Mineral dust clung to the air of the crystalline forge, catching the faint, shimmering light from the sun-lamps overhead. Coraline, a master artisan from the roving Salt-Veil caravan, bent over a workbench, her brow furrowed in concentration. Before her lay Glacia, the ancient blade Kael had entrusted to her care. Its crystalline edge, usually humming with cold energy, now lay inert under her expert gaze. Coraline’s nimble fingers, etched with fine lines from years of precise work, traced the blade’s surface. A sigh escaped her lips. The steel, infused with arcane sigils and ancient bindings, resisted every attempt to imbue it with further enchantments. “Impossible,” Coraline muttered, her voice a low rasp. She had never encountered a weapon so utterly saturated with power, so utterly complete. “What sorcery is this? Every existing enchantment is so deeply ingrained, so perfectly balanced, it rebuffs all new attempts.” Kael stood nearby, his immense frame casting a long shadow across the polished crystal floor. His eyes, ancient and knowing, remained fixed on the blade. “Indeed,” Kael replied, his voice a gravelly murmur. “A masterpiece, forged not by human hands alone.” Coraline straightened, her violet eyes wide. “Not human? The craft is beyond anything I’ve witnessed. Could it truly be of the Old World? Was it created by… the First Weavers?” “A singularity of purpose, Coraline,” Kael said, his voice flat. “Born of a will unbroken, a dedication beyond mortal comprehension.” Coraline’s expression tightened with frustration. “You speak in riddles, Elder. Who then, created it? What is its true origin?” “Enough,” Kael’s voice cut through the air, firm and unyielding. “I cannot reveal more.” Coraline’s shoulders sagged. She knew Kael’s resolve, a stillness as deep and unyielding as the crystalline plains themselves. Despite her disappointment, she had done her best. Glacia, though unimproved, gleamed, its surface polished to a mirror finish, its existing power resonating with renewed clarity. Kael retrieved Glacia, sliding it into its scabbard with a soft *shiiing*. He turned towards Rhian, who waited by the portal leading out of the Salt-Veil. Rhian's gratitude, sharp and clear, cut through Kael’s customary detachment. “For everything, Kael. Thank you.” A flicker of surprise crossed Kael’s otherwise impassive features. A faint warmth, like the first rays of a sunrise on frozen brine, bloomed in his ancient gaze. For a century, Kael had rarely heard such words from the Saltbinder’s ally. Dyoden, as he often thought of Rhian, had always possessed a flinty self-reliance, a belief that aid was a weakness. This unexpected sincerity was… new. “You speak as if our paths will not cross again,” Kael rumbled, the words laced with a strange finality. “Probably not,” Rhian replied, a wry twist to his lips. “The plains are vast, and our destinations diverge.” He rose to his feet, a nascent strength in his lean frame. “Farewell, Kael. And again, my thanks.” A genuine smile touched Rhian’s lips, a rare sight that momentarily stole Kael’s breath. An unprecedented event for the ancient protector. Coraline, watching from the forge, saw Kael momentarily stunned into silence. It was indeed a rare occurrence for him. From a hidden pouch, Kael produced several items. A tightly rolled tarp, salt-camouflaged to blend seamlessly with the plains. A dagger, its blade etched with brine-sigils for enhanced cutting. A crystalline flask, designed to condense moisture from the air. And a small, heavy pouch of finely ground trade-salt, a currency across Aethel. “Take these,” Kael said, extending the items. “They may prove useful where you go.” Rhian glanced at the items, then looked at the crystalline gauntlet strapped to his right forearm. Its surface pulsed with a faint, internal light. “I’ll not need them directly,” he said, then gestured to the gauntlet. “But they’ll serve well here.” Rhian poured a trickle of mana into the gauntlet. A shimmering void opened in the air before him, swallowing the items whole. The gauntlet pulsed faintly, then settled back into its dormant state. Rhian looked at his gauntlet, a quiet wonder in his eyes. Coraline approached then, holding a breastplate of cured hide. “Right! This was for Rhian.” She presented the armor, made from the carcass of a monstrous Saltmaw Behemoth. “It offers formidable defense, shaped to allow full movement without hindrance.” “Yes,” Rhian said, taking the breastplate. “I still cannot defend myself like a fool, so I will carry this armor.” He slipped it on beneath his travel-worn robe. The thick, scaled hide felt reassuringly heavy against his chest. Pride was a luxury, a thin membrane easily pierced by the teeth of the wastes. He needed all the protection he could get, until his own abilities fully blossomed. Rhian nodded to Coraline, then turned and strode out of the Salt-Veil, Kael following close behind. The two figures, one ancient and unyielding, the other nascent and determined, melted into the horizon’s haze without a backward glance. --- Coraline watched them until they were mere specks against the vast, shimmering expanse. “Why such lengths, Kael?” she asked, turning back to the elder. “You rarely extend such grace to anyone. Is there some weakness you’ve found in him?” Kael paused, his gaze fixed on the empty horizon. “A debt of ages, Coraline. To him, and to a truth long deferred.” “My tribe, my duty, these are my only concerns,” Kael continued, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But he is different. He alone faces the inevitable. For a century, he has endured, unwavering.” A deep respect, almost a reverence, settled in Kael’s eyes. “He is the only man I respect. And fear.” Coraline frowned. “I do not understand what you mean, Elder.” “You need not. It is a truth I wish to spare you.” Kael turned to her, his expression stern. “But promise me one thing. Rhian is the companion Dyoden chose. If your paths ever cross again, offer him aid. It is the only way we may repay a fraction of our debt.” The weight of Kael’s words, heavy as ancient salt, pressed down on Coraline. She dared not question further. --- Rhian walked eastward, Kael a silent presence beside him. Kael had not disclosed their destination, simply striding