Chapter 13 - 12

Chapter 54

The road unfurled southward under a sky of rippling grey, the morning after Northhaven's battle. Kelan rode in silence, the reins loose in his hands as his mare picked a steady pace over the rutted track. Beside him, Astrid urged her own horse forward with quiet determination, her face drawn with lingering fatigue. The scent of smoke from Northhaven had faded, replaced by the damp earthy smell of early spring in the borderlands. Yet the memory of that battle clung to Kelan's thoughts as tangibly as the cloak around his shoulders.

He glanced at Astrid. Loose strands of her auburn hair escaped her hood, and her green eyes scanned the empty fields ahead. Those eyes remained alert despite her weariness. Kelan marveled at her resilience—only a day removed from blood and chaos, and she was focused on the road ahead, on survival. She has always been stronger than I, in ways beyond power, he mused.

They crested a small rise. The sun broke through low clouds, warming Kelan's face. He pulled his cloak aside to let the light chase away the night's chill. The road ahead sloped down into a broad vale of scrub and isolated farmsteads. Far beyond, the southern horizon shimmered with hints of brown and gold—a promise of drier lands. The vast desert lay distant, but its influence was evident in the thinning vegetation and the faint dryness of the wind.

Kelan exhaled and broke the silence. "Astrid," he began softly. "About my family… I can't go back to them. Not now."

Astrid turned her head slightly, keeping her horse at an even gait with his. Her voice was gentle. "Because of the risk?"

He nodded, throat tight. "After what I did at Northhaven… I showed too much. Anyone who saw will talk, if they haven't already. The Empire will hear rumors of a mage with overwhelming power."

Astrid let out a slow breath. "They'll be looking for you."

Kelan's mouth felt dry. He still scarcely understood this mind-magic awakening in him, but he knew too well how the Empire dealt with threats. "If I return home, I'd lead them straight to my family. I won't risk that. Better my parents think me dead or missing than see them harmed because of me."

Astrid reached across the narrow space between their horses and squeezed his hand briefly. "They would want you safe above all else," she said quietly. "Even if it means not seeing you for a while."

"For a while… or maybe forever," Kelan said, voice strained. He shook his head at the heavy thought. "I keep wondering if any of our allies will tell them I survived. We left so quickly… Northhaven's leaders promised to spread word that the city drove off the Imperials. If my family hears even a hint, maybe they'll have hope. But if they think I fell in battle, perhaps that's kinder."

Astrid frowned. "Kinder? For them to mourn you, when you're alive?"

"It keeps them safe," Kelan replied, pain behind his eyes. "If they knew I lived, they'd wonder why I hadn't come home. They might try to find me or do something dangerous to protect me if Imperial agents showed up. I can't let that happen. This way, the Empire has no reason to trouble them."

Astrid was quiet for a moment. "I understand," she said at last. "But it's cruel, isn't it? That doing right by them means hurting them."

Kelan only nodded, jaw clenched. Cruel indeed. Just days ago he had been a simple fisherman dreaming of a warm hearth. Now he was an exile—a man whose greatest act of heroism had cut him off from everything he loved.

They rode on in somber silence, broken only by the creak of saddle leather and the clop of hooves. Kelan's mind drifted back to the battle's end. The faces of those Imperial soldiers haunted him. In the heat of battle, he'd felt righteous fury. But afterward, the sight of the still bodies had turned his stomach. I unleashed something terrible. He tried to justify it as necessary to save innocents, but he could not forget that some of those he killed may have been youths forced to fight. Did they deserve such an end?

His hands trembled on the reins. He forced a slow breath, matching it to the mare's steady stride—a calming trick Astrid had taught him. Gradually the shaking subsided.

By late morning, the road bent alongside a trickling stream. The horses, smelling water, nickered and tugged at the reins. Astrid inclined her head toward the stream's willow-lined bank. "Let's water them."

Kelan agreed. They dismounted and led the horses to drink. He knelt and splashed cool water on his face. The sun grew stronger, the air warmer—a sign they were leaving cooler climes behind.

He filled their canteens while Astrid checked the horses' hooves for stones. The simple, practical tasks steadied him. Astrid murmured gently to her mare as she lifted each foot in turn, brushing out dust. Watching her calm competence, Kelan felt a swell of gratitude. She chose this uncertain road with me, when she could have gone elsewhere.

He approached with the filled canteens. "Hooves all clear?"

Astrid smiled briefly. "All clear. They're holding up well." She took a canteen and drank, then poured a little water into her palm to let her horse lip at it. "We'll need more grain soon. I'm not sure how far the next village is."

Kelan nodded. "According to the map we have, there's a market town another day or two south." He patted his pocket where a folded parchment map rested.

"With any luck, we can resupply quietly and move on before anyone notices us," Astrid said.

Her meaning was clear: before any Imperial scouts or informants could catch up. Kelan scanned behind them, half-expecting to see distant riders on their trail. Nothing moved on the northern horizon but a lone hawk wheeling in the sky. Still, his unease did not fade. "This area's remote. News might travel slowly," he murmured, trying to convince himself.

Astrid's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Merchants gossip faster than ravens fly. Northhaven was a big battle. Even out here, travelers will be talking of it."

Kelan frowned. She was likely right. "At least the further south we get, the more the tales will twist. Perhaps no one will link them to us."

He did not sound convincing. Astrid laid a hand on his arm. "We'll manage. Once we're past the frontier, the Empire's reach shortens. They have less sway with the desert tribes and city-states."

"Have you been there before? The desert?" he asked, realizing how little he knew of her past travels.

Astrid shook her head. "No. Only heard stories from traders. One of my father's friends described vast red sands, cities that glitter under the sun, people who weave spells into songs." A small smile touched her lips. "As a girl I thought he was embellishing to entertain us. Maybe not."

Magic woven into songs. The idea was both intriguing and foreign. Kelan wondered how his own abilities might appear in a land where magic was common. "If magic is more accepted there, perhaps we won't stand out as much," he said. But power like mine will draw attention anywhere, if I lose control, he reminded himself.

"They may accept mages, but they still value coin and craft over heroics," Astrid noted. "Better we travel as ordinary folk. A quiet couple seeking work or kin. Not wandering heroes or escaped mages."

Kelan snorted softly. "Agreed. I've no desire to announce myself." He paused, then added wryly, "Maybe I could even pretend to be a simple fisherman again."

Astrid's eyes twinkled for the first time that day. "With those soft hands and that wary look about you? You've changed, Kelan."

He managed a faint chuckle. "Fair enough. But at least I can avoid adding to any legends. For now, I'm just Kelan, a traveler."

They packed up and remounted.

The horses, refreshed, trotted briskly as the sun climbed higher. Kelan loosened the neck of his tunic to let the breeze in. The landscape grew more sparse—grasslands giving way to stretches of dry scrub. By afternoon, heat shimmered above the road. Astrid tied a kerchief over her hair to ward off the sun.

"There." She pointed ahead. Far in the distance, a cluster of shapes broke the monotony of the plain. As they neared, a small crossroads village took shape—a handful of stone-and-thatch buildings, likely with an inn and stable among them.

Kelan's muscles tensed with equal parts anticipation and worry. A roof and a hot meal would be welcome, but any settlement meant eyes and tongues. "We'll get what we need and leave at first light," he murmured.

Astrid reached over and briefly touched his arm. "It will be fine. We'll be cautious."

As they approached the village, a few curious faces appeared—farmfolk squinting at the rare sight of strangers. Kelan straightened in his saddle, adopting a weary but pleasant expression, as if he were nothing more than a tired traveler.

He silently tested a simple story: he and Astrid were a married couple from a northern hamlet, heading south to seek opportunity. It was plausible enough. He would give only first names, keep details sparse.

Astrid glanced at him, and he gave a small nod. They were in this together. The first steps into an uncertain exile were before them, but they would face them side by side.

With the vast unknown desert beckoning beyond the horizon, Kelan guided his mare into the village, carrying hope and sorrow in equal measure.

Chapter 55

The village's lone inn was a squat, L-shaped building of worn stone with whitewashed walls. Kelan ducked through the low door into a dim common room smelling of spiced lentil stew and smoke from an open hearth. Astrid followed close behind, and a few conversations around the room quieted as the strangers entered.

Kelan kept his expression polite but reserved, conscious of several pairs of eyes sizing them up. Most of the patrons looked to be locals—farmers or herders by their plain garb. But at one corner table sat three men in sand-colored robes embroidered with bright patterns. They were clearly not villagers; their skin was sun-darkened and one wore a crimson turban. Traders from the desert, Kelan guessed, heart quickening at the thought.

