A warm breeze whispered through the tent's flaps as the sun slowly climbed into the desert sky. Inside, shadows flickered across the canvas, stretching gently over Whisk’s sleeping figure. His eyes fluttered, then opened, hazy and confused. The first thing he saw was Prick, seated beside him, her brows furrowed and her hands tightly clasped together.

  “Whisk,” she said softly. “You’re awake.”

  Whisk blinked a few times, then slowly sat up, wincing. “Ow... What hit me? Wait—what happened? Did we win?”

  Prick hesitated. “You… don’t remember anything?”

  Whisk scratched his head, his cat-like ears drooping slightly. “I remember the bandits. I remember fighting. Then... everything’s kind of blank.”

  A pause hung between them like thick mist. Prick glanced away.

  “You passed out. It got intense,” she said, forcing a small smile. “But you helped us. We made it through because of you, Mr. Hero.”

  Whisk looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “Weird. I feel sore, but like... light too.” He looked up at her. “Did I do something cool? Like, super awesome?”

  Prick stood up suddenly. “You should rest more. I’ll get you something to eat later.”

  Before he could ask again, she slipped out of the tent, letting the flap fall behind her.

  Outside, Mira and Kira were preparing breakfast with some of the caravan soldiers, who were still tending to wounds from the ambush. The morning air smelled of flatbread and dates, and soft chatter floated through the camp. Prick walked up to Mira and Kira, pulling them both aside.

  “He doesn’t remember what happened,” she whispered. “And I… I didn’t tell him.”

  KIra tilted his head. “Why?”

  “He’s not ready,” Prick said. “He needs time. I don’t know what that power was, or why it happened, but if we tell him now, I think it might mess with him when he’s not ready to control it.”

  Mira said seriously. “You don’t decide that for him.”

  “But, you want us to keep quiet, right?”

  “Yes. At least for now,” Prick said. “Please.”

  They both agreed, and just then, Mother Niva approached, her long scarf that she’s wearing billowing gently in the morning breeze. She had a calm, knowing look in her eyes.

  “You’re hiding this from the Child, Princess?” she said quietly.

  Prick didn’t deny it. “He doesn’t remember. And I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t even understand what happened.”

  “Something changed in him,” Niva said, glancing at the tent. “I’ve lived in this desert my whole life. That was no ordinary cry he let out. But I trust your judgment, Princess. Sometimes, the kindest thing we can do… is let someone rest before they carry more weight.”

  Prick nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

  A few hours passed, and soon, Whisk had eaten and joined them outside. Though he was still bruised, he was back to grinning and chattering with his usual boundless energy. Mira shared some of her desert tea, Kira offered him some spicy bread, and before long, the group was laughing again, as if nothing had happened.

  The sun had begun to rise high when Mother Niva gathered them around.

  “Sandhollow isn’t far,” she said,

  “It’s just half a day’s journey west from here. Keep to the shade when you can. The dunes can be harsh this time of year.”

  Prick, Whisk, Mira, and Kira stood in front of her, ready for the next step of their journey. The people and soldiers of the Caravan of Kindness stood behind her, some with bandages and makeshift slings, but all smiling.

  Prick bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Mother Niva. For everything.”

  “And for the bread!” Whisk added, his cheeks stuffed. “It was super spicy!”

  Mother Niva laughed. “You all brought something special to this old caravan.”

  Kira gave one to Mother Niva.

  “Go, now,” Niva said, waving them off. “Before the sun catches you. May your journey be filled with kindness—and just enough mischief.”

  With warm goodbyes, waves, and a few soldiers giving salutes to Whisk, the four adventurers turned west, stepping beyond the edge of the camp into the vast openness of the desert once again.

  The sand beneath their feet was loose and warm, but the breeze was kind, sweeping across the dunes and cooling the sweat from their brows. With the sun only halfway to its peak, the group moved steadily, sharing canteens of water and bits of dried food Mother Niva had packed for them.

  Whisk walked with an exaggerated swagger, hands behind his head. “So, what do we do in Sandhollow? Find a library? Fight another Monster? Maybe discover a secret vault hidden beneath the town square?”

  “None of that,” Prick said, narrowing her eyes. “We’re just looking for clues. Their parents’ capturers might’ve passed through Sandhollow, and we need to follow their trail.”

  Whisk scoffed. “You say that like it’s not the start of a new adventure!”

  “It might be,” Prick said gently, adjusting her satchel. “But we don’t chase chaos like you do.”

  “I don’t chase chaos,” Whisk said proudly. “Chaos chases me.”

  “You tripped on a cactus this morning,” Kira mumbled, biting into a slice of melon.

  “That was a tactical stumble.”

  Their laughter echoed across the dunes. Spirits were high, despite the ache in their feet and the weight of the journey ahead.

  Prick reached into her bag to double-check the map Mother Niva gave them. But before she could unfold it, Whisk suddenly snatched it from her hands.

  “Let me lead this time!” he shouted.

  “Whisk—!”

  Too late. The wind caught the paper mid-snatch, pulling it from Whisk’s grip. The map tumbled into the air, dancing and flipping like a bird over the dunes.

  “No!” Whisk yelled, chasing after it. “Come back here, you stupid map!”

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  The others burst into a run behind him as the wind carried the map higher and higher, finally lodging it in the thick, curling branches of a lone desert tree—a rare and spiky thing, tall and twisted with age.

  All four of them stood at the base of it, looking up.

  “Well done,” Prick said dryly. “Hero of the desert.”

  Whisk stared up in dismay. “That tree’s tall... but not taller than my heroism.”

  “Then go get it,” Prick said, crossing her arms. “You got us into this mess. Climb it.”

  Whisk gulped. “Fine. But if I die, I want a cool statue made of me.”

  “No statue,” Prick replied. “You’ll just be remembered as the boy who lost a map to a tree.”

  As Mira and Kira settled under the shade to rest, sharing a water pouch and snacking on fruit, Whisk began his climb. It was harder than he thought. The tree had thick bark that scraped his hands and branches spaced far apart. He grunted, kicked, slipped twice, then shouted “I’m fine!” when his foot got stuck in a knot.

  “You’re not fine,” Prick called out.

  “I’m emotionally fine!” he yelled back.

  Sweat poured down his face as he inched higher. “For the glory of Whisk the Hero!” he cried, lunging up one more branch—just enough to snatch the map with his fingertips.

  “I got it!” he yelled in triumph.

  Then the branch under him snapped.

  The world tilted as Whisk fell, bouncing off two lower limbs before landing in the sand with a dull thud. He groaned, still clutching the now-crumpled map.

  Everyone rushed over. Mira and Kira helped him sit up. Prick snatched the map from his hands.

  “You’re banned,” she said.

  “What?” Whisk blinked.

  “You are banned. From maps. Forever.”

  “Nooo—!”

  Whisk sniffled dramatically. “You’re all cruel…”

  They spent a bit longer resting under the desert tree. Mira and Kira found some desert berries growing nearby, and with a little luck, even a small spring nestled in a hollowed stone. The water was sweet and cold—a gift from the desert for their trouble.

  By the time they resumed their journey, the sun had begun its descent. Shadows stretched long across the sands, and golden hues painted the sky.

  As the wind died down, a shape began to emerge on the horizon—first faint, then clearer with each step.

  Sandhollow.

  The town sat nestled between large dunes, its buildings low and curved to match the dunes. Colorful flags danced above clay rooftops, and the scent of grilled food drifted faintly on the breeze.

  People moved about the square, and children ran barefoot through the sand-covered streets.

  They stood at the edge of the town, the first lights flickering on as the day gave way to dusk.

  “We made it,” Prick said quietly.

  Mira smiled. “It feels… peaceful, Mother Niva said It’s a lonely place.”

  “Maybe the last time she was here was a long time ago, and the town has already changed,” Prick answered.

  Whisk raised his arms dramatically. “Let the adventure begin!”

  “First,” Prick said, grabbing his collar. “Let’s find an inn before your mouth gets us in trouble.”

  They wandered deeper into Sandhollow, weaving through narrow alleys and dusty paths as the town’s life swirled around them. Merchants were closing up their stalls, shouting last-minute offers for dried herbs and polished trinkets. Lights from lanterns cast golden pools onto the sand, and the chatter of evening life echoed softly through the streets.

  Prick frowned, scanning every corner. “Why is every inn full?”

  “I guess this town’s busier than it looks,” Mira said, brushing sweat from her forehead.

  Whisk leaned against a wall dramatically. “This is how we die—thirsty, tired, and without beds.”

  “You just ate a full meal less than an hour ago,” Kira mumbled.

  “I mean emotionally tired.”

  They tried a fourth inn, only to be turned away again. “No vacancy,” said the tired clerk, barely glancing up.

  As they shuffled away from the inn door, disappointment settling into their shoulders, a clear voice called out from across the square.

  “Hey!”

  They turned to see a girl around their age standing in the middle of a small park, laughing and twirling with a group of younger kids. Her hair was wild and rust-red, her cheeks dusted with sand. She wore a loose, sleeveless tunic and light desert pants, her skin tanned by the sun. As the children giggled and scattered like birds, the girl jogged over to them, eyes shining with curiosity.

  “You guys aren’t from around here, huh?”

  “No, we just arrived,” Prick replied carefully.

  The girl’s gaze bounced from Whisk to Mira to Kira, then settled on Prick again. “Thought so. You all look like you’re carrying way too much stress for locals.”

  Prick blinked. “That obvious?”

  “Only to someone who lives here. I’m Amber,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Amber Ashmira.”

  Whisk accepted the handshake without a thought.

  Amber chuckled and turned toward the street. “You looking for a place to stay?”

  Prick nodded. “Every inn we tried is full.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I know a place that’s not.”

  Amber gestured for them to follow, and they exchanged glances before doing just that. She led them through winding alleys and past murals painted on sandstone walls—sunbursts, dragons, and giant flowers danced across the town in brilliant hues.

  Eventually, they reached a large, two-story clay house on the quiet edge of town. It stood tall, with wooden beams supporting a flat rooftop covered in blankets and pillows for stargazing.

  “This is your house?” