slowly through their nose, Anatu smelled the desert. The earthy scent of cooked sand radiating heat upward as they passed by.

They exhaled slowly, and their breath was loud in the night. It was easy for them to understand why foreigners often thought the desert was a place of death.

Wind whispered over the dunes. A flapping of wings nearby. Anatu caught a puff of sand atop a hill when they opened their eyes. A hawk wrestled with a lizard as a second reptile skittered down the sandy slope and vanished into the shadows at the base.

Well that seems like an omen, Anatu thought. Whether it was good or bad would be for time to tell. They weren’t particularly superstitious, but the feeling was instinctual. Their mother was always looking for omens and signs from the gods. It had motivated them to look as well, as a child.

Now though?

Now I’m alive because Grandfather wanted to hedge his bets, they thought bitterly. Their hands tightened on the reins of their camel.

They breathed in again. Grounding themselves. Letting the thoughts of their family pass through their mind and out of their head.

The head of her grandfather was in a box a few dozen meters behind them.

They gritted their teeth as the memories bubbled up again. They needed to see it. To see him. They didn’t know why they needed to, but they couldn’t fight the feeling. It pulled at them, like a chain constricting around their chest, drawing them backward.

No. I can’t. That wound would never heal. Seeing their grandfather again would not be the same. But the fact that he was right there was consistently gnawing at their psyche.

Their mother would call them a coward for not exercising their right as a royal. Their fathers would reprimand them for taking the word of a drunken slave over the evidence of their own eyes.

Anatu had not seen the head. It could be a lie; a ruse. Cassandra might have been less drunk than she seemed and planted the seed specifically to give her a reason to send Anatu away, or worse.

Would she need a reason? Her grandfather’s wisdom whispered in her ear. There were an infinite number of explanations Anatu could come up with, but nothing made sense other than Cassandra had been drunk and let slip what she shouldn’t have.

It was by far the most believable result.

Which meant that, balance of probability, her grandfather’s head truly was in the box. It was on the wagon. Anatu could see him again.

Anatu would see him again. They just needed a moment when no one was looking.

Iuven and Maar can go scout the perimeter when we make camp, they thought. Kher will cook. I can have Glaukos help Cass and Charis with setting up tents. Nuu and Nuut will stick to themselves. I can have Mica keep an eye on Nuut, that is becoming more normal than not.

What to do about Kebb?

The narcissistic zealot was nigh impossible to control now. Anatu needed him to look away while they slipped into the wagon. Something to do with the Flame and Helen would be easy, but if Anatu asked him to make a call to prayer then he would expect them to join in.

I could have him talk to Cass… but that would only buy me moments, not minutes. She rubs him wrong almost as much as me.

Anatu pondered ways to distract Kebb as the leagues slowly passed underfoot, with no good idea coming by sunrise.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written July 12th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 135

Nuut kneaded her fingers on the wagon wheel while she looked out over the refugee camp. Darkness had fallen and the endless sea of tents was aglow with torches and campfires. This little detour was delaying the journey and if they did not begin moving soon, the caravan would not even clear this sea of the displaced.

Which would lead to further delays.

Circling the cart slowly, and dragging her fingers lightly across the smooth wood, Nuut felt an irregular scratch. Examining it out of boredom, she noticed it was no mere chip in the wood, but a series of small gouges by a knife or dagger. A familiar pattern; an upside-down triangle with two dashes on either side near the top.

The Vultures were here.

She looked around for another sign. Motion in the corner of her vision drew her attention and she saw a grey-brown scrap of fabric vanish around a tent.

Nuut made her way back around to the front of the car,t to tell Mica she was going for a walk, but the demure Chollish woman was already sliding off of the wagon.

“We’ve got an unwanted guest,” Mica said, her voice pitched low. She didn’t want it to carry.

Nuut matched her tone. “The tent?” She twitched her knee in the direction she had planned to go.

“You saw them too?”

“Don’t act so surprised.” Nuut rolled her eyes. “You watch the cart, I’ll see to them.”

“You sure?” Mica glanced down at Nuut’s brass pegleg. Nuut gritted her teeth in frustration.

“If others come, you are more able to chase them off. And I need to vent.”

Mica nodded her head side to side, shrugged, and said, “Fair.”

Nuut left the cart and peeked around the tent. A hooded figure rose from sitting on a small barrel and walked away. Nuut made to catch up and pursued the stranger as they ducked into a different tent.

She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring neither Mica nor any other strangers were following, then entered as well.

Darkness and still air greeted her. The warmth of another body close. Her hand slipped to the sheathed blade at her hip.

Sparks lit a small oil lamp. The tent was revealed in its dim orange glow. The hooded man moved the flame to light additional candles.

“Fifteen leagues,” he said quietly. “There will be a small valley between five dunes that is excellent to make camp.”

“Shhhh.” Nuut covered her lips with two fingers. “One of my caravan is near.”

“We know of the Sister-wife of Tzel who travels with you,” the Vulture said, gesturing at the flames. “Her eyes cannot penetrate the light, and her ears will be kept at bay by my men outside.”

Nuut glanced back at the tent’s entrance. She had seen no one outside, but that meant little if they were doing their jobs correctly. For the sake of not liking feeling surrounded, and to keep Mica from coming looking for her.

“Fifteen leagues?” Nuut hissed, lip curling. “Even if we leave now we can’t make that distance in a night.”

“Two nights.”

“Two nights,” Nuut repeated, biting her thumb and nodding slowly. “That can be done.”

“It will be done, or our deal is off. We cannot wait in the desert forever, not even for such a prize.”

He waved his hand dismissively. Nuut bristled at the gesture, but ducked out of the tent and checked her surroundings.

Still no soul in sight.

Back at the wagon, Nuut found Mica sitting atop the canvas, looking about.

“Find him?” she asked.

“No,” Nuut lied. “Go find the rest of our people, we need to start moving.”

“Not interested.” Mica slid off of the wagon and landed in a crouch. “Why don’t you?”

“My leg hurts,” Nuut said, curtly. “And I doubt you, or Anatu, or anyone wants me to go and try to say anything to the wahsh when I’m not in my best possible mood.”

Mica nodded her head side to side. “Fair point. But remember, Cass isn’t the only wahsh you travel with.”

Nuut raised an eyebrow curiously, staring at Mica who met her gaze. When Nuut blinked, Mica was gone. She looked around in alarm only to find the short Chollish woman behind her.

“I’ll find everyone and send them back. Your arms don’t hurt, so you can make sure all of the camels are ready.”

Mica made a rude gesture to Nuut as she walked away. Nuut made an equally rude expression at her back.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Fifteen leagues is approximately fifty miles - Mica’s abilities and title were revealed in Chapter 72

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written July 5th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 134

Cass was glad that Charis gave her a chance to walk and talk through the refugee camp. Finding a moment of peace with them these last few days - a moment when they were both of a mind to talk - had been strenuous. But now that they were together again, words were failing her.

She knew what she wanted to say. Apologies were easy, just an “I’m sorry” was all it took. But it felt like far too little for what she’d done. The conversation looming over the two of them was like a jigsaw of words and actions that she needed to do the right way or else ruin… whatever this was.

“Relax, Cass,” Charis said, putting their hand on her forearm. She looked over at them. Charis smiled. “You’re clenching your teeth.”

Cass took a slow breath and relaxed her jaw. “You’ve known me less than a week, but you can-”

“I’ve known you almost two weeks,” Charis said, their tone light and jovial as they looked ahead again.

Cass sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“How can I know what you mean if you don’t say what you mean?”

“Because you cut me off.”

“Did I, now?” Charis asked, tilting their head to the side and looking at her with a smirk.

“Yeah, I was trying to say that you’ve only known me a little while but you’re already-”

“Becaues if you wanted to apologize to me for the way you behaved, I certainly wouldn’t stop you.”

“I’m trying to!”

“Are you?”

“I-!” Cass caught herself. She look at Charis’s raised eyebrow and smirk. Pursing her lips, and closing her eyes, Cass inhaled slowly through her nose and counted backwards from ten, exhaling near the end.

She had been wanting to apologize, but she had not been about to. She’d been about to go off on some jive about how long they’d known each other and reminisce over the last several days together. But that wouldn’t have built up to a proper apology.

“Fine,” she said. “Charis, I’m sorry.”

They nodded.

“I’m sorry for… well, for being an ass.”

“Thank you,” they said.

“And I’m sorry for scaring you,” Cass continued, “and for being drunk. And for drinking despite when you told me how you felt. And for snapping at you when you were just trying to help me with… with everything.”

“Thank you,” Charis repeated, lacing their fingers into hers and gently squeezing. “I forgive you.”

Cass smiled and squeezed back. She’d thought it was a gentle squeeze, but the wince and quick yelp from them told her it was too much.

“Oh shit! Sorry about that.” She let go of his hand.

“Ahh, yes. I forgive this, too,” Charis said, flexing their fingers in front of them.

“Are you ok-” Cass walked into a man who was staggering past, knocking him over. “Burn it,” she muttered, looking down at him. “Sorry fellow, are you-”

The man on the ground threw a bottle up at her. The glass cracked against her head and shattered, spraying red wine all over her face.

“Hey!” Charis yelled, grabbing the man by the collar of his cloak and pulling him up to his feet.

“Leggo ‘v me.” The man was noticeably drunk and flailed in Charis’s grasp. Cass reached over and grabbed him out of their grasp, lifting the drunk up one-handed. He kicked and slapped at her, but she barely felt it

“Are you okay?” Cass asked Charis, who nodded.

“Put me down!” the drunkard howled. Cass obliged, dropping him. He stumbled as he landed and took a knee, but stood up and wobbled. “Who’r you?”

“None of your business,” Cass said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. “Why don’t you stagger off somewhere else?”

The guy’s glassy eyes looked back and forth between them, his face - dark and sunburnt, with a scraggly wisp of a beard - slack, dry tongue trying to moisten dry lips.

Cass knew that feeling. The pleasant tingle in the nose and lip when drunk out of her mind. She wanted to let this guy get on his way, so she took Charis’s left arm in her right and turned.

“You two Vultures?” the drunk asked, bending down to pick up the neck of the now broken bottle. He held it loosely as he stood; a clear threat.

“No,” Cass answered brusquely.

“Fffff,” the guy worked up some phlegm and spat it out. “Idun believe yeh. Yer robes’r too nice. Y’ain’t been on the run from’m like what us ‘ere is.”

“Excuse me?” Cass couldn’t parse the words.

“Vultures! Attacked Salach!” he roared. “‘Say the leader’s a biggun wit’ hic scrawny arms,” the drunk man said, swaying on the spot.

“I’d hardly call his arms ‘scrawny’,” Cass said, squeezing Charis’s substantial bicep.

“Not ‘at’un.” He jabbed a finger at Cass’s bandaged left arm and spat on the ground in front of her. “You.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Where’s the rest’a it?”

The sudden grip sent shockwaves of pain up through Cass’s arm and knocked the breath out of her. She dropped to her knees in agony, mouth open in a scream, spots filling her vision.

With a dull thud, Charis’s fist slammed into the side of the man’s head. He fell to the sand, letting go of her arm.

Cass cradled her arm as some guards appeared, coming to the sound of her yell. She didn’t hear what they were saying, or Charis explaining the situation as well as a couple of witnesses nearby corroborating. She was focused on the residual pain in her arm.

“Cass,” Charis said, their voice soft, hand gently touching her right shoulder. They knelt down beside her. “Cass, are you okay?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s get back to the cart,” he said, rising and helping her up with gentle guidance.

Cass nodded and followed their lead, fighting the urge to give in to the pain and rage and rip that drunk to pieces.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Cass and Charis had a fight in Chapter 110

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written June 28st, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 133

Glaukos and the others all rose early in the evening, broke their fasts on a quick meal of fresh-ish bread and jam, and packed up camp. The sun was just beginning to set when they rounded the dunes to visit the refugee caravan.

Hundreds of tents and campfires as far as Glaukos could see. He wondered how they all managed to move together without military discipline. Unlike Gahbreel’s caravan of bright white linen - all worshippers of The Flame - this hodgepodge of fleeing civilians was not united by anything Cass could see; rich and expensive encampments were beside shoddily crafted lean-tos, with no commonality of color or fabric or style to be seen.

Glaukos dismounted his camel and handed the reins to Mica, who’d already explored the camp the night before and opted to stay with the cart.

Idleness was not in his nature, though, and Glaukos was off into the endless camp. His meandering among the clusters of small, temporary homes had him soon realize that it wasn’t one, unified camp. It was actually an endless series of small groups.

He avoided circles of closed-up canopies with dead or smoldering fires, following instead the smell of smoke and the sound of voices until he found a group that was up. He’d hoped the smoke meant cooking, but it looked like a group of healers tending to wounds.

Adults and children were laying about under hastily constructed canopies while people walked between them. There was crying, but no screaming; from a quick glance Glaukos was relieved to not see any attempts to carve away anything more than an ichorous scab.

Feeling no small amount of nausea, Glaukos covered his mouth and turned away to leave, but a healer grabbed his arm.

“Stomach?” he asked, seeing the gesture. “Come here.”

The man pulled and Glaukos stumbled, following out of necessity, until he was gently shoved onto a bench, jostling a younger man beside him.

“Glaukos?” The younger man asked.

Glaukos looked at him. “Iuven? What are you doing here?”

“I was just looking around.” He shrugged. “I tripped over a rope and twisted my ankle.” The padded pack of gauss he gestured to brought Glaukos’s attention to his elevated leg. A puddle of water formed from the melt dripping off of his foot into the sand below.

Iuven asked, “You?”

“Uhh,” Glaukos looked around at some of the other minor injuries and wounds being tended to. “Followed the smoke from their fires hoping to find food, found this and felt a little queasy.”

The healer who had grabbed Glaukos returned just then, saying, “It’s because you drank the water despite the warnings.”

“Drank the water?” Glaukos asked. The healer pushed a bowl into his hand and handed him a small stack of unleavened bread.

“Yes, we’ve been telling everyone not to drink the water from the oasis,” he said, sighing and running his fingers through shaggy salt-and-pepper hair. “The rumors of its healing properties are vastly overexaggerated.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Eat,” the man said, taking one of the pieces of bread and dipping it into the red paste within the bowl. He ate the bread and chewed, gesturing for Glaukos to do the same.

He looked into the bowl and dipped the bread into the red stuff as well. Popping it into his mouth and chewing, he was surprised by how sweet it was.

“Mmm, this is good,” he said.

“Raspberry jam with some mint and other herbs,” the healer said. “Sehtyll cure from my bubbi.” He reached out and tousled Glauko’s long, curly hair. “You look like my nephew, it’ll help.”

Glaukos shared the treat with Iuven as the healer moved on to another patient. Watching him go, Glaukos said, “Maar can say what she wants about non-Shen healers, but that guy’s bedside manner is leagues above hers.”

Iuven chuckled. “Nothing intrinsic about kindness and healing, I guess.”

With a shrug, Glaukos ran his finger around the inside of the bowl to finish up the last bits of the raspberry jam.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Gahbreel’s caravan was encountered in Chapter 59
- Maar’s rant about healers was in Chapter 22

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written June 21st, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 132

Cass was sitting under the colorful fabric of Farbia of Shen’s tent once more, after the merchant had politely sent off their friends from the other caravan. The morning sun was only dimly passing through, and no flames were lit within. The air was cool thanks to a trick of how Fariba set things up to channel a breeze through without any additional sun getting inside.

She wanted to learn how that worked so she could do it with her own tent.

This time it was not just the two of them. Anatu, Mica, and Kebb were with them; a small ‘council’ formed to discuss what to make of the news from Salach. Cass didn’t like excluding the rest of the group from the discussion, but her own yawning reminded her that this meeting was hampering some much needed sleep.

When the question of who might be attacking Salach arose, Cass sighed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s probably Cit,” she said. “He was sailing north with my army and wanted to meet up.

Fariba, lounging on a cushioned chaise, raised their eyebrows inquisitively at Cass. “Your people would wreak such untoward destruction and chaos?”

“They wouldn’t let themselves be locked out of the only city in the desert,” Cass said, terse and defensive. “They might have gotten a bit antsy, but there’s no way they did as much damage as those two said.”

“Let us assume they did,” Kebb said. “The invading army, that is. Not necessarily your army. Are we certain it could not be General Ronka coming south from Keygroph?”

“Again, it is possible,” Anatu said. “But not likely.”

Mica asked Anatu, “You said Ronka’s army was mostly Desherayan, right?”

“Mostly, yes, last I was appraised of his makeup.” Anatu nodded. “That would be… almost two years ago. It’s possible that the balance of his forces have shifted, though.”

“Can’t be them,” Mica said, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

“Why not?” Kebb asked.

“I was talking to them.” Mica gestured off to her side. “The other people in the caravan. Every one of them described the invaders as rabid madmen and pale specters. Other details varied wildly, but no one would describe a Deshereyan army as madmen or pale.”

“‘Pale specters’?” Anatu asked, furrowing their brows together. “Ghosts?”

Mica shook her head and shifted her weight from side to side, chewing on her thumbnail. “No. Not the way they were describing them. They were calling them ‘lylith lavan’ and they weren’t talking about white owls. ‘Screeching night beasts’ is the closest but it doesn’t convey the terror. We don’t call just anything lylith.”

“Sounds like the Veinor,” Cass muttered, scratching her chin as she recalled the last time she’d seen those forces.

“The what?” Mica asked.

“Veinor,” Anatu answered. “A mercenary army that hails from Gymir. The Empire considered contracting them later in the war but…” They looked over at Cass.

“Buuut Helen had them working for us.” Cass grinned, humored by the Empire’s desire to use them but Helen getting to them first. “I’ve met some of them. Odd people. Real hostile. They didn’t wear armor either. Like, at all. I think I saw some of them running into battle naked?”

Anatu sighed and shook their head. “No, that’s just a rumor they spread. It makes them more intimidating but also less prone to be taken seriously before a battle.”

“But Fariba of Shen has seen them and theirs parade about their camps without even so much as a shred of attire,” Fariba said, a wistful smile as they looked upward, as if imagining something heavenly. Cass chuckled.

“That still doesn’t explain why they think they saw you,” Kebb said, gesturing toward Cass. “The Shadow of Sammos is a well enough known legend that it is highly unlikely some pale warriors would be mistaken for a creature of darkness.”

“They could be lying,” Mica suggested, squatting down and folding her hands together in front of her forehead. “They’re all afraid and on the run; some of them could be seeding rumors to redirect suspicion.”

Anatu nodded. “We did that during the war. Both sides did, in fact. The number of ‘Shadow of Sammos’ sightings was far more than the number of battles you were in, Cassandra.”

“So you think the army invading was a lie?” Cass asked.

“No,” both Mica and Anatu said.

“An army definitely attacked,” Mica continued. “We just don’t know who, or why.”

Fariba stood up and raised their hands. “This discussion is at risk of becoming circular and self-referential,” they said. “Fariba of Shen suggests we all rest our eyes and our heads and our minds and come at the situation with a fresh start in the evening. Perhaps after some of Kher’s delicious cooking.”

“Believe it or not, I agree,” Cass said, heading for the tent flap. “We’ll eat then go investigate the caravan ourselves.”

“Already did that,” Mica said, getting up to follow Cass.

“Yeah, you did. I didn’t. I’ll go ask around myself and see if we can figure out who’s telling the truth.”

“You want to go harass a bunch of war refugees?” Anatu asked, also making for the exit.

“I want to know what’s going on, and if I need to hold some people up by their ankles to get an answer, I will.”

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- The Veinor were last mentioned in Chapter 9

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written June 14th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 131

After spotting the caravan, Cass went to let everyone else know to expect company. Kebb wanted everyone to break camp but Cass argued there wasn’t a point; if they were already spotted and the other caravan was hostile, they wouldn’t be able to finish packing anyway.

Shortly after Mica vanished around the dune, a pair of figures in red appeared at the top, overlooking the camp. Cass waved at them, and they waved back. She walked toward the base of the dune, gesturing for them to come down.

They did.

“Hail and well met!” one of them said; a heavy-set woman with shoulders matching Charis in breadth. Her smile looked forced, with pursed lips beneath wide eyes and flared nostrils, looking like she had just eaten something sour and had to pretend to like it.

Her companion was also larger-in-stature, but their slender shoulders gave them a distinctly more pear-shaped build. Long, brown hair was coiffed to one side and spiraled down past their bicep, with an equally curled mustache. Painted eyes under long lashes fluttered against the dawn’s light, which Cass purposefully kept at her back in case these two tried anything stupid.

They touched their brow and inclined their head to Cass. “I am Agas, my betrothed here is Tuppa. We apologize for-”

“I’m Cass, where-” Cass began, stopping when she realized Agas had meant to keep speaking.

Agas covered their mouth, then gestured at Cass.

She nodded and continued, “Where are you heading?”

The large woman - who’s broad shoulders and red robes gave her a distinctly apple-ish appearance - griped, “To Nihimlaq, of course. Where else is there to go in this Weya-forsaken desert?”

“Calm, ayuvapi,” Agas said softly, placing their hand on Tuppa’s forearm, caressing it gently.

To Cass, they said, “Our caravan,” they gestured backward, past the dune, “is fleeing an army that attacked Salach three days ago.”

“Salach was attacked!?” Cass asked, loudly. “By who?”

“We aren’t entirely certain-” Agas began.

“Who else? The upstart rebels.” Tuppa crossed her arms and huffed.

“Rebels? That’s impossible. I’m a-” Cass said.

“What’s going on here?” Kebb asked, approaching with Anatu and Fariba

“You’re a what?” Tuppa asked in a grave tone, crossing her thick arms. Cass might have been intimidated if she were anyone else but herself.

“These two say Salach was attacked a few days ago,” she explained.

“By who?” Anatu asked.

“Rebels,” Cass said, “but that’s impossible because we’re-”

“Are the eyes of Fariba of Shen being deceived by the heat of the rising sun?” Fariba asked. Tuppa’s narrowed gaze lit up and broke from Cass, focusing on the merchant approaching with arms thrown wide. “Or is this their greatest friend of the City of Sand?”

“Fariba!” she scooped the diminutive Fariba up in her arms and squeezed. Cass distinctly heard something crack and Fariba laughed.

The two of them began speaking another language, with Agas joining in - seemingly as happy to see Fariba as Tuppa was - and Cass looked at Anatu and Kebb.

“Go find Mica,” Anatu said to Kebb, “I want to know what they’re saying.”

“Mica already left,” Cass said. “She’s scoping out the caravan to find out where they’re going. The big one,” she nodded toward Tuppa, who just set Fariba down, “says they’re heading for Nihimlaq.”

“Makes sense, there’s almost nowhere else to go out here,” Anatu said. “But who would have attacked Salach? There’s no armies out this way. Musa is halfway to Shen and we’re on our way to Keygroph to meet Ronka. All of the Council’s forces are in or approaching Dehenet.”

“Except my army,” Cass said. “Might be Cit. His letter said ”

“Or Ronka might be on the move,” Kebb offered. “Could he be responding to an older missive? Maybe he, too, is making for Dehenet.”

“That’s possible,” Anatu said. “I don’t know what the Empire’s strategy was in the last year of the war, but-”

“Beg your pardon,” Agas said, walking over from where their betrothed was talking to Fariba still. “I did not mean to get distracted by your esteemed companion.”

“They’re not our companion,” Kebb said.

“In any case, you were inquiring about the fate of Salach.” Agas’s smile faltered. They tilted their head down in a sigh and Cass saw the shadow under their eyes wasn’t painted on. “I will avoid the gory details, but our pechah - Dekel Hyam - was slain in the defense of Salach against an overwhelming force.”

Anatu’s face darkened. “I’ve met Dekel, and I’ve been to Salach. He was a strong and shrewd man. How did anyone take the city? The walls are tall and thick, and the bridge should stop any army from taking more than half.”

“The army was not large, not from what I could see, but a soldier I am not. I was too busy fleeing with my betrothed and what we could fit on a cart.” They took a steadying breath. “But I did glimpse the… tanynne that tore through our city’s defenses like a blade through a sheepskin.”

“What’s a tanynne?” Anatu asked.

“Tanynne is… ahh…” Agas reached into the air, as though trying to pluck the words out of nothing. “‘Monster’? I think is the closest? A creature of darkness that has been spreading like a rumor. But I assure you, it is as real as you or I. Ripping soldiers limb from limb, pulling walls and towers and any stone down with raw, ferocious strength.”

They leaned in, holding up a hand by their mouth and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, “It was the Shadow of Sammos.”

Cass blinked slowly, then looked at Anatu and Kebb to make sure she’d heard correctly. They looked back at her in surprise.

Cass started laughing.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Generals Musa and Ronka are mentioned in Chapter 35
- Cit’s letter is in Chapter 82
- The “Shadow of Sammos” is one of the names/titles given to Cass during the war

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written June 7th, 2025
------------------------

Chapter 130

Cass’s mouth burned and her eyes watered as she downed another serving of one of Kher’s stews. The bright orange broth had soaked into the bread, making each bite a flavorful adventure that did wonders to distract her from the heat of the rising sun. Even the cookfire felt tolerable by comparison.

Everyone else was discussing someone while she was wondering about how one might “eat” fire to cool the burning sensation on her tongue. Glaukos, who was sitting beside her, jabbed her shoulder with his finger.

“Huh?” Cass asked, fanning some relatively cool desert air into her mouth.

“How about you?” he asked.

“How about me… what?”

“What would you say to your parents if you met them out here in the desert?”

Cass’s brows furrowed together. “What?” she asked. “How the fuck would I know if I met them?”

Glaukos rolled his eyes so hard his head followed them. “Okay, what would you ask if you met them at all? Like, if Helen herself introduced you to two strangers and said they’re your parents?”

Cass didn’t have an answer. She didn’t care if she ever met her parents and couldn’t fathom how it would ever come about. They’d been slaves, like her, and she’d been taken from them and sold before she had the ability to form memories. She didn’t know if they were alive, or if they had even been a couple.

“I don’t know… I’d ask if I was born with this,” she said, holding up her bandaged left arm. With the sun rising, the wrappings were a bit looser as the limb withered with the dawn. She was going to have to re-wrap it when she retired to her tent for the day, needing to keep it bound while she slept.

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Glaukos said, nodding.

“I have also been wondering about that,” Kebb said, walking over with a pot in one hand and a ladle in the other. Cass held her hand out over her bowl to decline any more, still exhaling fire every other breath.

“Hey, Fariba!” Glaukos called across the crackling fire pit. “What about you?”

The colorfully dressed merchant was slurping stew from their bowl and held up a finger. When finished, they licked their lips and sighed contentedly.

“Kher! Your skill with the preparation of such an exquisite meal so far from a proper kitchen is to be commended beyond mere compliments,” they fawned, bowing their head and holding out their bowl for more.

Kher turned to Cass and rolled his eyes, but spun back to Fariba - his braided beard clacking as the beads bounced about - with a smile and refilled their bowl.

“Many thanks, and more!” Fariba said as Kher continued around the circle. They turned their attention back to Glaukos, scooping up some of the spicy stew with bread. “As for your query, ever-incorrigible Glaukos, Fariba has long since broken communication with the greedy ones responsible for our upbringing. Should they deign to show their faces again in Fariba’s presence, their fate would be much the same as before.”

Fariba took a bite of the stew-soaked bread. Glaukos, and Iuven beside him, looked at Fariba with rapt attention while Cass continued to struggle with the spice coating her tongue. How Fariba tolerated it was beyond her.

Smacking their lips and making a gesture Cass didn’t understand toward Kher, they continued. “Fariaba would merely give them parting gifts in decreasing amounts of value until the effort for them to make the journey to see Fariba no longer seems profitable to them. Then they will, once again, cease to be Fariba’s burden to bear.”

“So you bribe your parents not to talk to you?” Iuven asked.

Fariba brushed the air with his hand. “They are of little concern. Fariba wishes to speak no more of them.”

“Fair enough,” Glaukos said with a shrug. Next to Fariba was Anatu, who Glaukos looked at next. “Anatu, what would you say to your parents if they were here?”

Anatu - red faced and struggling with the spice as much as Cass was - paused mid-bite. They hesitated, and Cass thought they looked uncomfortable, looking away from Glaukos while chewing slowly.

“These questions are reminding Fariba of a tale,” Fariba said after the silence became interminable. Cass and the others looked back at them. “There was once a lion within a jungle, and he chanced upon a man who, too, was traveling through. The two of them recognized each other’s greatness and did not harbor desire to quarrel. There was an exchange of pleasantries, but a dispute arose.

“They agreed that each were great in their own turn, but who was the more great? Man or beast? Their bickering lasted as they traveled abreast until upon they came a statue, and-”

A loud whistle pierced the dry air. Everyone looked toward a dune, where Mica had slid halfway down the steep end while waving a torch.

“We’ve got company!” she yelled.

Cass handed her mostly empty bowl to Glaukos as she stood up, running around the fire and up the slope. She struggled against the steep sand, but made it to the peak with Mica and looked out.

A caravan line that stretched out further than she could see was following the paths between the dunes, heading their direction.

“They’re Chollish,” Mica said, pointing out toward them.

“How can you tell?”

“The colors on those carts. They’re using oxen instead of camels. They’re coming from the direction of Salach, which is in-”

“Which is in Chol, yeah.” Cass nodded. “We’re basically at the border, I guess.”

“Probably crossed it last night.” Mica shrugged.

“They’re gonna have to stop soon now that the sun’s rising. Should we go say ‘hi’?”

“I was gonna snoop around first,” Mica said. She was from Chol and knew their customs. “They probably spotted us also, so they might send someone to say ‘hi’.”

“Alright, you go take a look and I’ll wait here if they send anyone.”

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written May 31st, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 129

Cass rolled her eyes, reached over, and gave Anatu a light shove. Enough to send them sliding sideways and scrambling not to fall off of their camel.

“That is not funny!” Anatu yelled, dropping their torch into the sand and clinging to the saddle and reins with all of their strength.

Cass chuckled. She reached over, grabbed Anatu’s ankle. She pulled on their sandal strap first, but it ripped and the footwear fell off the camel. Cass grabbed Anatu around their shin next - being very careful not to squeeze - and slowly pulled them back up far enough for them to regain control over their own balance.

“Sure looked funny,” Cass said.

Anatu’s lips quivered as they seemed on the verge of saying something. Their face reddened as the silence stretched into seconds.

Before they could find the words, an approaching light from behind caught both Anatu and Cass’s attention.

Fariba rode closer to them; one hand guiding the two camels pulling his cart, the other waving one of their torches.

“Cassandra the Mighty!” Fariba said, slotting the torch back into a sconce beside their seat. “Anatu the Majestic! Fariba sees the two of you bickering and squabbling like children.”

“We’re not bickering,” Cass said.
“We’re not children,” Anatu said simultaneously.

“Roughhousing then.” Fariba waved their hand dismissively. “Cassandra the Strong must be more careful when pushing around those smaller and less mighty! You would crack Anatu as easy as an egg.”

Cass rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to-”

Anatu raised their hand toward Cass and interrupted her. “No, no, they have a point.”

“Of course Fariba has a point. Fariba only speaks when there is a point to be made. Wasting words is not a profitable habit to have, and all of Fariba’s habits are profitable.”

Cass closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or groan. Sometimes Fariba’s ego was entertaining, and sometimes it was annoying.

Fariba continued, “The solution to your differences is very simple. The three of us shall all, this morning, when we have constructed our camp, take part in guided meditation.”

Cass glanced at Anatu, who met her look. They were just as baffled by the suggestion as she was.

“Fariba of Shen can read the faces of the both of you,” Fariba said. “Na’aas experts you are not. Why do you doubt the efficacy of advice and the sheer wealth of experience Fariba offers?”

“I don’t even know what ‘meditation’ is,” Cass said.

“It’s sitting and breathing and being alone with your thoughts.” Anatu’s dry response made the experience sound quite unpleasant.

“Well, those are the last thing I want to be alone with.”

“Bahhhh!” Fariba dropped the reins to swipe Anatu’s words out of the air. “That is among the most gross of poorly formed descriptions for intentional effect that have ever been uttered in Fariba’s presence. The art of meditation is far more empowering and impactful than simply sitting in silent contemplation.”

“But that is a major component of it.” Anatu nodded their head knowingly. “I have tried meditation before, and found that it did not suit me.” She looked across to Cass and said, “But you should sit with Fariba. Try something new.”

“There are many forms that meditation may take,” Fariba said. “Give Fariba’s guidance an attempt. As a reward, the cask of fine Sammosan wine Fariba has carried many leagues will be opened for us to enjoy.”

“Wine?” Cass asked. “Count me in.”

“I’ll still pass.” Anatu shook their head.

“Afraid of trying something new?” Cass smirked at Anatu.

“I’ve had Sammosan wine already,” Anatu said. “It’s not to my taste.”

“Where’d you get Sammosan wine?”

“From some merchant, why?”

Cass cocked her head to the side, trying to remember the timeline of the war. “When would you have been in Sammos?”

“What do you mean? I got it from a trader in Semperia.” Anatu’s thin, straw-colored eyebrows furrowed together. “You know traders and merchants like Fariba exist specifically to take goods from one place to another, yes?”

Cass’s face flushed with heat. “I know that,” she said. “I’ve just never had anything from Sammos since last time I was there.”

“You haven’t?”

“I didn’t deal with merchants during the war.”

“But before the war you did, didn’t you?”

“I was a slave.”

Silence fell. Cass didn’t like to remember the time before the war, but she did like how Anatu looked away from her and fidgeted on their saddle.

Cass was content to let them stew in the shame for the rest of the night.

“For certain there must be common ground between two such interesting and worldly people as you two,” Fariba said.

“We’re both alive after the war, that’s something,” Cass said. She looked at Anatu for agreement, but they were staring fixedly ahead.

Fariba continued, “Come now, Cassandra. Certainly all who are alive to have such conversations can proclaim common ground of surviving to the point of having such a conversation. What is there that you know of Anatu that you approve of? Fariba of Shen is almost certain that there are depths to your erstwhile enemy, now travel companion and ally, that you would wish to know more of.”

Cass exhaled slowly through her nose and closed her eyes. Truth be told, she did not know much about Anatu. They were on opposing sides for most of the war, then Anatu became a turncoat to curry favor with the rebellion. They were an advisor of some sort, and whenever they showed up they had a haughty, superior tone that grated Cass.

“Well, when we started this journey a couple of weeks ago, I saw Anatu do this really neat throwy-flippy fighting style when Nuut tried to kill me,” Cass said. “I’d like to know more about that.”

“A ‘throwy-flippy’ manner of fighting?” Fariba’s eager tone was directed at Anatu. “For certain this is something that you could tell Cassandra the Great and Powerful much and more about, yes?”

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- “Na’aas” is based on the game “As-Nas” which is an ancient middle-eastern precursor to poker - Semperia is the capital city of Harenae (Iuven’s nation of origin, based on the aesthetics of the ancient Roman Empire) - Anatu’s “throwy-flippy” fighting style was shown in Chapter 19

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written May 24th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 128

Cass sat atop her camel, Cassiopeia, and watched the caravan pass her by as she waited for Anatu. Nuu wanted them to ‘take it easy’ on Nuut, whom Cass had more reasons than not to want Anatu to keep giving a hard time. But Cass had to acknowledge that Nuut had a very good reason to hate her as much as she did.

Cass’s thoughts were interrupted when Charis rode past her. The pair of them locked eyes. She reached out, opened her mouth to say… something. Anything.

Charis looked ready to listen, but Cass failed to find the words in time. She watched them ride away, white cloak almost glowing in the light of their torch.

I’m sorry for getting drunk, she thought; words needing said now coming to her. I’m sorry for scaring you. If she couldn’t get these words out before the journey was over, she wasn’t sure if there would be another chance. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for-

“You look like someone just stole your sweetroll.”

Cass nearly jumped off of Cassiopeia. Anatu had ridden up behind her, holding their torch low enough that their camel was keeping the light off of her.

They asked, “Is something on your mind?”

“Uh…” Cass looked back at Charis, increasingly distant. “No.” She shook her head and turned her attention to Anatu. “I mean, yeah, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, here I am. Let’s keep moving; Kher is teaching Iuven some dirty limericks and I don’t want to listen to them.” Anatu tugged on their camel reigns and continued forward.

Doing the same, Cass asked, “Kher?”

“I know, right? I’d expect it from Glaukos, but Kher seemed more…” Anatu waved their torch slowly as they thought of a word, realized what they were doing, and lowered it again. “I don’t know. Refined?”

“Glaukos isn’t good at dirty jokes like that,” Cass said, a grin pulling at her lips. “He starts giggling too much. He’s like a kid that way.”

“Heh, I’m not at all surprised to hear that.” Anatu looked at their torch and leaned over the side of their camel, reaching down to try and jab the torch into the sand as they rode. They were far too short to reach, and not daring enough to slide off their saddle, so sat back up.

Looking back at Cass, they asked, “So what did you want to talk about.”

Cass wasn’t sure she even wanted to talk about Nuut, but she’d told Nuu that she would.

“Nuut,” she said. “Or, not her so much as maybe you can go easy on her?”

Anatu set their jaw and closed their eyes while exhaling, slowly, through their nose.

“Did Nuu ask you to request this?” they asked.

Cass quashed the instinct to deny and said, “Yeah.”

“I will tell you what I told them; Nuut is not a damsel who needs gentle treatment. She is a warrior who-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Cass said, waving her hand in front of her face as if to brush away Anatu’s words. “She’s tough and abrasive and can handle whatever punishment you give her. I don’t think she needs a break because she’s exhausted or anything.”

“So what? You think if you intervene she’ll start to like you like everyone else?”

“What? No. I don’t care if she likes me. I don’t care if she knows I asked for anything. Tell her Nuu talked to you for all I care. I just want her to calm the hell down.”

“And you think letting her sit around camp and glower at you will calm her?”

“I don’t know.” Cass shrugged. “Better than her walking around in the heat and sim… ugh, simmering.”

“You’re spending too much time with Glaukos.” Anatu rolled their eyes and chuckled.

“It was an accident. Just think about it. Give Nuut a break, even if she is the most grating person in camp.”

“Second most.”

Cass furrowed her brow. “Who’s first? Fariba? They’re annoying but I wouldn’t call them-”

Anatu leveled Cass a look. Cass frowned, eyes widening, then smirked.

“If I stop being a pain in your ass, will you let up on Nuut?”

“I doubt very much you can, but I will give Nuut a break from patrol duty today. If they cause you trouble - and no one else - that will be entirely yours to deal with.”

“That’s fine. I can deal with it. Maybe I can talk Kebb into dragging Nuut into some sermon or other.”

“Nuut prays to no deity, Helen or otherwise,” Anatu said with a sigh. “She takes no lovers, imbibes little alcohol. I knew her before the war. All she wants is to fight. Now, all she wants is to kill. You, specifically.”

“Yeah, I gathered that part. Maybe she needs a vice or two to calm down.”

“You consider religion a vice?”

“You don’t?”