The innkeeper bustled over, a towel slung over his shoulder. "Afternoon," he greeted gruffly. He was a broad man with wispy grey hair. His gaze flicked over their travel-worn clothes and dusty boots. "Rooms are three coppers a night. Stew's fresh. Water for the horses is extra."

Astrid gave a small smile. "Thank you. We'll take a room for the night, and two bowls of stew, please." She drew a few coins from the leather pouch at her belt and placed them in the innkeeper's calloused palm.

He bit one coin lightly, nodded, and pointed to an empty table. "Sit where you like. I'll bring the food," he said, dispatching a lad to ready a room for them upstairs.

After stowing their packs in the tiny room and washing off the road's dust, Kelan and Astrid returned to the common room.

Before long, the steaming bowls arrived along with two wooden cups of watered ale. "Thank you," Astrid said warmly. The boy nodded and retreated, eyeing the foreigners in the corner with open curiosity as he went.

Kelan inhaled the rich aroma of the lentil stew. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten more than dry rations all day. He murmured a quiet thanks under his breath for the meal and dug in carefully; it was still hot. The stew was thick, studded with carrots and spiced with cumin and pepper. It had a slow warmth that spread through him.

As they ate, Kelan quietly overheard the desert traders chatting in a mix of the common tongue and their own dialect. Their accents were melodic and their speech peppered with unfamiliar words, yet understandable.

They spoke of finishing their business in the village and departing at first light for a city called Tazan far to the south. Local villagers at a neighboring table peppered them with questions about the desert. One trader happily obliged with vivid descriptions of his homeland: nomadic shepherds who sang to keep scorpions and snakes away from their campfires, and city performers who made flames dance in time with music each evening. The villagers murmured in amazement at these tales of casual magic.

Kelan found the idea both fascinating and daunting. In the north, magic was regulated and rare; here it sounded woven into everyday life. Perhaps in such a place, his own abilities might draw less attention—or perhaps those experienced in magic would sense the depth of his power immediately. The thought made him tense, but he said nothing. Astrid caught his eye and gave a small nod toward the traders. This could be their chance to travel safely south.

When the traders' table fell into a moment of laughter and the villagers turned back to their drinks, Astrid rose to approach them. Kelan followed a step behind.

"Pardon us," Astrid said politely, inclining her head. "We heard you plan to travel south at dawn. My husband and I are bound for the desert cities as well, and we seek the safety of a caravan. Would you permit us to accompany you?"

The three traders looked up, their sun-weathered faces breaking into curious smiles at the prospect of company. The broad-shouldered jovial man introduced himself as Yassen, a spice merchant. The older grey-bearded man beside him gave his name as Hamid. The third, younger fellow nodded politely but remained quiet.

Yassen spread his hands cheerfully. "More companions make the road safer indeed. We welcome you, friends, so long as you can pull your weight on the journey."

"We can," Kelan assured. "We have our own horses and we're able-bodied. We can take watches at night and help fend off any trouble. Astrid is a skilled archer." He decided it best not to mention his other skills.

Hamid's keen eyes appraised them, noting the weapons at their belts. "Good. Desert travel is harsh for the unprepared. But if you've some experience on the road and are willing to work, that's enough."

"What payment would you require?" Astrid asked, knowing well that nothing came free.

Yassen waved a hand. "A token share for supplies, say five silver pieces for the two of you, and we'll provide water and guidance. Fair?"

Kelan and Astrid exchanged a quick glance and a nod. "That's fair," Kelan agreed, relieved the price was reasonable.

"Excellent," Yassen said brightly. He raised his clay cup of ale. "To new friends joining our journey!"

Kelan felt some of the tension in his chest ease. He allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you. We're grateful."

Hamid gave a more solemn nod. "Meet us at dawn by the village well. We leave as the sun rises, before the heat."

After final pleasantries, Kelan and Astrid returned to their table briefly to finish their drinks, both quietly astonished at their good fortune. Not only had they found a secure way forward, but these southerners seemed friendly and open.

Later, upstairs in their tiny room, Kelan lay on the narrow bed with Astrid's warmth curled by his side. Through the shuttered window came the faint din of a village dog barking and then silence. Astrid drifted to sleep quickly, exhaustion overcoming excitement. Kelan, however, stared at the ceiling, his mind churning through possibilities.

Tomorrow, we truly enter the desert, he thought. The notion filled him with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Would the desert be the refuge they hoped for? Could he learn to better master his mind-magic in a land where spells were sung in the streets? Or would the Empire's reach somehow follow them even here?

He turned his head to watch Astrid's sleeping face, dimly lit by a sliver of moon through the window. She looked peaceful, her guard finally down. Gently, Kelan brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered, so softly it did not disturb her. He meant it for everything—her steadfast presence, her courage to step into the unknown with him.

In the stillness, he allowed himself a cautious hope. For the first time since the battle, he felt that they weren't just running—they were moving toward something. Whatever the desert held, they would meet it together. With that thought easing his worry, Kelan finally closed his eyes and let sleep take him at last.

Chapter 56

Dawn's first light found them assembled by the village well, the air cool under a pale dawn sky. Kelan led his mare forward, making a final adjustment to his saddle. Astrid stood beside him, checking her bowstring one last time before securing the bow at her horse's saddle. The desert traders were already there, tending to their own animals: three tall, long-legged camels laden with bundles of goods and waterskins.

Kelan had never seen camels up close; with their humped backs and splayed feet, they struck him as faintly disdainful creatures. One camel snorted and tossed its head impatiently. Yassen chuckled and patted its neck, murmuring in his lilting tongue to soothe it.

Astrid's mare skittered at the camel's movement, and she stroked the horse's mane. Kelan quietly extended a subtle calming thought to the mare; the animal settled after a moment, and Kelan exhaled, hoping no one noticed his small intervention.

Hamid had already wrapped a light-colored scarf around his head and neck. He eyed their travel clothes. Kelan still wore his woolen northern cloak, though he had packed away the heaviest layers. Astrid had a sturdy canvas jacket and trousers. Both had boots suited for rocky ground. "It will grow hot quickly," Hamid warned. He fetched a length of light linen from a camel's pack and handed it to Astrid, advising her to cover her neck and face from the fierce sun.

Astrid accepted the makeshift scarf gratefully and draped it over her head and neck.

Kelan pulled a broad-brimmed hat low over his brow, which earned an approving grin from Yassen, who remarked that there was no shame in hiding from the sun.

Soon all was in order. Few villagers were awake at this hour; the innkeeper's boy yawned in a doorway as the small caravan headed out.

Yassen led with the first camel, humming a gentle morning tune. Hamid walked beside the second, and the younger trader—Hamid's nephew, Maruf—guided the third. Kelan and Astrid followed on horseback along the dusty track.

For the first mile, fields of scraggly barley and fallow pastureland flanked the road. But those soon gave way to open, uncultivated scrub. Low thorny bushes and clumps of dry grass dotted the landscape. By mid-morning, even those signs of green grew sparse. The earth became hard-packed and cracked in places, streaked with veins of dried-up streams. Gentle rises in the land exposed vistas of increasing barrenness ahead—rolling plains of yellow-brown dotted with darker rocks.

The sun climbed higher, no longer gentle. Kelan felt the heat through his light tunic, beads of sweat gathering under his shirt. The brim of his hat shaded his eyes, but bright light reflected off the ground and made him squint regardless. He was grateful for the precaution of tying a cloth over his mouth and nose, as dust began to swirl with each step the animals took.

Astrid rode with her newly gifted scarf wrapped across her face bandit-style, leaving only her eyes visible. Even so, Kelan saw her blinking against the glare. Despite the early hour, she was already sweating. He caught her gaze and tried to offer an encouraging smile. She returned a faint nod; she was determined, he knew, but the adjustment to this climate would not be easy.

Yassen's rich voice floated back to them, carrying a tune. He sang in his language, a rhythmic, upbeat melody that made the camels' steps fall into cadence. Each of his steps as he walked had a slight bounce, almost like a dance on the sand. Maruf joined in on the chorus with a higher harmony, clapping lightly on the camel's pack frame to keep time. Though Kelan understood none of the words, the song lifted his spirits. The fatigue of the morning lightened a little, and even Astrid's posture eased as she listened. Whether it was mere music or some subtle spell woven in, Kelan couldn't tell, but it was beautiful in its own way.

They kept a steady pace through the morning. Kelan found the desert had a deceptive sameness—one could look out and think they hadn't traveled at all, until turning to see the faint outline of the northern hills now far behind. The world had opened up, wide and empty under a brassy sky. It was both freeing and unsettling; there were no hiding places out here.

By midday, waves of heat rippled off the ground. Yassen finally called a halt beside a cluster of boulders that offered a sliver of shade.

"Rest time!" he announced, wiping sweat from his brow. The camels groaned and knelt, clearly accustomed to the routine. Kelan and Astrid dismounted stiffly.

Hamid passed around a skin of water and reminded them, "Small sips only."

Kelan obeyed, taking a small swallow of the warm, stale-tasting water. Astrid's hand trembled as she drank; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dulled by the heat.

"Are you all right?" Kelan asked quietly.

Astrid closed her eyes. "Just a bit dizzy from the heat," she murmured.

Kelan guided her to sit in the narrow strip of shade by the rocks. Maruf quickly unrolled a woven mat to keep them off the searing ground, and Astrid sank onto it.

Hamid produced a small clay jar of camphor-scented salve. He called it a cure for "desert fever" and applied a dab to Astrid's wrists and temples, assuring her the spell of weakness would soon pass.

Astrid closed her eyes as the herbal balm brought some relief. Kelan sat beside her, worry etched on his face. She was hardy in the northern clime, but this heat was a foe entirely new.

He cautiously extended a tendril of his mind towards her, imparting a cool, calming sensation to ease her discomfort. It was a tiny, subtle use of his power—more comfort than true healing.

Astrid sighed and leaned against his shoulder. Within minutes, her breathing steadied and a bit of color returned to her face. She gave him a faint, knowing smile, as if aware he had helped.

Kelan nodded, relieved.

Yassen handed around pressed date-and-nut cakes to restore their energy. The sticky sweetness was a welcome boost.

As Kelan gazed north at the wavering horizon, the Empire felt worlds away. Yet unease nagged at him: what if Imperial trackers were still somewhere behind them, searching?

Hamid seemed to read his mind. "The desert has a way of swallowing worries," the older man said, staring at the emptiness. "Out here, troubles of courts and cities seem very small."

Kelan managed a faint smile. "I suppose so."

Hamid gave him a nod, as if in encouragement, then fell quiet again.

Soon, Yassen stood and stretched. "Let's move before we cook alive sitting still." It was only a brief rest—the sun was still high—but pressing on meant reaching their evening camp sooner.

They helped Astrid back onto her horse. She was still weary, but managed a determined smile. The caravan set off again, now aiming slightly westward where Yassen said they'd find a dry stream bed leading toward an oasis by tomorrow.

Through the afternoon, they pressed on. Small dunes soon rose where the wind piled sand, and occasional bleached bones half-buried in the sand told silent tales of the desert's harshness.

By late afternoon Astrid was riding more comfortably again, her strength returning with each hour.

They made camp at dusk in a shallow depression between dunes for wind shelter. The sky burned orange as the sun sank, then quickly deepened to purple as night fell. The day's heat gave way to a biting chill, and Kelan pulled on his cloak as they collected sparse brush for a small fire.

Yassen and Maruf rigged a canvas windbreak between two kneeling camels. Kelan and Astrid helped start a small fire.

Over a simple supper of flatbread and lentil paste, few words were exchanged. After eating, Yassen brewed a pot of strong mint tea over the fire. Paradoxically, the hot sweet drink helped cool their bodies and soothe their throats.

Before long, the traders murmured in their own tongue about tomorrow's route. Hamid unrolled the sleeping mats and urged an early night. Kelan lay down on his blanket beside Astrid, who was gazing up at a brilliant spray of stars—far more than they ever saw in the northern skies.

Astrid turned her head towards him, eyes reflecting starlight. "How are you holding up?" she asked softly.

He almost smiled—after her ordeal, she was worrying about him. "I'm fine," he whispered, "just relieved you're okay." She reached across the small gap and squeezed his hand. "I'll manage," Astrid murmured. "Today was rough, but I'm learning." Kelan squeezed her hand back reassuringly and promised, "Tomorrow will be easier."

Astrid soon drifted into sleep, but Kelan remained on his back, thoughts wandering among the glittering constellations. The day's images played behind his eyes—Astrid swaying under the cruel sun, the constant worry of unseen pursuers, the vast empty sands both daunting and mesmerizing.

With everyone asleep, he dared a small exercise in control. Under his blanket, Kelan concentrated on a single grain of sand, willing it to rise an inch above his palm. A faint tingle coursed through his fingers as the tiny grain lifted and glinted in the starlight. After a few breaths, he let it fall softly back onto his hand. Such a minuscule feat required intense focus, but it was progress.

Slow and steady, he reminded himself; he would hone his mastery bit by bit, safely and quietly. With that resolve, Kelan closed his eyes. The cold night sand radiated a little warmth through his cloak. Tomorrow they would journey on, and if Hamid's word held true, by day's end they would reach the life-giving oasis. As sleep finally claimed him, Kelan dreamed of cool water and faint, melodious singing carried on the desert wind.

Chapter 57

On the afternoon of the third day, a line of green began to shimmer on the horizon. At first Kelan thought it another mirage, but as they drew closer, the smudge resolved into real palm trees and clusters of verdant bushes. Dreshan Oasis emerged out of the dunes like a gem – a crescent of vivid greenery wrapped around a shimmering blue watering hole.

Kelan breathed out in relief and wonder. After days of endless dust and thorny scrub, the sight of tall date palms and the sparkle of water felt like stumbling into a dream. Astrid actually laughed – a brief, surprised sound – when a cooling breeze carrying the scent of damp earth wafted over them.

Yassen grinned back at the pair. "Nothing like your first oasis, eh?" he called. Even the camels seemed to pick up their pace, braying eagerly as they plodded the last stretch of sand.

They soon found themselves on firmer ground: hard-packed earth interspersed with patches of tough grass. A low cluster of mud-brick buildings stood on the western side of the oasis, beside a larger grove of palms. Smoke curled lazily from one building's chimney – likely a waystation for caravans. Beyond that, dozens of tents and lean-tos dotted the area under the shade of trees. Kelan spotted tethered horses and camels, and people moving about: desert travelers, merchants, and members of a nomadic tribe that clearly called Dreshan home.

As they passed a pair of grazing goats, a gaggle of children darted out from behind some palms, chasing one another with loud whoops. They skidded to a stop as the caravan approached, their eyes bright with curiosity at the newcomers. One bold boy ran up alongside Yassen's lead camel, calling out a greeting in a language Kelan didn't understand. Yassen barked a laugh and tossed the child a date from his pocket. The boy caught it, flashed a white grin, and scampered off, shouting the news of arrivals.

Hamid raised his hand in a gesture of respect as two adults emerged from a nearby tent – a man and a woman in loose rust-colored robes. The man bore a curved sword at his belt, but his face broke into a welcoming smile when he recognized the traders.

A man named Farid, one of the tribe's leaders, welcomed Yassen and Hamid with hearty embraces and guided the caravan to a flat, shaded spot by the water to make camp.

As they led the animals to the indicated spot, Kelan took in the surroundings. The nomad camp bustled with life — tents arranged near the water, cooking fires smoking, women pounding grain, men weaving baskets, and children playing under the trees. After the tense quiet of traveling, the oasis felt alive with voices.

Kelan and Astrid dismounted stiffly onto solid, slightly damp ground near the pool.

They led their thirsty animals straight to the pool. The horses and camels drank deeply, and the travelers refilled every skin and bucket they had.

They knelt and splashed water on their faces. It was gloriously cool. Astrid closed her eyes as water dripped from her chin. "By the spirits," she murmured, "I've never tasted anything so sweet."

Kelan had to agree. The water, tinged slightly with minerals, was the most refreshing thing he could recall drinking. It washed away the dust in his throat and a layer of desert fatigue from his mind.

As they watered the animals and refilled skins, more locals wandered over to greet the caravan. Yassen and Hamid conversed in the flowing desert dialect with Farid and others, likely exchanging news. A gaggle of curious children surrounded Astrid, giggling at her fair hair. She made a coin appear from behind one girl's ear, drawing delighted laughter before the children were shooed off by smiling parents.

Maruf unrolled a mat and displayed jars of spices and dyes. A few nomads gathered, sniffing and commenting approvingly on the quality. Before long, Yassen was deep in friendly haggling over prices.

A sudden commotion on the far side of the pool caught Kelan's attention. Voices rose in alarm. Kelan saw a small crowd quickly forming near one of the tents, and a woman's wail cut through the air. Without thinking, he started striding in that direction. Astrid, who had also heard the cry, met his eyes across the clearing and followed close behind him.

They approached to find a knot of people around a young teenage boy who lay on a mat, his face twisted in pain. Blood dripped from a puncture wound on his left forearm. A man was kneeling over the boy, trying to wrap a cloth tightly above the elbow.

Kelan saw the distinctive twin fang marks on the boy's forearm – a venomous snakebite, judging by the rapid swelling and discoloration.

