A dry, metallic tang coated Kaelen’s tongue. He chewed slowly, methodically, on a strip of cured Dune-Hound meat. Its texture was like worn leather, the scant moisture within long since sacrificed to the relentless hunger of the Ashfall Dominion. Food, at least, was no longer a desperate plea. Vorlag, with his brutal efficiency, had ensured a supply of the tough, desiccated jerky, enough to stave off the gnawing emptiness in Kaelen’s gut. Nutrients, the raw fuel for his growing body and awakening power, were a grudging gift from this desolate land. But thirst, that was a different burden. It was a constant companion, a rasping whisper in his throat. Morning dew, a fleeting blessing, offered the only true relief. For the rest of the day, Kaelen lived with a hollow ache, a deep yearning for water that intensified with every breath. He had learned to conserve. Every drop of internal moisture became precious. Words, those ephemeral releases of vapor, were few. His stride, once driven by youthful impatience, now became a measured glide. Muscles tensed, then relaxed, in a new, fluid economy. Upper body movements ceased their wasteful sway. Even his legs minimized their lift, his boots merely skimming the obsidian grit. From a distance, he must have appeared almost static, a phantom figure carried by the shifting ash itself. He moved, yet barely seemed to disturb the land. Vorlag grunted, a sound like grinding stone. “The whelp finds his pace. While others perish, he learns to drift.” Kaelen felt a flicker of something close to pride, quickly doused by the immensity of Vorlag’s power. His own burgeoning connection to the ash-wastes, while potent for his kind, was a pale echo beside his mentor’s raw, untamed might. Vorlag, the very embodiment of the Sundered Earth’s wrath, walked with an indifference that mocked the very concept of effort. The Ashfall Dominion, in all its unforgiving majesty, bent to his will. Kaelen glanced up, not at the sky, which was often obscured by perpetual dust storms, but at the subtle currents in the air. A faint, unusual coolness registered on his skin. A whisper of dampness, almost imperceptible, threaded through the perpetual dryness. His senses, honed by days of following Vorlag, now picked out nuances the old Kaelen would have missed. A true Cinder-Born felt the world, not just saw it. Observing Vorlag, Kaelen noted his mentor’s trajectory. Vorlag, seemingly without conscious thought, veered slightly towards the very direction where the subtle moisture intensified. A bitter smile touched Kaelen’s lips. No coincidence. Vorlag knew. That monster, that force of nature, missed nothing. His power was a boundless mystery, a chasm Kaelen couldn’t begin to fathom. How much more lay hidden beneath Vorlag’s stoic facade? The displays of strength Kaelen had witnessed already defied human understanding. He harbored a morbid curiosity, a desire to glimpse the full extent of that terrifying capability. --- Soon, a colossal dune of fresh ash emerged from the hazy horizon. It rose like a petrified wave, its fine particles whispering as the wind sculpted its flanks. Newly formed, Kaelen realized. The Ashfall Dominion, though seemingly eternal, was a canvas constantly rewritten by elemental fury. As a Cinder-Born, he could read the shifting surface, a language of wind and grit. Struggling, he clawed his way up the monumental slope. The ash, finer than flour, gave way beneath his boots, making each step a desperate climb. He topped the crest, eyes stinging from the dust. A breathtaking sight unfolded below. A vast, shimmering expanse of water, reflecting the pale, dust-veiled sky. An oasis, an impossible jewel in the heart of the ash-wastes. Thirst, held at bay for so long, erupted into a torrent. The disciplined calm shattered. He would drink. He would drink until the ache was gone, until his body was saturated with life-giving water. He broke into a run, a reckless charge down the dune. Vorlag, observing his headlong dash, merely clicked his tongue, a sound devoid of sympathy. Kaelen reached the water's edge, oblivious to anything but the promise of relief. He plunged his head beneath the surface, gulping frantically, the cool liquid a shock against his parched throat. Overwhelming happiness washed over him. Every cell in his body seemed to sigh in gratitude. As he drank, a faint glimmer caught his eye, deep within the water. A spherical light, pulsating softly, like a trapped star. He stopped drinking, mesmerized. His gaze