Anatu was silent for a moment. They looked backward, toward the rest of the caravan. Cass followed their gaze. Behind them was the cart, with Kher and Iuven and Maar.

“The way Kebb indulges in it, maybe,” Anatu said. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why would I?”

Anatu shrugged. “Because you want to be grating?”

Cass rolled her eyes, reached over, and gave Anatu a light shove. Enough to send them sliding sideways and scrambling not to fall off of their camel.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written May 17th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 127

Cass considered herself a simple woman, but she was no fool. After her third attempt to ride closer to Charis, to talk to them, was rebuffed with them moving further away, she gave up. If they wanted to stay angry, let them.

She’d try to apologize at dinner.

Four torches lit up the night before her and another four stretched behind. The line of light was broken only by her and Glaukos, who had kindly extinguished his torch to ride alongside her.

“We just need to ask Fariba if they know… whatever language is on the lid,” he was saying. “You said they’re the one who gave the Council the box, right?”

“Yeah,” Cass said.

“Then they can probably translate it.”

“Why do we need it translated?” Cass asked. “I already know what it says; it’s a message for the general in Keygroph, ‘this was the Emperor’s fate and if you don’t want to share it you should surrender’, or something like that.”

“Yeah but what if the Council lied?”

“Helen was right there. She would’ve-” Cass stopped as she saw her shadow grow and move on the sand. Looking back, a bubble of light approached. For a moment Cass thought it was Nuut, but the neutral expression clarified it was their sibling, Nuu.

“Cass, Glaukos,” they greeted politely as they came closer. Cass shifted in her seat to keep her arm out of the light. It was wrapped up in gauze, but it was more comfortable to keep it in her shadow.

“Nuu, is something the matter?” Cass asked.

“Not as such, but I did want to ask if you would speak to Anatu on my behalf?”

A short bark of a laugh escaped Cass at the unexpected request.

“Me? Why do you need me? I’m sure they like you better.”

Nuu’s head bobbed side to side. “In some ways, perhaps. But in others… your words can carry much more weight. Particularly in relation to my sister.”

“You wan’t me to talk to Anatu about Nuut?” Cass’s brows furrowed as she wracked her brain about what she could possibly have to say to Anatu about Nuut.

“Yes. Or, rather, if you could ask them to let up on her?” Nuu frowned pleadingly. “They keep assigning her to perimeter guard or scouting, and she doesn’t have time to get to know anyone or rest-”

“You want me,” Cass said, pointing at herself while arching an eyebrow inquisitively, “to ask Anatu, to go easy on Nuut, because she’s getting lonely? Does she crave friendship?”

She frowned as exaggeratedly as she could and used her good hand to pretend she was wiping away tears. “Boo hoo. Poor Nuut.”

Nuu sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose, nodding their head. “I underst-”

Cass continued, “Sure, I’ll talk to Anatu. Maybe if I’m nice to her she’ll stop muttering death threats or calling me a monster?”

“I understand that my sister is unreasonable with regards to you,” Nuu plead. They slid their torch into a metal loop attached to the back of their saddle and folded their hands together imploringly. “I wouldn’t ask this if I thought another could help. The only person Anatu listens to besides you is Kebb, but he’s an ass and wouldn’t help even if he could.”

Cass rolled her eyes up and nodded her head left and right thoughtfully. “Well, can’t argue with you on that.”

“I know that my sister has done you harm,” Nuu said, “and I am not asking you to acknowledge that you’ve done her harm in the past. There is no apology or act that can cure the animosity between you, but if you can help her be less ostracized, maybe-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to Anatu,” Cass said, waving both hands to try and placate Nuu. “Just… don’t beg, please. I hate that.”

“Thank you.” Nuu bowed their head. “I will go corral Nuut and Anatu, and we can-”

“No, no no. No.” Cass waved a finger. “Don’t get involved. If Nuut’s there she’ll just cause more trouble, and if you’re there Anatu will be defensive. I’ll talk to them alone.”

Glaukos raised his hand. “But what about me?”

Cass looked at him in disbelief. “You can just keep going. Or chat with Nuu. I don’t care.”

“I mean,” he said, tilting his head and pitching his voice conspiratorially. “What about the… thing… we were talking about.” He glanced at Nuu, who looked quite perplexed for a moment.

Then it clicked and they shook their head. “Ah, I can be off if you two are discussing something private. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s nothing important,” Cass said. “You two keep going. I’ll move off to the side and let the rest of the caravan pass. Anatu’s near the back, right?”

“Yes, riding with Fariba, I think.”

“Oh goodie,” Cass muttered, steering Cassiopeia off the route they were following to wait for the others to pass. “I get to try and get them to shut up and leave us alone for a few minutes.”

----------
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- The box’s origin was in Chapter 8
- The message was told to Cass in Chapter 9

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written May 10th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 126

CW: Graphic description of a remembered wound in 3rd paragraph

Nuut stared forward, eyes focused on nothing, letting her camel follow her sibling’s. Her attempts to disassociate from the pain throbbing in her leg failed as much as her struggle to keep at bay her thoughts from the wahsh. Cassandra, who continued to walk free of punishment and penance for the harm she had wrought.

It grated her every thought as much as her pegleg grated her flesh. The custom fit faux-appendage never let her forget her past failure in battle, or the loss incurred from the black monster of shadows and starlight. Visions of the beast charging the line where she and her brave brothers-and-sisters-in-arms stood in defiance of the rebel scum.

The icy grip. Black fingers squeezing around her leg. The effortless force, bursting muscle and tearing sinew, shattering her limb into a chunky marrow pulp.

Throb throb

Nuut reached down and rubbed the brass plate where it pressed against her skin. If she let her leg hang free, her pulse ached in the amputated stump, but if she applied pressure with her stirrups, it grated.

“Nuut, might I trouble you?”

The Desheryan words in a pigfucking Sammosan accent jolted Nuut out of her pained daze. She looked over at Kebb, who had ridden closer while she had been distracted by her thoughts.

“What?” she asked. The former slave of Anatu carried himself far too haughtily these days.

“Do you by chance have any spare incense? My stores have run low and-”

“Try burning less. You reek of it.”

Kebb’s jaw clenched as he forced a smile that did not make it to his eyes. With flared nostrils he said, “Be that as it may, I am in need of more for my prayers when we make camp.”

Nuut would sooner have overturned her incense into the sand itself and let Kebb try to reclaim it, but she did not have the energy to deal with the inevitable hostility that antagonism would bring her. Besides that, she had not prayed since this journey began. The wahsh’s presence reminded her that no matter how devout she had tried to be, her enemy remained unharmed.

And tethered to the very person she was supposed to pray to.

Leaning back and turning in her saddle, Nuut fished a small satchel of the scented dust pellets and tossed them to Kebb. She’d borne them for many leagues, and was glad to have one less burden to concern herself with.

“My thanks,” Kebb said, bowing his head. He veered off, blessedly leaving Nuut on her own again.

The grating feeling in her leg returned as she adjusted her seat on the saddle. Sand must have gotten in, despite her best efforts. Sand got everywhere.

She lifted her leg and undid the straps, pulling the brass rod off. Crossing her lesser limb over the saddle, she carefully brushed the twisted and stitch-scarred flesh and felt a few bits of grit knocked loose. Once she was content her skin was no longer the issue, she turned her attention to the straps and plate.

As she cleaned her pegleg, Nuut saw Anatu waiting on their camel, eyes locked on her. Once close enough they asked, “What was Kebb saying to you?”

Unlike the former slave, Anatu had proper syntax and tone in their speech. A true royal, if disgraced. Nuut glanced back the way Kebb had ridden off, then looked at Anatu.

“Nothing. He asked for incense.”

“He didn’t spout any of his nonsense about seeing Helen?”

Nuut’s brows furrowed. “No?”

Anatu looked back along the caravan toward the halo of torchlight around Kebb and shook their head. “He’s been acting so… erratic lately. Claiming to see Helen in the flames when he prays. You know he said he spoke-”

“Kebb is not the only one who has been erratic of late,” Nuut said, turning her attention back to her pegleg.