Among the onlookers, the elderly woman with the purple headscarf whom Kelan had seen earlier pushed through, a small clay bowl in hand. She spoke rapidly to the man holding the boy – possibly the father – and then began to sing in a low, wavering voice. The song was unlike any Kelan had heard: melodious but with an urgent, pulsing rhythm. Though he didn't understand the words, he guessed it was a healing chant.

The boy gasped, sweat beading on his brow. The area around the bite was darkening fast. Kelan felt a surge of instinctual concern. Snake venom, if it was a desert viper, could kill swiftly.

He knelt down opposite the old woman, across the injured youth. "Can we help?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

The woman glanced at him briefly; her eyes were clouded with age but still sharp. She switched to heavily accented common. "Hold him," she directed, nodding toward the boy's shoulders.

Kelan immediately placed his hands on the boy to keep him from thrashing. The father was already holding the arm steady. Astrid crouched and supported the boy's legs.

All the while, the old healer kept singing in a low, urgent chant as she crushed a mix of herbs in a bowl and smeared the resulting poultice onto the bite. The boy cried out and trembled.

Kelan steadied the boy with firm hands and, at the same time, extended his mind. He pushed a wave of calm through the boy's body, dulling the pain and trying to slow the venom. Carefully, he lent his will to bolster the effect of the healer's song and herbs, all while keeping his touch subtle.

Little by little, the boy's convulsions subsided and his breathing grew less frantic. Eventually the healer's song tapered off and the boy lay still, exhausted but alive.

"He will live," the old healer pronounced.

A collective sigh of relief passed through the onlookers. The boy's father bowed his head, tears of relief in his eyes.

Kelan eased back, only then realizing how taut every muscle in his body had become. Astrid offered the ghost of a smile across the boy at him, her eyes shining with admiration and pride. Kelan quickly glanced down, not wanting anyone to attribute too much to him. The healer, however, was studying him now with open curiosity.

She spoke a few words to the father in their tongue, instructing him and another man to carry the recovering boy into a tent. As the small crowd dispersed, the healer turned to Kelan and Astrid. Up close, Kelan saw deep laugh-lines on her face and a multitude of charms and talismans around her neck.

"You carry a gentle spirit," the old healer said quietly to Kelan. "The boy's calm was not by my song alone."

Kelan felt a flush rise to his cheeks. Did he deny it? Lying to a wise elder who clearly sensed something felt wrong. He inclined his head respectfully. "I have a small gift," he admitted softly. "I only tried to assist your skilled song and salve."

The woman's gap-toothed grin flashed. "Assist you did. And well-tuned for one untrained." She patted his shoulder with a bony hand. "You did a good thing. No need to hide it here."

Astrid exhaled a breath of relief and ventured, "Your song – it was beautiful. We've never seen magic used that way in healing."

The healer's eyes lit up. "Songs carry power, child. Out here, we weave our will into words and melody. It's how my mother taught me, and her mother before. Not everyone can do as I do – you need the voice and the gift. But those who don't sing can still hum along and help in their own way." She gave Kelan a knowing nod.

Kelan found himself smiling, tension easing from him. There was no fear or accusation from this woman – only acceptance. It was the first time since his powers emerged that someone older and experienced had acknowledged them without wariness or awe.

"Thank you… for allowing me to help," he said sincerely.

The healer waved a hand as if brushing away undue thanks. "The Great Mother sends aid in many forms. We are grateful you were here." She peered at him shrewdly. "If you travel to Tazan, seek out the House of Songs in the western quarter. They welcome voices and talents of all kinds. You might learn more of our ways there."

Kelan filed that away. "Thank you. I will," he promised.

By nightfall, Sajun – for that was the boy's name, they learned – was on the mend and the oasis camp had returned to its cheerful routine. The tribe regarded Kelan and Astrid as honored guests for their help; at supper they were pressed with extra servings of spiced goat and rice, and many heartfelt thanks.

That evening, the couple sat under the rustling palms and shared tea and laughter with their desert hosts. Music from a lute drifted through the warm darkness, and children's laughter rang in the distance. Kelan felt an unexpected peace as he reclined on a carpet stretched over the sand. Astrid was beside him, sipping thoughtfully at a cup of spiced tea provided by their hosts. Yassen and Hamid were recounting a funny tale of one of their past journeys, prompting Farid and others to guffaw.

For the first time in ages, Kelan did not feel like an outcast or a fugitive. Here he was simply a traveler among travelers, welcome at the fire. He had even been able to use a bit of his power to help, and instead of scorn or terror, it earned a smile and thanks.

As darkness deepened, conversations gave way to a gentle quiet. One by one the nomads slipped off to their tents. Yassen and the others turned in early, planning to depart at first light. Kelan lay awake a short while, listening to the rustle of palm fronds and the distant call of a night bird. Astrid had already curled up under her blanket, breathing evenly in sleep.

Kelan reflected on the healer's words and the display of magic he had seen. There were other ways to use power – through music, community, and tradition. It made him wonder how much more there was for him to learn, and whether one day he could truly control his abilities as deftly as that old woman controlled her voice.

For tonight, though, he allowed himself to simply feel grateful – for Astrid by his side, for the oasis's hospitality, and for a brief respite where he was judged not by the power he held, but by how he chose to use it. With that comforting thought, Kelan finally drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep under the watch of the swaying palms and countless desert stars.

Chapter 58

Four days beyond Dreshan Oasis, the dunes grew taller and the landscape even more desolate. The caravan wound through valleys of golden sand in the early mornings and late afternoons, resting during the fiercest midday heat. Kelan had grown more accustomed to the rhythm of desert travel: the soft crunch of sand underfoot, the dry wind tugging at his headscarf, the constant awareness of where the next water might be.

On the fifth day after leaving the oasis, Yassen warned them that they were entering the Shifting Wastes, a notorious stretch known for both treacherous sands and bandit rovers. They kept a tighter formation, with Astrid riding near the front and Kelan at the rear, eyes scanning the dunes.

The sun was just past its zenith, and heat shimmers wavered across the dunes like ghosts. They had resumed travel after a brief midday rest, aiming to reach a rocky canyon by dusk where, according to Hamid, an old well provided water. The camels plodded dutifully, and even the usually talkative Yassen was quiet, conserving energy.

Astrid lifted a hand suddenly, signaling a halt. Kelan's heart quickened as he followed her line of sight. High on a dune to their right, several silhouettes had appeared against the washed-out blue of the sky. For an instant, Kelan hoped it was a stray caravan or nomads. Then one of the figures brandished something long and curved—a scimitar catching the sunlight.

"Bandits," Hamid muttered, reining in his camel beside Yassen. The traders exchanged a swift look. Maruf's face went pale, but he moved instinctively closer to the supply camel, as if to shield it.

There were six of them visible now, sliding down the dune on foot with practiced ease. They wore ragged sand-colored robes that blended with the terrain, and each carried blades or spears. One let out a sharp ululating cry—a signal that echoed across the emptiness.

"Keep back, stay together," Yassen hissed to Kelan and Astrid. He and Hamid stepped forward, positioning themselves slightly ahead of the rest of the group. Astrid nocked an arrow to her bow, her expression steady, though Kelan saw a muscle tense in her jaw.

Kelan drew the short sword he kept sheathed at his side. His palms were sweating, and not just from the heat. He had hoped their small caravan wouldn't draw attention, but bandits in the Shifting Wastes were opportunists; even a modest load of spices and trade goods was worth their while.

The bandits approached to within twenty paces, fanning out in a half-circle. Their leader, a tall gaunt man with a green cloth turban, called out in rough common, "Traders! Leave your packs and beasts, and we'll let you crawl out of here alive."

Yassen snorted, hefting a curved short sword in one hand. "These goods are bound for Tazan. Find your own honest trade, friend."

The bandit leader barked a laugh, revealing missing teeth. "Honest trade? Bah!" The leader spat in the sand. "Last chance, fools. Drop everything of value and run, or we'll take it off your corpses."

As he spoke, two of his men crept to the sides, trying to flank. Kelan's eyes flicked between them. His mouth was dry, but he steadied his grip on the sword hilt. Fighting hand-to-hand wasn't his strength; a lifetime hauling nets had given him muscle, but little formal combat training. Astrid, by contrast, sat poised with her bow, already tracking one of the flankers.

In a blur of motion, Astrid loosed her arrow. It streaked through the shimmering air and lodged in the thigh of a bandit sneaking along a dune edge. The man howled and stumbled backward, falling onto the sand.

That cry was the spur for chaos to erupt. The bandit leader roared an order in his own tongue. Two of his men charged forward with spears. Yassen met one with a swift slash of his sword, deflecting the spearhead and driving his camel bodily into the attacker to knock him off balance. Hamid brandished a stout wooden staff, swinging it at the second spearman's legs.

Kelan found himself face-to-face with a younger bandit wielding a dagger. The youth darted in quick, blade aiming for Kelan's belly. Kelan reacted on instinct, parrying clumsily with his sword. Steel scraped on steel, jarring his arm. The bandit recovered faster than Kelan expected and lunged again. Kelan barely sidestepped, the dagger grazing his tunic.

Fear flashed through Kelan – not for himself alone, but for Astrid and the others. Out of the corner of his eye, Kelan glimpsed Maruf desperately fending off one bandit near the camels while Astrid had drawn her knife and engaged the limping foe she'd shot earlier.

The bandit leader was hanging back, perhaps waiting for an opening. His cold eyes assessed the skirmish, and Kelan realized the man was angling quietly toward Maruf and the pack camels, intending to seize the goods while his underlings kept the defenders busy.

Kelan's heartbeat thundered in his ears. A spike of resolve cut through his fear – he could not let them be overrun. He raised his left hand subtly, as if warding off the dagger-wielder circling him, but in truth he reached with his mind toward the bandit leader up the slope.

Drawing on the well of power within, Kelan pushed – not a physical shove, but a sudden fierce thrust of terror directed at the leader's consciousness. He had never attempted something quite like this under duress, but instinct drove him.

The gaunt man stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide. For a heartbeat, he looked around wildly as if seeing some horror invisible to others. With a choked yell, the leader turned and bolted back up the dune, stumbling in panic.

Seeing their chief flee, the remaining bandits faltered. One of the spearmen Yassen was fighting lost his nerve and broke away, sprinting after the leader. Another man disengaged from Hamid, backing off with a stream of curses.

Kelan's own opponent – the dagger youth – glanced over his shoulder in confusion. Kelan seized the moment and swung the flat of his blade against the young bandit's hand. The dagger flew from the youth's grip with a yelp. Kelan saw an opening and struck the dagger from the youth's grasp. In an instant Astrid was beside him, her knife at the bandit's throat. "Go," she ordered tersely. The youth yelped and scrambled back, then turned and fled after his companions.

Two bandits remained on the ground: the one Astrid had shot, now unconscious or dead from a blow to the head, and another groaning in the sand after Hamid's staff had cracked his ribs. The caravan group had prevailed.

Yassen exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. He shot Kelan and Astrid a wide-eyed look. "Well fought," he panted. "All of you."

Astrid retrieved her arrow from the fallen bandit with grim efficiency, cleaning the blood off in the sand. Hamid moved to check on Maruf, who was shaking but unharmed, clutching his knife with white knuckles.

Kelan realized his own hands were trembling. He sheathed his sword to hide the slight quiver. His mind still hummed with adrenaline and the echo of the power he'd unleashed. He hoped none of the others understood exactly what had happened to the bandit leader. The man had simply broken and run – perhaps they'd assume he was cowardly when fortunes turned.

To cement that impression, Kelan found his voice and called after the fleeing robbers, "And don't come back!" It was a thin attempt at bravado, but it made Maruf grin shakily and Astrid huff a soft breath that might have been a laugh.

At Yassen's insistence, they dragged the two injured bandits into the shade and left a flask of water within reach – a final token of mercy. Then the caravan pressed on immediately, eager to put dunes between themselves and the skirmish site.

An hour later, with no sign of further threat, the tension finally began to ebb. The path ahead grew rockier as they approached the promised canyon.

That night they camped beside the decrepit well in the shelter of a narrow canyon. Few words were exchanged; none were eager to relive the battle. Astrid cast Kelan a couple of curious glances, but he only gave her a slight, reassuring nod. She did not press him, and the unspoken questions hung in the dry night air.

By the next afternoon, the dunes began to flatten and patches of scrub and hardy acacia trees appeared, signifying more fertile soil ahead. The sky had taken on a hazy tint, and on the horizon a dark smudge hinted at mountains or a distant city wall.

"Tazan," Yassen announced, pointing with his whip. "See there? The Guardians."

Kelan squinted. Two sandstone pillars jutted up from the earth in the far distance, natural spires flanking what must be the approach to the city. As they drew closer, details emerged: patches of green that were irrigated fields, a glint of something metallic (domes or rooftops), and eventually the city itself, low and sprawling beyond a curtain of date palms.

Astrid let out a low gasp. Tazan was unlike any northern city – it lacked towering stone ramparts, instead encircled by earthwork walls and a wide moat-like canal on one side. Even from afar, they could see colorful banners flying from various buildings and hear a faint din – the hum of a lively populace.

Kelan felt a flutter of nervous excitement. They had reached their destination: one of the great desert city-states. Here, among the open practitioners of magic and the bustling trade, they hoped to find both knowledge and relative safety. Still, Kelan's hand strayed to the pendant hidden under his shirt – a simple seashell from his distant home, a reminder of who he was.

As they paused on a ridge overlooking the city, Hamid rode up alongside Kelan and said quietly, "Welcome to Tazan. May fortune find you here."

Kelan offered a grateful smile. From this vantage point, Tazan looked vibrant and promising – a new world of possibility sprawled under the desert sun. Yet he knew the challenges were not over. As they started down the road toward the city gates, he steeled himself with a silent vow: to remain cautious, to learn all he could, and to keep those he cared about safe in this new land.

Chapter 59

The caravan rolled into Tazan at mid-morning under a bright, hazy sky. Even outside the city, the road was lined with activity: farmers driving donkey carts of dates and melons, traveling craftsmen pulling handcarts, and clusters of weary camels carrying traders from distant lands. Kelan took it all in with wide eyes. After weeks in sparsely peopled deserts, the bustle on Tazan's approach was almost overwhelming.

As they neared the city gates – a broad archway of ochre stone flanked by two weathered sandstone pillars known as the Guardians – Astrid urged her horse closer to Kelan's. "Stay close. It's crowded," she murmured, though her own gaze kept darting around in wonder at the sights.

Dozens of people funneled through the arch. There were city guards in loose maroon uniforms checking wagons and waving through pedestrians. Unlike northern guards, these men and women wore no heavy armor, only curved swords at their belts and light spears in hand. They chatted amiably with travelers and inspected goods with a cursory glance, more interested in contraband than barring entry.

Yassen guided the camels forward in the queue, exchanging friendly banter with a guard who recognized him. Soon they passed under the arch. Kelan felt a brief coolness as they rode through the thick stone gateway and into the city proper. Immediately his senses were assaulted by Tazan's vibrancy. The main thoroughfare was broad and lined with date palms in large clay planters. Market stalls crowded the road edges, hawkers bawling out the virtues of spices, silk, and sweet sherbet drinks. Overhead, colorful awnings stretched between the buildings, casting patterned patches of shade on the crowds below. The buildings themselves had flat roofs and carved lattice screens on the upper windows; it seemed every surface was adorned with bright paint or draped fabrics, turning the city into a living tapestry.

Astrid drew a sharp breath as a pair of street performers danced by – one played a lilting melody on a reed flute while the other sent up small flickers of flame from her fingertips to the delight of onlookers. Kelan realized he'd been staring and quickly tore his gaze away, flushing at his own obvious awe.

They navigated slowly through the crowd. The caravan could only move at a walking pace, which gave Kelan time to absorb more details.

Yassen led them off the main boulevard into a side street that opened into a bustling market square. "We unload here," he announced. The square was a chaotic delight: stalls selling everything from copper coffee pots to carpets, an open yard where goats and sheep bleated in pens, and a small fountain at its center where children splashed their hands.

Seeing their goods safely delivered, Yassen and Hamid drew Kelan and Astrid aside for farewells.

"Listen, before you head off – a word of caution," Yassen said quietly. He flicked his eyes around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping too closely. "There's talk in the bazaar this morning. An Imperial courier from the north arrived yesterday spreading notices. They're seeking a fugitive mage from the Empire." His gaze rested meaningfully on Kelan.

Astrid sucked in a breath. Kelan's stomach tensed, though the sweltering air suddenly felt cold. "What do the notices say?" he asked quietly.

Hamid stepped in, voice gentle but concerned. "Not too many details – just that a valuable Imperial asset with dangerous magic might be hiding in the southern reaches. A reward for information." He grimaced. "It seems word of Northhaven's 'sorcerer' has traveled faster than you."

Astrid's hand found Kelan's and squeezed. Kelan forced himself not to glance around wildly. The market square was full of chatter and bartering; no one seemed to pay the trio any special mind at the moment. He drew a slow breath. "I understand. We'll be careful."

