Dust swirled, a fine red haze across the Sunken Ridge. Finn watched his sand-riders, their leathery hides mottled like ancient rock, graze near a dry wadi. They were restless, feeling the subtle tremor of the approaching twilight, a change in the desert’s breath. A silent command thrummed from Finn’s core, a deep resonance with the earth beneath their clawed feet. Small vibrations rippled through the sand. The sand-riders shifted, moving with surprising grace, gathering into their temporary enclosure carved from the bedrock. No calls, no prodding staff. Just the earth’s gentle persuasion. Finn understood his connection to the deep earth, his burgeoning ability, in three core ways. First, a potent desire could shape the stone, shift the ground, or pull at the latent energies, drawing directly from his inner wellspring. Second, giving that desire voice, even a whisper to the wind, made the connection clearer, less taxing on his strength. Finally, the difficulty of his wish mattered. Simple tasks required little. Grand gestures could drain him, or remain stubbornly out of reach. ‘Difficulty’ was a strange thing. Sometimes, the desert yielded its secrets with astonishing ease. Other times, a simple request met unyielding resistance. Days ago, fighting the sand-ghoul, a frantic plea for it to ‘halt’ had barely rippled its charge. Yet, coaxing hundreds of sand-riders into their pens was effortless. But launching a pebble with the force to shatter the sand-ghoul’s skull, ensuring its impossible trajectory, that felt simple, almost trivial. He could have repeated the strike a hundred times. --- Penning the last of the sand-riders, a faint, metallic scent pricked Finn’s nose. It was raw, wild, not the familiar tang of a sand-rider or a desert fox. Something else. Something strong, primeval. ‘A dune-stalker?’ The scent was thick, reminiscent of the mature stalker he’d barely survived last year. It wasn’t long before a figure emerged from the crimson light of the setting sun, a heavy carcass slung over one shoulder. Kael. “Greetings, Finn. Would you mind hosting me tonight? I offer this in exchange.” Kael nodded towards the limp form of a dune-stalker pup. A pup. Still, a valuable kill. Its hide would fetch a good price in the caravan hubs. The meat, while not as tender as sand-rider, was a welcome change. More than enough for a night’s stay. Finn gave a curt nod. “Few stalkers venture this close. How far did you travel for this one?” Finn had patrolled these parts for years. Any large predators, he’d driven off or put down. The Sunken Ridge, already desolate, offered little for them. “Near the Ashfall Peaks, I found its tracks.” Ashfall Peaks. They rose like jagged teeth on the western horizon, far beyond the furthest reaches of the Khem settlements. A formidable barrier, some called it the ‘Spine of the World.’ “Days to reach its foothills…” “With a determined stride, half a day was enough.” Finn wasn’t surprised. He knew his own resilience, his connection to the land that let him traverse distances others found impossible. He simply noted Kael’s confidence, a flicker of caution stirring within him. --- Later, firelight danced. They sat before Finn’s small dwelling, the scent of sizzling dune-stalker stew heavy in the air. Kael leaned back, gazing at the star-dusted sky. “These stars… they burn so bright here.” “Mother said this ridge was one of the highest points. Save for the Peaks, of course.” “The Peaks are something else entirely. Unyielding. Even the mighty struggle to cross them.” “I’ve heard the great houses, the Guardians, possess near-godlike power. Couldn’t they simply…” Finn gestured, as if willing a mountain to part. Kael chuckled, shaking his head. “Not all of them. But the heads of the ancient houses… House Solara, for instance. They are a different breed.” Kael then regaled him with a tale. Once, he’d seen the Elder of House Solara level a small mesa with a flick of his wrist. Just a gesture. Finn felt a cold knot in his gut. Sometimes, a dangerous thought would surface. That his own power, so far beyond what he’d imagined, might approach the legends. Kael’s story shattered that delusion. His earth-connection felt wild, untamed, far from the precise, devastating force of a true Guardian. His power felt more like a destructive force, one he struggled to contain. “Doesn’t living alone out here, Finn, feel… solitary?” Kael asked, pulling Finn from his thoughts. “It does. But the dust settles, and you grow accustomed.” “Why not bring a woman from the outpost? Share this space.” “Who would choose this life? Tending sand-riders in the endless dust?” Finn’s lips twitched in a tight smile. “The outpost isn’t a place many would long to leave.” “Surely there are those who would value a man of your strength.” Finn remembered children, girls from the caravans, who once followed him. But after his mother died, after the bitter quarrel with the merchants, the connection frayed. He understood. Marrying him meant a life bound to this desolate ridge. “Don’t dwell on it so. The desert is vast. You might find a traveler, a kindred spirit.” Kael’s words, though well-intentioned, felt hollow. Kael was the first such traveler Finn had seen in eighteen years. Silence stretched between them, the crackle of the fire the only sound. “Why do you go to such lengths?” Finn asked finally, his voice low. Kael looked up, a brow raised. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know what those merchants promised you. But a man of your skill… you could demand far more, with less effort.” Any outpost, any caravan hub, would welcome a Guardian like Kael. Their protection was invaluable. Wealth, respect, anything he desired. It would be easier than tracking stalkers through the Ashfall Peaks, staying in a shepherd’s hut. The merchants themselves were hardly deserving. They’d charged Kael exorbitant prices for lodging. If Finn were in Kael’s place, he’d have taken what he wanted and left a trail of ruined stalls. “They are a pitiful people,” Kael murmured. “How so?” “They live each day trembling, at the mercy of the wastes, without true protection.” Kael spoke softly, as if teaching a son. While the Sunken Ridge was sparse, the fertile oases and trade routes beyond teemed with mutated beasts, raiders, and the remnants of ancient, hungry things. It was the pride of a Guardian, one who still carried the ancestral power, to shield the vulnerable. Even without allegiance to a great house, Kael couldn’t simply turn a blind eye. This was a stark contrast to his mother’s tales. To her, Guardians were lords, oppressors, their warriors mere enforcers. Was that not the truth? Noticing Finn’s confusion, Kael offered a bowl of warm, spiced sand-rider milk. “Not all share my view, of course. For every person, there is a different truth.” --- The next morning, Finn cleaned the sand-rider pens with a wave of his hand. The ground shifted, the dusty waste gathered, flying towards the back of his dwelling. Under the searing sun, it would dry to a useful fuel. His mind still replayed Kael’s words. ‘Pride….’ It left a deep impression. A Guardian, not just a servant of the mighty, but one who found purpose in shielding common folk? It didn’t make him yearn to serve House Solara, but it softened his view. Perhaps, if there were more like Kael, life under their rule wouldn’t be utter despair. ‘Still, how do I tell him the ghoul is already dead?’ He’d hoped Kael would simply wander, then leave. But Kael’s goodwill felt too genuine to waste. The problem: he’d tossed the sand-ghoul’s corpse into a deep ravine days ago. Retrieving the rotting thing would be a monumental task. Worse, the traces of his raw earth-magic, the force that had punched through its skull, would be obvious. If anyone looked for a powerful earth-mage in these parts, Finn was the only candidate. Cleaning done, a brief quiet settled. ‘Perhaps I should search for Kael…’ If Kael was ranging as far as yesterday, he’d be lost to Finn’s senses. But Kael had mentioned patrolling closer to the ridge today. A good chance to find him. Finn closed his eyes, focusing. His body lightened, a whisper of current lifting him to the dwelling’s flat roof. He reached out with his mind, connecting with the deep hum of the desert. “Life-Sense.” His perception bloomed. His limited sight, barely a hundred paces, stretched, taking in distant rock formations, distinguishing individual cacti kilometers away. His sense of vibration amplified. The whisper of sand over stone, the scurry of unseen desert life, the thrum of ancient ley lines buried deep. All filtered, focusing on the subtle resonance of human life. ‘Ah. There.’ A familiar hum. Then, a sharp, dissonant note, pulling his attention. Finn snapped his eyes open, scanning the distant panorama. Kael. He was stumbling, blood streaking his forehead, his shoulder. And facing him, a grotesque, half-decayed form. The sand-ghoul Finn had killed days ago, now reanimated, its rotted maw wide, roaring its fury. --- ‘Who… what power would do this?’ Kael gritted his teeth, staring at the ghoul’s undead form. When creatures of magic died, a primal clinging to life could sometimes warp their dormant energies. Their magic, the very essence of their being, would attempt to fulfill a final, desperate will, forcibly animating their ruined body. A ghoul, a husk, born of corrupted power. It was standard practice. Absorb the residual energy, or disperse it. Prevent this abomination. Whoever had killed this beast had either been ignorant of the rule, or maliciously ignored it. Given the precise hole in its head, it was the work of a mage skilled in focused strikes. A dangerous kind of mage. [—GRRRRAH—!!] A deafening roar tore from the ghoul’s putrid throat, a wail of the damned echoing across the silent desert. The comparison was chillingly apt. “Die, again!” Kael shouted, drawing a sparking blade.

Echoes in the Dust