locked onto the source, his mind drawn to its gentle allure. The light drifted closer, larger, brighter. His eyes, unfocused, seemed to glaze over. A strange compulsion, an unbidden urge, held him captive. The orb of light neared his face, radiating a hypnotic warmth. “Whelp! Snap out of it!” Vorlag’s roar, sharp as obsidian shards, ripped through the haze in Kaelen’s mind. A powerful hand clamped onto Kaelen’s back, yanking him violently from the water. He tumbled backward onto the ash, gasping, disorientation warring with a sudden, icy fear. Then, the oasis erupted. A colossal form, surging from the depths, breached the surface with a deafening spray. It was a monstrosity of muscle and maw, a gullet wide enough to swallow a Dune-Hound whole. More than half its body was an enormous mouth, lined with jagged teeth. On its forehead, an antenna-like thorn ended in a rounded, fleshy bulb – the very light that had so captivated Kaelen. “An Oasis-Leviathan,” Vorlag’s voice was grim. “It lures fools like you with its light. Devours them whole.” Kaelen, still dazed, stared as the behemoth slowly sank back into the water, its massive form rippling the surface. Had Vorlag not intervened, he would have been swallowed without a struggle. Vorlag drew his Obsidian-Cleaver, its dark blade seeming to drink the light. “Recklessness takes root when you think you’ve learned a thing or two. Do you grasp that, you empty-headed cur?” Vorlag didn’t wait for an answer. He launched himself across the water, barely disturbing its surface. The Obsidian-Cleaver descended, a blur of polished darkness, aimed at the retreating Leviathan. A geyser of water shot skyward as the blade struck. The Oasis-Leviathan thrashed, attempting to flee deeper into its liquid lair. Vorlag gave no quarter. He plunged into the water, a dark, swift missile. Like a torpedo, he cut through the depths with terrifying speed. The Leviathan, sensing escape was futile, turned, its massive jaws opening to engulf its attacker. It was its final mistake. Vorlag and the Obsidian-Cleaver pierced clean through the monster’s colossal body. The water stilled. The immense creature floated lifelessly, a testament to raw, unrestrained power. Vorlag emerged, dragging the Leviathan by its tail. He heaved its enormous carcass onto the ash at Kaelen’s feet. Kaelen recoiled, startled. Even in death, the creature radiated a monstrous awe. An immense beast, hidden in this small pool. Unbelievable. --- Vorlag plunged the Obsidian-Cleaver into the monster’s flesh, his voice devoid of inflection. “These monstrosities inhabit the oases of the Ashfall. They lure the unwary, the thirsty, the foolish, with their glow. Then they gulp them down. So, don’t stick your head into any oasis you find, you half-witted child.” Kaelen, shame-faced, muttered. “I understand.” “Are your ears merely decorative? Skin it. The Oasis-Leviathan is a powerful beast. Its hide is soft, yet incredibly tough and flexible. Perfect for a robe. Cut it up. Get to it.” “Do you… need a robe?” Kaelen asked, confused. “Not for me, imbecile! For you! Is your mind turning to ash? Have you been cursed with petrification of the brain?” Vorlag’s glare was like a furnace blast. Kaelen, finally grasping the intent, moved quickly. He flipped the leviathan. Its back was a landscape of brownish, uneven scales, while its belly was smooth, almost black. The skin was incredibly dense, resisting his efforts. Even his dagger scraped uselessly. He infused his blade with mana, a pulse of Cinder-Born energy. The obsidian dust of the dagger’s edge hardened, sharpened beyond steel. With a grunt, he managed to slice into the resilient hide. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickled down his temples. The work was arduous, but it wasn't enough. He still had to craft the robe. No needle existed that could penetrate such thick material. Even if one did, the sheer size of the hide was daunting. He paused, thinking. An idea sparked. From one of the leviathan’s smaller bones, he painstakingly carved a crude, yet strong, needle. For thread, he carefully stripped thin, durable fibers from the monster's inner hide. Kaelen possessed a surprising dexterity, born of necessity and meticulous survival. This was his first attempt at garment-making, but after half a day of struggle, a rough, functional robe began to take shape. While Kaelen labored, Vorlag systematically dismantled the Oasis-Leviathan. Every part, it seemed, was useful. The flesh, devoid of any discernible