Yassen nodded firmly. "Keep your heads down. Tazan doesn't answer to the Empire, but coin can turn any head. Luckily, you're one face among thousands here. Just... don't give them reason to notice you, eh?"

"We won't," Astrid promised quietly.

After heartfelt hugs and thanks all around, Kelan and Astrid bade the traders farewell.

By midday, they had secured a modest room at the Blue Oasis Inn — a clean establishment Yassen had recommended — and enjoyed a hot meal in the tavern downstairs.

After tending to their horses in the stable and depositing their packs in the modest room, Kelan and Astrid reconvened in the tavern for a much-needed meal. They sat in a corner sipping cool mint-and-honey drinks while waiting for their food.

After a brief rest and a simple meal at the inn—during which Kelan recounted what he had learned—they ventured out again.

That afternoon, after discreetly asking a few locals, they found their way toward the House of Songs in the western quarter of the city.

The House of Songs turned out to be a modest marble-domed hall along a quiet canal street, its entry arch carved with musical symbols. Jasmine vines trailed along the walls, and a gentle chorus of voices drifted from within, carrying on the warm air.

Exchanging a determined glance with Astrid, Kelan stepped inside. The front chamber was simple: tile floors, cool and echoing, with benches along the walls. A few people sat conversing softly – likely students, given the musical instruments resting beside them.

A lean middle-aged man in a loose ivory tunic approached with a courteous incline of his head. He had a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and inquisitive dark eyes. "Good day," he greeted. "Are you seeking the House of Songs? I am Master Nerin."

Kelan mustered a polite smile and the respectful tone he'd use with any elder. "Good day, Master Nerin. We're new to Tazan. A healer we met on the journey here told us that if we wanted to learn about song magic, this would be the place."

Master Nerin's eyes warmed with interest. "You've come to the right haven, then. We nurture all who carry music in their hearts – and those who weave magic through music as well." He gestured for them to enter further, leading them toward a shaded interior courtyard.

As they walked, Nerin asked, "Are you singers or players of instruments?"

Astrid shook her head with a polite smile. "I'm afraid not – we're more seekers of knowledge. My friend Kelan has a particular interest in healing arts."

Kelan explained carefully, "My talents lie with the mind. I can sense and influence thoughts and emotions... even use that gift to ease injuries. But I'm untrained, and hope to understand it better."

Master Nerin's eyebrows rose with keen interest. "Mind magic. A rare gift – and valuable. You were wise to come here." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I suspect our Mistress Zhaar would be the best to guide you. She's an elder adept skilled in mental harmonies."

Kelan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I would be grateful for that."

Astrid touched his arm lightly, as if to say this sounds promising.

Master Nerin rose. "Come, I will introduce you. She should be in the scriptorium or the inner garden at this hour."

As they followed Nerin deeper into the House of Songs, Kelan felt a cautious optimism take root. Here was a chance – at guidance, at answers. Outside these walls lay a city full of potential dangers: Imperial notices, prying eyes, unknown enemies. But inside, for the moment, he sensed understanding and acceptance.

Stepping over the threshold into a candlelit hall lined with scrolls, Kelan dared to hope that Tazan might indeed offer what he needed: the knowledge to master himself, and with it a measure of freedom in a world that had so far denied him both.

Chapter 60

Mistress Zhaar turned out to be a petite woman of advanced years, with cocoa-brown skin crisscrossed by laugh lines and a crown of tightly curled white hair. She met Kelan and Astrid in a sun-dappled courtyard at the rear of the House of Songs, where vines heavy with jasmine cascaded from trellises. Zhaar wore a flowing indigo robe, and her eyes were dark, piercing, and lively with curiosity.

"So," she began without preamble, her voice strong and melodious for her age, "you are the nomads' young mind-weaver." Zhaar tilted her head as she regarded Kelan, then nodded a greeting at Astrid. "And you, his companion, yes? Sit, both of you."

They settled on low cushioned stools around a mosaic-tiled table. Kelan clasped his hands to hide a slight tremor of nerves.

Zhaar leaned forward. "Tell me of your gift. How do you experience it? What have you done with it thus far?"

Kelan swallowed, exchanging a glance with Astrid. She offered an encouraging nod. Haltingly at first, Kelan described the first manifestations of his power – sensing emotions in a crowd back in Northhaven, calming a panicked child, the instinctive blast of force that had repelled Imperial soldiers. He spoke of healing Astrid's wounds with a touch of his mind, and easing the nomad boy's snakebite fever alongside the old healer's song. As he recounted these events, Zhaar listened intently, eyes never leaving his face.

When he finished, she sat back, her expression thoughtful. A breeze stirred the jasmine, carrying its sweet scent between them. "A formidable range for one untrained," she said finally. "Raw, but potent."

Kelan released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He had half-feared censure or disbelief, as he might have met in the north. Instead, Zhaar seemed calmly analytical.

"It sounds as though your talent is rooted in the mind and spirit," Zhaar continued. "Empathy, influence, projection of will… even a measure of true healing, though accomplished by guiding another's body and mind to mend itself."

"That's how it feels," Kelan agreed quietly. "I don't knit flesh like a surgeon or conjure salves, but I can push the body to remember wholeness." It was the best description he'd come up with.

Zhaar's lips curved in a slight smile. "A poetic way to put it. We have had a few with gifts akin to yours pass through Tazan over the decades – empaths and thought-singers, we call them. Rare, as Master Nerin said."

Astrid chimed in softly, "How do you normally train such gifts here?"

Zhaar tapped a finger against the mosaic table. "The training for a mind-gifted adept is individualized. But we often start with disciplines from our song-magic to instill control." She directed her attention back to Kelan. "You are fortunate – by necessity, you've learned some restraint on your own. Many with strong gifts injure themselves or others before they realize how to temper their power. You, it seems, have a cautious soul."

Kelan gave a rueful half-smile. "Caution, or fear. I've seen what happens when I lose myself in it. I don't want to repeat that."

"Healthy fear, then," Zhaar allowed. "No bad thing. Now, let's explore a bit. Will you let me see how you touch the mind? I'm no thought-singer myself, but I have a… trick or two." Her eyes glinted.

"Alright," Kelan said, not quite sure what she intended.

Zhaar lifted one hand and began to hum a single, resonant note. Her voice had a tremor with age, but the tone was clear. The note vibrated in the air and in Kelan's chest. He felt a subtle pressure behind his eyes as she directed a gentle probe toward him, using sound as her medium.

Instinctively, Kelan extended his own senses. Normally he reached out invisibly, but now he tried humming a quiet note in response – an experiment. His deeper baritone intertwined with her tone. At once, he became aware of Zhaar's mental presence – a calm ocean of collected experience, curious and open. He did not read thoughts, exactly, but sensed her deliberate openness, an invitation.

Trusting her, Kelan pushed a little more with his mind. For a moment, he could feel Zhaar's emotions: steady like a low drumbeat, layered with patient curiosity and underlying compassion. The moment he touched that, Zhaar changed the pitch of her hum slightly and the connection dissolved as gently as a receding wave.

Kelan blinked, not realizing he'd closed his eyes. Zhaar was smiling now. "Very good. You meet me halfway and with surprising finesse."

Zhaar glanced at Astrid's curious expression and explained, "I offered a touch of my spirit with song, and he responded in kind. We briefly glimpsed each other's emotions. It was a simple test, and he performed well."

"You have an aptitude for harmonizing your will with an external focus," Zhaar continued to Kelan. "Using your voice – or possibly an instrument or even a patterned thought – could help channel and control your power."

Kelan felt his heart lightening. "So I can learn to… direct it more safely? To maybe filter out the excess?" He was thinking of Northhaven, of that uncontrolled wave of force.

"That is the goal," Zhaar nodded. "Power is like water: pour it through a narrow spout and you can direct it where you need; spill it without form and it may flood everything. Structure gives safe shape to strength."

She rose fluidly, motioning for them to walk with her. They strolled along the courtyard's edge where a colonnade provided shade. Astrid kept a respectful half-step behind as Zhaar continued the lesson.

"In our tradition," the mistress explained, "structure often comes from rhythm, from music. A repeated chant, a drumbeat, a melody – these act as vessels to carry intent. You, lacking formal training, likely structured your magic by instinct or emotion. That works, but it's unpredictable. We will teach you simple rhythmic exercises to focus your mind."

They paused by a low wall where, beyond, in another garden space, a few younger students practiced scales on stringed instruments. Their notes floated softly by. Zhaar pointed subtly toward them. "You hear that? Each note precise, each scale a pattern. That discipline in practice translates to discipline in magic."

Kelan listened. The scales were simple, calming. As he focused on them, he did feel a certain clarity of mind. "I think I see," he said slowly.