“What?” Anatu seemed surprised.

“Your behavior has been most unseemly since we stopped in Nihimlaq.” Nuut narrowed her eyes at Anatu. “If you are ill, or suffering some blight, I would know. Your actions have been unsettling and your attitude toward Cassandra has softened.”

Anatu’s jaw clenched and unclenched. They swallowed and closed their eyes for a moment before tilting their head to the side, returning Nuut's scorching glare with an icy stare.

“You’ve been good on patrol and know better what signs to look for. When we make camp at sunrise you can patrol again.”

They rode off. Nuut knew it was an attempt at a punishment, but she was glad to be on patrol. Movement was action, and it kept her away from the wahsh and her little fanclub.

Casting her gaze along the caravan, Nuut found Cassandra riding alongside the wagon. She was conversing with Iuven and Kher; too far to discern what they were saying, but she heard the lilt of laughter from among them. She was glad that she was no nearer or else she’d be subject to yet another pigfucker dialect.

As Nuut finished cleaning the plate and straps of her pegleg, she silently lamented the oath she had made to Anatu. Knowing Cassandra’s weakness to the very flames she was bound to, the way she suffered under heat, and the near success she’d had at removing the wahsh from the world already, tempered her mood and gave her the patience she needed.

Only one more night to suffer, she thought, her lips curling into a smile as she strapped her pegleg back on. The wahsh would only be her problem for one more night.

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Wahsh is the Deshereyan word for “Monster”, which Nuut has been calling her since Chapter 19

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written May 3rd, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 125

Cass chewed her lip in worry. The conflicting words of Cit and Helen meant one was lying. Overbearing aggression from the Council, or the unlikely insurrection of her army?

Fariba of Shen smiled warmly, but their sad eyes told her the forthcoming answer would tip the balance in a way that would please neither of them.

They sighed and looked up at the shadows dancing in the torchlight along the colorful fabric ceiling of the tent. “Fariba of Shen told you of the three trades,” Fariba said. “The free trade of words is the easiest among them. They cannot be reclaimed once granted, but the substance of them is as thin as the air they are spoken with.” Their hand grasped the empty air and Fariba twirled their fingers through it.

Fariba patted the crate that they were sitting on. “The second form of trade is of goods. Physical materials that can-”

“Ugh,” Cass groaned, getting up from the pile of fabrics and scooping them up into her arms. “I don’t need a trade lesson.”

“A lesson is not what Fariba of Shen is trying to provide,” Fariba said, chuckling as Cass continued to load materials onto the cart. “But there will be no argument if Cassandra the Relentless wishes not to continue the discussion. Fariba was only going to say how physical goods traded can be traded back and all can be made well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cass said, emerging from Fariba’s oversized - and increasingly overcrowded - wagon. “Words are worthless and items can be taken back, I get it. So what’s the third thing?”

Fariba leaned back and folded their hands behind their colorful turban. “Ah, the third form of trade is the exchange of services. Performing an act for another, such as you gathering, moving, and oh-so-wonderfully packing Fariba’s belongings in the cart while the letter from your Helen was carefully transcribed from its damaged state into a readable format, and then subsequently read for Cassandra the Great.”

Cass was looking around the tented-in area. “Services are as free as words,” she said. “At least if someone likes you enough.” The only thing left to pack up was the crate Fariba was sitting on.

“Not quite the same,” Fariba said, holding up their index finger. “Words and services may be given, and their impacts and effects are certainly as real as any traded good. But, a word can be - to an extent - retracted. Taken back. Forgiven or forgotten. Words cost the speaker naught and the receiver has much of the power in how the words will be leveraged.

“An action, however, is unretractable. You have packed Fariba’s cart. It cannot be un…” Fariba stopped and blinked, then shook their head. “A poor example, but the time and effort that Cassandra the Skillful has graced Fariba of Shen with are irrevocable. A better case to be examined is the translation of the letter. Fariba cannot un-translate it, and cannot remove the knowledge that has been granted to Cassandra.”

“Yeah, but those were words,” Cass said, crossing her arms and smirking.

Fariba pressed their face into their hands and shook their head. Cass walked over to nudge them off of the crate when the tent flap opened again.

Anatu looked surprised to see Cass, but quickly frowned as though an acrid smell upset them. “Everyone is packed and ready to go, why is the tent still up?”

“Fariba of Shen has been leveraging Cassandra the Mighty’s prodigious strength and infinite patience,” Fariba said, draping themself backwards over the crate they were using as a seat. “An ailment has prevented-”

Anatu cut them off with, “Okay, fine. Just hurry up, we need to go.”

“Why the sudden hurry?” Cass asked, crossing her arms.

“What’s sudden about it?” Anatu asked.

“You weren’t in this much of a hurry last time we broke camp.”

“Last time was before we spent two days in Nihimlaq.”

“We made good time last night.”

“Because we were being followed!”

“And I scared them off!”

“And now we have another tent to pack up!” Anatu gestured around them.

“We’re almost done!”

“I know!”

“Then why are you yelling!?”

“Because you’re-!” Anatu bit back something and took a slow breath in through their nose. When they exhaled, they continued in a forced-calmer tone. “Please finish packing up the tent.”

Cass bowed and swept the sand with her fingers. “Yes, your majesty," she said, putting as much sarcasm in her tone as she could.

Anatu’s face danced through a myriad of expressions. Confusion, fear, the expected anger, then a sadness that caught Cass off guard. They opened their mouth to say something but closed it and left in silence.

“Fariba knows not the animosity between you two,” Fariba said, getting up off of the crate they were sitting on. “But it is not wise to travel with an adversary. Anatu is not your enemy, Cass the Benevolent.”

“Phmph, then they should stop acting like it. Get up.” Cass jerked her thumb at Fariba, who dutifully stood up and bowed, allowing Cass to lift the crate to put away.

When she emerged from the cart the tent was already down and Fariba was standing by as Iuven and Charis were rolling it up.

“How...?”

“A single tug on the correct cord and the entirety of the canopy folds in upon itself. And with a little assistance from such wonderful people as have been traveling with Fariba of late,” they gestured at Charis and Iuven, “even a large task becomes a simple matter.”

If only everything could have been a simple matter.

“Soooo,” Fariba asked, leaning in closer to Cass, “did Fariba’s lesson in trade come across as assisting in Cassandra the-”

“Yes,” Cass groaned. “I get it. Both letters are words, there’s no goods or actions, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Ehhh…” Fariba winced. “Fariba of Shen would never say that words did not matter. Also known that services last far greater lengths of time than any word, written or spoken.”

----------
Notes:
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written April 26th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 124

Cass slid one of Fariba’s many, many crates into its proper place. She carefully pushed on it until it made the click that the maddening merchant had told her to listen for. Emerging into the large, shaded space beneath the colorful fabric of Fariba’s tent, Cass’s eyes scanned the yellow and red fabric, thin enough to let a cool breeze through.

If the sun had still been up, the interior would have had a warm, orange glow. Now it was dark enough that Fariba had hung up a few oil lanterns to help Cass see what she was doing. Not that she needed it; her vision was never impeded by darkness, no matter how deep.

As she worked, Fariba read more of Helen’s message.

“And then she goes on to say that ‘there was conflict in the camp of your concubine that forced-’”

“Woah, hold on, ‘concubine’?” Cass stopped rolling a couple of barrels up a ramp to cut Fariba off.

“Fariba was not quite able to make the word due to the damage but it looked similar to philia, and there was some degree of interpretation involved. Presuming Helen to be the jealous type-”

“‘Thiria’,” Cass corrected, returning her attention to the barrels.

“Ahh, an altercation over beasts of burden then? Fariba understands,” they said with a nod. “It is not uncommon for those who have to defend their belongings from those who have not, or yield it to them, though an agreement can usually-”

Cass had finished rolling the barrels up into Fariba’s cart when she stopped them again. “No, not beasts. The Thiria was the name of my army.”