forward with unwavering purpose. Rhian did not inquire. Now, he simply followed, his movements becoming more mechanical, more instinctive with each passing mile. Through the day, he felt no exhaustion, despite the relentless sun and the unyielding plains. The very salt underfoot seemed to propel him, requiring only a steady management of his mana. This task, once challenging, now felt familiar, almost natural. Mana was a curious force; the more it was used, the deeper its wellspring became. During their brief rests, Rhian made it a habit to drain his reserves, pushing the limits of his growing capacity. He constantly practiced his burgeoning abilities. Drawing granular salt into nascent Brine Missiles, shaping the ground into temporary Salt Walls, or sending out a concussive Salt Blast. Each swing of his arm, each surge of focus, etched new pathways in his nascent abilities. His proficiency sharpened with every practice. Encounters with the plains’ inhabitants were frequent. Kael never intervened, leaving Rhian to face the creatures alone. With each engagement, Rhian’s panic receded, replaced by a cold, calculating focus. He unleashed every trick he could imagine, pushing his skills, testing their limits against the relentless attacks. Rhian’s movements grew swifter, more fluid. He could now execute Crystalline Strides, gliding effortlessly over the salt without sinking, while simultaneously unleashing a barrage of Brine Missiles and Salt Blasts. New tactics, born of necessity and repetition, filled his repertoire. Kael watched Rhian’s progress with an indifferent expression, yet a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed a faint approval. A dozen shapes dissolved into crystalline dust as Rhian’s Brine Missiles struck. Salt-Slinkers, small, insidious creatures that burrowed just beneath the surface, waiting to ambush with venomous stingers. Among the plains’ denizens, they ranked low, but their stealth made them dangerous if undetected. But the minute vibrations carried by the salt particles could not hide their presence from Rhian’s honed senses. A flicker in the crystalline dust, then a blur of iridescent chitin. Rhian moved, a Salt Blast exploding, obliterating the creature’s head. Many more met their end under his increasingly precise attacks. The ground around him became a graveyard of shattered carapaces. Kael snorted softly, turning away. Rhian still fell short of his ultimate standards. Yet, his unwavering vigilance, his refusal to let down his guard, was commendable. He had become a hunter, not a hunted. ‘At least,’ Kael thought, a rare flicker of pride in his ancient heart, ‘he is no longer a complete fledgling.’ Kael continued walking. Rhian, having dispatched the last Salt-Slinker, quickly caught up. His breath was even, his posture unburdened. He didn’t look particularly pleased; hunting such creatures had simply become a natural extension of his existence. Rhian’s gaze fell upon a distant landmark. “A crystalline outcrop,” he announced, pointing. Such formations, thrust from the otherwise flat plains, were rare havens. Burrowing creatures like Greater Sandworms could not approach them. “It must be a part of some ancient formation, revealed by the winds. Let us rest there.” The two settled on the cool, unyielding crystal. Without a word, they drew jerky from their pouches. Rhian tore into a piece of cured Salt-Hyena meat, chewing slowly, moistening it with saliva before swallowing. A single piece provided enough energy for a day, but for Rhian, still in his accelerated growth, one was not enough. He reached for another, his eyes scanning the deepening twilight. Soon, the Brineheart Wastes swallowed the sun whole, plunging the plains into an absolute, chilling darkness. Most monsters retreated, seeking refuge from the night. Night in the desert was perilous even for its native inhabitants. Rhian had learned that nocturnal predators were often the strongest, their eyes piercing the gloom, their hunger insatiable. A guttural bellow tore through the stillness, the roar of a colossal creature, typically active after dark. Rhian’s brow furrowed, his gaze sweeping towards the sound. It came from a considerable distance, far from their crystalline haven. No immediate cause for alarm. Unconcerned, Kael withdrew Glacia and plunged it into the hard crystal of the outcrop. The ancient blade sank into the obdurate stone with effortless grace, as if piercing soft earth. Kael's fingers brushed the hilt, a silent communion passing between elder and steel. Rhian, accustomed to this strange ritual, tuned out Kael, focusing instead on his crystalline gauntlet. As a Saltbinder, Rhian wielded the very minerals of the plains, not a blade. He had never truly felt the gauntlet’s power in direct combat. Its most practical feature, the subspace storage, was what captivated him now. He had stored every usable part from the monster carcasses he’d hunted, each vanishing into the gauntlet’s depths. An endless maw, impervious to decay or time, where items remained perfectly preserved, awaiting retrieval. Even after weeks of collecting, the space felt limitless. A truly remarkable artifact. Rhian caressed the concave surface on the back of his hand, where the gauntlet flared slightly. “By equipping a fire attribute item here, the power can be amplified,” he remembered Kael saying. The thought brought a pang of regret. The Cinder-Veins Grotto, the dungeon that had nearly claimed him, teemed with creatures of flame. If only this power had been his then, he might have salvaged countless treasures. Just then, a shriek, raw with terror, mingled with a deeper, snarling roar. Desperate voices, sharp with a strange, guttural cadence, followed close behind. From the darkness, four figures stumbled into view. Their skin, a deep brown, was chapped by sun and wind. Garments of cured monster hide clung to their lean frames. They moved with a peculiar, almost feral grace. Pointed ears, tipped like some rare desert flora, rose from their heads, and their eyes, even in the dim starlight, glowed with an unsettling, deep violet hue. Not quite human, yet bearing a familiar form, they were clearly in dire straits. “Escape to the outcrop!” one of them cried, her voice cracking.

The Saltbinder's Journey