"There is another aspect," Zhaar said, giving Kelan a considering look. "The ethics and restraint of power. In Tazan, magic is a tool and art, but also a responsibility. I sense in you a good heart, but be warned: delving into minds can tempt even the kindest soul to misuse. We have tales of those who learned too well how to pluck the strings of others' fears and desires. They often end poorly."

Kelan absorbed that gravely. "I have no wish to control anyone," he said. "Only to protect. And to heal, if I can."

"Good," Zhaar said simply. "Hold to that, always. Now, I will work with you each day in the afternoons, when my other duties are light. In the mornings, Master Nerin's acolytes can instruct you in breathing and basic voice-training, if you're willing. You needn't become a bard, but the exercises will strengthen the focus of your mind."

Kelan glanced at Astrid, who offered an encouraging smile. This was what they'd hoped to find: structured guidance. "I'm willing," he said.

Thus it was settled. They spent another hour with Mistress Zhaar, going over some preliminary techniques. She had him practice a simple humming pattern while at the same time reaching out to sense Astrid's surface emotions (Astrid volunteered gamely, and Kelan reported sensing mostly calm with an undercurrent of curiosity and hunger – which earned a laugh and an admission that yes, it was nearly lunchtime).

The exercise left Kelan with a slight headache but also a thrill – it was the first time he'd consciously balanced mental touch with an external focus. Zhaar seemed pleased. "You have work ahead, but you are trainable," she pronounced. "Take a rest now. We will reconvene tomorrow."

After a brief rest and a simple meal at the inn—during which Kelan recounted what he had learned—they ventured out again. They spent the rest of the afternoon quietly restocking supplies in the markets and taking in more of Tazan's lively streets.

That night, Kelan lay awake a short while in their small room. Astrid was already breathing softly beside him, the desert heat of the day finally relenting to a cooler night breeze through the shutters. He replayed Mistress Zhaar's words in his mind, murmuring the analogies: power as water, structure as vessel, rhythm as guide. It all rang true.

Staring at the dim outline of the ceiling, Kelan also allowed himself to think of home for the first time in days. The salt smell of the sea, his father mending nets by lamplight, his mother singing softly as she kneaded bread. Those memories felt a world away now. I can never truly return, he reminded himself sadly. But if he mastered his powers, perhaps one day he could send word that he lived and was well, even if from afar.

With that thought, Kelan closed his eyes and drifted into restful sleep. Tomorrow would bring more lessons, and he would meet them resolutely. For the first time in a long while, the future felt like something he could shape rather than something he had only been fleeing.

Chapter 61

In the weeks that followed, Kelan settled into an unexpected routine in Tazan. Each morning he rose early to the sounds of the city stirring – vendors shouting fresh produce prices, children chasing goats down the alley, the call of a flute from a nearby rooftop. He and Astrid would break their fast on dates, flatbread, and strong tea at the inn, then part ways for a few hours. Astrid often explored the markets and workshops, while Kelan headed to the House of Songs for training.

Master Nerin's acolytes led Kelan through breathing exercises and vocal drills in a shaded annex. At first, Kelan felt self-conscious humming scales and intoning simple chants alongside actual singers, but the exercises did help steady his concentration. He began to notice that when he later practiced magic, his mind held focus longer and his emotions stayed calmer.

In the afternoons, Mistress Zhaar worked with him privately. Sometimes Astrid would sit in – with Zhaar's permission – to observe or even participate as a subject for harmless tests. Day by day, Kelan honed his abilities in careful increments.

One warm afternoon, Zhaar had him attempt something he'd been dreading: tapping into the aggressive aspect of his power under controlled conditions. They stood in an empty interior hall of the House, columns casting long shadows across the cool tiles. Astrid watched from the doorway, arms crossed, her face taut with concern.

"You told me of striking fear into that bandit leader," Zhaar said. She held a wooden staff across her hands. "Such a skill could save your life again, so you must learn to wield it precisely, or not at all. I want you to try a focused push of fear at me."

Kelan tensed. "I… I'm not sure that's a good idea. I could hurt you."

Zhaar almost laughed – a surprisingly youthful sound. "I am no fragile blossom, young man. And I have defenses of my own. Do not worry for me. Worry about controlling yourself. Now, find the feeling you used in the desert – and shape it, do not just release it."

She planted her feet, lifting her staff as if readying for an attack. Kelan swallowed and nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, summoning the memory of that moment: the desperation, the determination to protect his friends. A cold spike of emotion formed in his chest as he recalled the bandit leader's cruel eyes.

Opening his eyes, he exhaled and extended his left hand slightly toward Zhaar – a physical focus. With his mind, he crafted the sharp burst of psychic force, much smaller than before, and sent it arrowing at the old woman's psyche.

Zhaar's dark eyes widened a fraction, and Kelan felt the power leave him – but it broke against an unseen barrier in Zhaar's mind, dissolving before it could affect her. She had countered him somehow, perhaps with her own mental fortitude or a warding technique. Kelan staggered from the sudden void where his projected fear had gone.

He gasped for air.

Mistress Zhaar smiled and lowered her staff. "Interesting. That was a needle of pure intent. Well-formed, but lacking weight."

Kelan's shoulders slumped. "You blocked it," he said, equal parts relief and disappointment.

"I redirected it," Zhaar corrected gently. "A useful trick for us old song-weavers. But the key here: you managed restraint. You did not unleash a storm, only a spearpoint. That is progress."

Astrid let out a breath, and Kelan nodded slowly. He realized his shirt was damp with sweat. "It felt… very different doing it deliberately. Smaller, as you said, and I focused on one target. In Northhaven it was like a wave hitting everything."

Zhaar gestured for Astrid to join them. "You see now why control matters. A gentle rain can nourish where a flood would destroy. You have begun to learn the difference."

They ended the session soon after, Zhaar declaring that Kelan should rest and not push himself further that day. As they departed, Astrid looped her arm through Kelan's. He was exhausted, and Astrid gave him a proud smile. "You did it," she said under her breath. "You really did it, Kelan."

He managed a tired smile. "It's a start. At least now I know I can aim it."

They walked through the city in the golden late-afternoon light. The sky was high and pale, the sun not yet ready to relinquish its grip. Astrid tugged Kelan towards a row of street stalls. "Come on, you need a treat after that. Remember those honeyed figs we saw yesterday? I'm getting you some."

Kelan didn't protest. The sweet confections were delicious, and as they strolled, sticky-fingered, through a plaza alive with music and storytellers, Kelan allowed himself to feel a rare contentment.

But their newfound peace remained fragile. That fact was driven home a few days later, on a hot morning when Astrid returned to the inn from an errand, her expression troubled. Kelan was poring over his practice journal in the common room when she slid into the seat beside him.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing she kept her voice low.

She withdrew a folded parchment from inside her shawl. "I took a different route back from the pottery market. I found this nailed to a message post in a quiet lane." Under the table, she passed him the parchment.

Kelan unfolded it carefully. The notice was printed in formal black script, in the Empire's trade language. It took only a few lines for his stomach to clench:

"REWARD for information on a northern mage, male, approximately 20 years, traveling with female companion. Considered dangerous. Report to Imperial envoy at the Golden Palm Caravanserai."

Kelan's mouth went dry. There was no illustration, thankfully, but still – the description was alarmingly close. He forced himself to breathe.

Astrid laid a hand on his knee. "I tore it down after copying the wording. There may be more up. I haven't seen Imperial envoys, but apparently one is in the city, at that caravanserai."

Kelan recognized the name – the Golden Palm was a large inn and trading post near the city's east gate. His mind raced. Tazan was independent, but an Imperial envoy operating here meant the Empire was flexing influence, likely through gold and soft threats, to find him.

"We should consider leaving the city," he said quietly, though the words tasted bitter. "If they get any hint…"

Astrid shook her head. "For now, they're fishing. They don't have your name or a proper likeness. You're one northerner among hundreds here. If we bolt, we might draw attention. Better to keep our heads down as Yassen said."

Reluctantly, Kelan nodded. She had a point. Besides, the thought of abandoning his hard-won progress with Mistress Zhaar made his heart sink.

"We must be extremely careful," he murmured. "No unnecessary risks. I'll avoid using any magic outside the House. And I won't go anywhere near that east gate district."

Astrid tightened her hand over his. "I'll be careful too. Perhaps I shouldn't wander alone much for now."

Kelan hated the fear that had crept back into her voice. He reached an arm around her shoulders in a half-embrace, mindful of not drawing attention from the few other patrons across the room. Quietly, he said, "We knew this risk would follow us. But at least here we have allies and warning. If it comes to it… we'll slip away. The desert is vast."

She nodded and rested her head against him for a brief moment. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that just yet."

For the rest of that day, Astrid remained at the inn while Kelan took a circuitous route to his lessons, both of them determined to avoid drawing any notice.

At the House of Songs, Mistress Zhaar noticed his distraction. After the day's session (a meditative exercise involving chiming metal bowls to practice fine control), she cornered him gently. "You walk in with worry today, Kelan. Is danger close?"

For a moment he debated how much to tell her. Zhaar had become a mentor he trusted, and she was outside the Empire's reach. So he confessed in low tones that Imperial agents were seeking him even here. He kept details sparse – no need to incriminate her by knowing too much.

The old woman's eyes hardened. "The Empire is like a camel with its nose in every tent," she muttered in distaste. "Rest assured, we will not hand anyone over to those slavers of spirit." She straightened. "Still, take care. Perhaps in our sessions we shall focus on stealth of the mind – ways to remain unseen to prying eyes, magical or otherwise."

Kelan felt gratitude well up. It struck him how lucky he was to have found people willing to shield him: Astrid, these desert traders and mages who owed him nothing. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Zhaar squeezed his shoulder. "We protect our own here. And you, young man, are becoming one of our own."

Walking back to the inn that evening, Kelan reflected on her words. A warm determination settled in him. If Tazan's people were willing to accept him, he would do everything in his power to protect this haven and not bring trouble to their doorstep. It meant more caution, more vigilance – but also continuing his training so that if the Empire's shadow did reach this far, he would be ready.

Chapter 62

Kelan stood atop the flat roof of the House of Songs at twilight, looking out over the lights of Tazan. Lanterns glimmered along the streets below like grounded stars, and the day's heat was giving way to a balmy evening breeze. From somewhere in a nearby courtyard came gentle laughter and the plucked melody of a lute. Astrid was beside him, leaning on the low parapet as they enjoyed a brief respite after a long day.

It had been nearly a month since their arrival. In that time, they had slipped into the city's fabric more than Kelan ever expected possible. Astrid now wore a flowing desert skirt and blouse much like local women, and her skin had tanned golden under the sun. She had even taken up part-time work assisting a glassblower in the artisan's quarter, returning in the evenings with amusing stories and a faint sparkle of glass dust in her hair. Kelan's own days were filled with lessons and practice; he had become a familiar figure at the House of Songs, greeted by name instead of as a stranger.

Not everything was carefree – far from it. They remained cautious. Imperial notices had quietly been removed by the city guard (Kelan suspected at the subtle behest of Tazan's council, who disliked foreign meddling). The Imperial envoy who had posted the bounty left the city empty-handed a week ago, according to Master Nerin's sources. Still, Kelan and Astrid took nothing for granted. They kept their lodgings at the Blue Oasis Inn low-key and had a plan to slip away separately to a nomad camp outside the walls if any hint of Imperial pursuit reappeared.

But tonight, under the deepening purple sky, those worries felt a little more distant. Astrid tilted her head up to view the first stars. "The desert night sky still takes my breath away," she murmured. "So many stars, so clear."

Kelan followed her gaze to the twinkling canopy above. It struck him that he felt more at peace now than he had in a long time. "I know. I used to think I understood the night sky back home, but here… it's different. Bigger, somehow."

Astrid smiled. "Everything here is bigger. The world, our lives… our problems too, maybe, but also our possibilities."

Her words hung in the warm air between them. Kelan realized she was gently broaching the subject they'd both circled for days: what next? Would they stay in Tazan, at least for a while, or try to vanish deeper into the desert or beyond?

He turned to face her, leaning on the parapet with one elbow. "Astrid, how do you feel about remaining here? For a time, at least. We always talked about finding refuge – maybe this is it, for now."

She studied his face, the dim light softening her features. "I feel… surprisingly at home," she admitted. "I didn't expect that. It's so different from the north, but the people have been kind. I have work I enjoy, friends starting to form." She nudged his arm with her own. "And you have a place to learn safely. You're thriving, Kelan. I see it every day."

He lowered his eyes briefly, a bit sheepish at the praise. "I still have a long way to go. But yes, I am learning to control it. Zhaar even said today that I show 'promise of wisdom'." He chuckled. "Which I think is her way of saying I haven't blown anything up lately."

Astrid laughed softly, the sound like a tinkling bell in the dusk. "High praise indeed."

Kelan drew a slow breath. "The Empire won't stop looking for me… for us. But here, we have some cover. And allies. Moving on now, with nothing but uncertainty ahead, might put us right back in harm's way."

Astrid slipped her hand into his. "I agree. Here we can grow stronger and wiser. If the Empire eventually comes, well… we'll deal with it then. Maybe with the help of those we've met."

Kelan felt relief flood through him. He hadn't wanted to push for staying if Astrid had been yearning to move on. But truth be told, the thought of leaving Tazan so soon had filled him with quiet sorrow. "So we stay," he said, as if finalizing the decision in the night air.

"We stay," Astrid echoed, a note of resolve in her voice. "Not forever, perhaps. But until it's safe to travel freely, or until we find an even better sanctuary."

Kelan squeezed her hand gently. "Thank you. For choosing this life… uncertain as it is."

She shook her head. "There was never a question in my mind that I'd be with you. Exile or not, we're in it together."

He turned back to the view of the city. That word – exile – no longer cut him as deeply as it once did. Yes, he was exiled from his homeland, unable to return to his family or former life. But here in Tazan he was not an outcast in truth. He was a student, a helper at the House of Songs, a friend to kind-hearted traders and mystics. In many ways, he had found a community that valued him for who he was, dangerous gifts and all.

"Sometimes I almost feel guilty for how much I like it here," Kelan confessed quietly. "As if I've abandoned who I was. But then I remember why I can't go back. And… I think of what my parents would want for me." He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "They'd want me safe. Even if it's far away, building a new life."

Astrid rested her head against his shoulder. "They would. And one day, when it's possible, we'll send them word, like you said. Perhaps even invite them to a new home we make." She spoke dreamily, as if weaving a tale of a kinder future.

Kelan allowed himself to imagine it for a moment: a small house in Tazan or another free city, his mother fussing over strange southern cooking spices, his father learning desert fishing techniques and grumbling about the heat. It was a gentle fantasy, but a pleasing one.

Below, the last call of the evening prayer-song drifted from a distant minaret, a ritual unique to this city where magic and faith intertwined in music. The sound was beautiful – a collective voice rising in harmony.

Astrid straightened and looked at Kelan with a playful glint. "Come, Master Mind-Mage. You owe me a rematch at Seven Stones."

Kelan snorted. Seven Stones was a desert strategy board game Maruf had taught them a week back. Astrid had unexpectedly trounced Kelan twice, to his mock outrage. "You were clearly cheating with beginner's luck," he said, feigning haughtiness.

She chuckled. "Luck is a talent of mine. But maybe all that focus training has sharpened your wits now. Shall we see?"

Shaking his head in amusement, Kelan allowed Astrid to tug him back toward the stairwell. They descended from the roof and made their way to the inn through streets now silvered by moonlight. A cool desert breeze followed them, carrying the scents of charcoal fires and sweet pastries from a late-night vendor.

Back in their cozy room at the Blue Oasis, Astrid lit a single oil lamp. Its gentle glow illuminated the simple furnishings – two cots, a chipped basin, the woven rug they'd bargained for in the market to make the place homier. It wasn't much, but it was safe and theirs for now.

The Seven Stones board sat on a low table where they'd left it. As Astrid set up the colored stones for a new game, Kelan watched her with a growing sense of contentment. For all the uncertainty swirling beyond these walls, within them was a pocket of normalcy he treasured – an evening of games and gentle teasing with the woman he loved.

They played well into the night, quiet laughter occasionally spilling out when one of them made a clever move or a blunder. Eventually, the hour grew late and their eyes heavy. The game was left unfinished by unspoken agreement as they settled on the same cot, lying close in the darkness.

Before sleep, Kelan whispered into Astrid's hair, "No regrets?"

Her hand found his and squeezed. "None. This might not be the life we planned, but it's life. And it's ours."

He held her against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing as she drifted to sleep. In the silence, Kelan reflected on how far they had come – from a besieged northern town to a desert city of music and magic. There was loss behind them and uncertainty ahead, but in this moment he felt gratitude. Gratitude for the roof over them, for the mentors guiding him, and above all for Astrid's unwavering presence.

Kelan closed his eyes. Tomorrow would bring more lessons and perhaps new challenges, but they would face them together. In Tazan, for the first time since his powers awakened, he felt not like a fugitive on the run, but a person with a purpose and a place to belong – however temporary it might be. That, he thought as sleep gently claimed him, was a precious victory in its own right.