“Your army was named after beasts?”

Glaukos poked his head into Fariba’s tent, grinning like a youngster. “Hey, I heard someone say ‘concubines’?”

Fariba waved at him. “No, Fariba was misinterpreting-”

Cass raised her voice. “Glaukos, out. Keep it in your robes and help someone else.”

Glaukos raised his hands and slipped back out of the tent, saying, “Okay, okay!”

Cass gestured for Fariba to continue while she gathered up various carpets and pillows the merchant had spread out in their spacious tent, giving it a degree of comfort she envied.

Fariba yawned, then continued. “She mentions an altercation with your beastmen and that the… what at first interpretation of the damaged word was ‘council’ might in fact have been ‘insurrectionists’... and says a thing about a fox being deceitful? This may be some sort of code between you two. Fariba will not pry.”

“We don’t have a code,” Cass said, rolling up the last carpet. “Where do these go?” she asked, scooping the half-dozen rugs in a bundle with both arms.

“Those go on top of the first four barrels that you placed,” Fariba said. “To the best of your ability, line them up so that Fariba of Shen can tug out the bottommost one and the rest will roll out toward the crates.”

Cass nodded, and Fariba continued.

“Your Helen used the Chollish word for fox is why I thought it may be code. Is ‘Cit’ a name then? Fariba vaguely recalls that you may have said it-”

“Yes.” Cass huffed while climbing out of the cart. “Cit is my second in command. And he’s from Chol.”

“Ah! What a delightful name for who Fariba simply must assume is an equally delightful person of culture and taste if they are second only to Cassandra the Great.”

Cass put her hands on her hips and bent forward, slowly inhaling through her nose as she straightened herself out. She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. Fariba’s overuse of compliments and platitudes was both annoying and endearing and she couldn’t tell if she was frustrated at how much they were talking, or how well it worked to defuse her.

“Just… keep going,” she said.

“There is little more for Fariba to tell. Your Helen seems to be under the impression that your Cit and other beastly soldiers were involved in an uprising of sorts.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Cass said, walking over to look over Fariba’s shoulder at the letter. It was a rewritten reconstruction in Fariba’s hand, and Cass couldn’t have read it even if it were in simple Sammosan from Helen herself. “He told me that the Council attacked them, and they retreated.”

Fariba snapped their fingers and looked up at Cass with bright eyes.

“Ahhh yes! Fariba now remembers that conversation. The letter from your friend, read by the small old woman who travels with you.”

“Mica’s not…” Cass never thought of Mica as old, but something nagged at the back of her mind about an argument they’d had about her again. “I mean, she’s the oldest person in the caravan, but she’s not-”

“Age is merely a number, and a very relative one at that,” Fariba said, dismissively waving their hand. “Fariba may have the beauty of youth, but the wisdom of age is one many overlook when they have trouble meeting the eyes of the Master of Trade.”

Cass rolled her eyes. “Okay, ‘Master of Trade’, with your wisdom can you tell me who the fuck is lying? Cit or Helen?” Her stomach twisted and heart dropped. Cit and Helen had never seemed to see eye-to-eye, though they’d never actually met in person either. Cass had moved through the war by balancing their advice and opinions; she’d never had them conflict like this before.

Cass hadn’t noticed Fariba lifting their nose and opening their mouth to answer until the prolonged silence brought her out of her thoughts. The spritely trader’s lips had a soft, almost comforting smile that did not make it to their eyes, which conveyed a sadness bordering on pity.

----------
Notes:
- Theme: Several of Fariba’s carpets and tent fabrics were yellow
- Bonus words: Yield, youngster, yawn(ed)
- Bonus constraint: Cass fears choosing between Cit and Helen - Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- According to google “philia” is “the concept of friendship or affectionate love”
- “Thiria” is based on thēría, which according to google is the plural form of thēríon (wild animal/beast)
- According to google, “stasiastes” is the ancient greek word for ‘insurrectionist’, and sounds similar to “gerousiastes”, which means “council of elders” and thus Fariba’s mistake.
- “Cit” is the chollish word for “fox”
- Cit’s letter was from Chapter 82

Original Prompt

------------------------
Originally written April 19th, 2026
------------------------

Chapter 123

Sharp, burning pain. Cass’s eyes snapped open and she rolled away from it. Falling to the floor with a thump, Cass gingerly touched her left arm and looked at the spot by her elbow; the curse-blackened skin had a narrow line of bubbles, which lingered with an itch.

The bandage wrapping had come loose while she slept, and a thin sliver of the setting sunlight streamed in through the flap to her tent. The narrow red line across her bed answered her question about the pain.

Closing her eyes, Cass rested her head against the side of the cot and groaned. A soft sound nearby had her peek out from the semi-darkness, and a shadow of movement outside her tent caught her attention.

“Cit? You out there?” she asked, her throat parched.

A much younger man’s voice answered. “Uh, no?” It lacked the deep, course grating of Cit’s gravely tone. Cass tried to remember which of her soldiers it was without opening her eyes again but wasn’t placing it.

“Elijah?” she asked.

“Iuven.” The tent flap opened slowly and sunlight glittered off of a silvery helm on the young man’s head.

Cass’s mind rolled over slower than her body had, but it all came back to her. Iuven, the caravan, the mission to Keygroph, the head.

“Ugh, right, sorry.” She wiped some drool off of her chin and stood up just enough to sit on the edge of her cot.

“Who’s Elijah?”

“Soldier,” Cass muttered, eyes working their way closed again. “Did you need anything?”

“Oh, uh, no; I was just passing by when you asked for someone. Did you want something?”

Cass looked around her tent, trying to take stock through the brain fog, then shook her head. “Water?”

“I’ll get some.”

Iuven vanished and the flap fluttered shut. No more sunlight streamed through; it had set behind a dune.

She stood up and stretched, yawning. A blurry heap she could not make heads-or-tails of until she rubbed her eyes to clear the sleep. The tangle of fabric at the foot of her cot was supposed to be a robe, but in the heat of the day she had shed it and balled it up.

Once dressed she stepped out into the warm desert evening. The bright orange glow to the west was a farewell to the heat of the day while a cool dark sky grew out of the east.

A couple of tents were already rolled up into bundles near the cart. Glaukos was tying one of the camels up to it, while Kebb and Mica folded up one of their tents.

Iuven was over by a barrel drawing water. Cass took a step in his direction when, from out of nowhere, Fariba of Shen appeared before her.

“Cassandra the Mighty!” they declared, bowing so low their blue-and-gold turban seemed likely to fall off.

They rose and continued, “Fariba of Shen was curiously wondering your powerful abilities would be free to aid and assist in the proverbial, and ideally in no way literal, ‘breaking down’ of Fariba’s temporary domicile in preparation for another night of travel.”

Cass blinked slowly, struggling to process the avalanche of words that had spewed from the petite merchant’s mouth.

“What?” she asked.

Fariba glanced around, wringing their hands, then lowered their tone into something softer and almost conspiratorial.

“The letter that arrived the other night, the one from your Helen. There was more that she had to write. More than Fariba of Shen was comfortable sharing in the more public setting that it was being read aloud in.”

Helen had written more. Cass’s pulse increased. The world became clearer.

“Okay, yeah,” Cass said, nodding. “I’ll help you with your tent.”

“Splendid!” Fariba proclaimed. “Come! Come! We can begin at once. Please for the first thing, move some of the heavier items within the fabric-enclosed area over there into the wagon itself. Fariba will show you.”

Cass followed Fariba, stopping for a moment when Iuven came back to give her some water.

“Do you need help?” he asked, looking after Fariba, who was still reciting instructions that Cass was not listening to.

“Nah, I got this. Help everyone else first. If I’m still folding things into Fariba’s cart when the rest of camp is packed, you can pack my tent up.” She looked back at her tiny abode. “Get Glaukos to help though, there’s some… uh, sentimental stuff in there.”

Cass didn’t want him to stumble upon the head-in-a-box.

----------
- It has been 12 in-universe days since Chapter 1