poison, smelled faintly sweet. Among the various organs, Vorlag extracted a palm-sized object: the leviathan’s gallbladder. He tossed it to Kaelen. “Huh? Am I to eat it raw?” Kaelen looked at the pulsating sac with distaste. “Indeed! It’s potent medicine for weaklings like you. Consume every last bit.” Vorlag’s tone brooked no argument. “Refuse, and I’ll force it down your gullet myself.” “I’ll eat it. I’ll eat it.” Kaelen knew Vorlag’s threats were always promises. With a deeply furrowed brow, he bit into the slick, viscous gallbladder. He swallowed it whole, grimacing, forcing himself to consume it thoroughly, as if Vorlag could somehow detect any lingering reluctance. Kaelen’s pride, never a robust thing in Vorlag’s presence, crumbled to ash. Fortunately, there was no need to chew. The moment it passed his lips, the gallbladder seemed to dissolve, sliding down his throat. He felt no immediate satiation, only a lingering oddness. “Fascinating,” Kaelen murmured, a strange sensation stirring. Suddenly, an intense, searing heat erupted in his stomach. It wasn’t hunger, but a fiery agony, unlike anything he had ever known. He collapsed, writhing on the ground, screams tearing from his throat. His muscles spasmed, his very bones felt as though they were being reshaped by an internal forge. Vorlag paid Kaelen’s suffering no mind. Expertly, he sliced the leviathan’s meat. Flames, coiling from his bare hands, erupted. The flesh cooked in an instant, crisp and fragrant. Chewing on a piece of the perfectly seared meat, Vorlag glanced at the oasis. “This, too, will vanish soon.” Oases in the Ashfall Dominion were fleeting illusions. They appeared, nourished life, then vanished, re-forming elsewhere through the ceaseless dance of wind and ash. Humans could not predict their capricious nature. Even with the death of this Oasis-Leviathan, another would surely rise. These creatures laid eggs within their watery sanctuaries. When a ruler died, new offspring were automatically spawned, ensuring the cycle of life and predation continued. But to grow to this size, a hundred years at least. Vorlag chewed, contemplating. Kaelen continued to scream, a ragged sound against the vast silence of the wastes. Vorlag merely sneered at his pitiful state. --- Morning dawned, painting the ash-dusted sky in hues of bruised violet and sullen orange. Kaelen awoke. His body felt different. A vitality, a raw power, he had never known before coursed through him. He sat up. His frame, once lean and angular, had transformed. Not bulky, like some brute, but every muscle was now defined, cords of steel beneath his skin. His limbs felt taut, immensely strong, as if re-forged. Kaelen stared at his own hands, flexed them. Speechless, he took in the undeniable change. Beside him, Vorlag sat, calmly eating leviathan meat. “What happened to me?” Kaelen’s voice was hoarse. “Seems your body took the medicine well,” Vorlag said between bites. “The Oasis-Leviathan’s gallbladder… was medicine?” “A rare and potent alchemical wonder. Unrivaled for strengthening muscle and bone. There’s nothing better.” “Thank you… for such a precious gift.” Kaelen felt a grudging gratitude. “Hmph! What else could I do but bolster a weakling like you? Eat. Then prepare to move.” Vorlag tossed a generous piece of cooked meat. Kaelen first donned the robe he had crafted yesterday. The moment the material touched his skin, a strange, deep coolness enveloped him. The leviathan’s hide, perfectly insulated, radiated an inner chill, defying the desert’s heat. He gasped, surprised by its unexpected efficacy. “This… it works.” “We will remain here for a short time. Finish the Leviathan meat.” “Eat it all?” Kaelen looked at the remaining carcass, still substantial. “Meat with this much nutrition is a ghost in these wastes. We leave nothing. Every part must be consumed.” At this point, Kaelen felt he might believe Vorlag if he claimed petrified trees grew ripe fruit. He ate, sharing the silence with his mentor. Four days passed. The enormous Oasis-Leviathan, save for its stripped bones, vanished entirely into their stomachs. They consumed every last morsel. On the fifth morning, the oasis was gone. The great pool of water had simply disappeared, as if it had never been, leaving only a barren depression in the ash. Without a trace of regret, Kaelen and Vorlag turned their backs on the empty basin. They continued their journey into the vast, indifferent heart of the Ashfall Dominion.

A Price for the Living Water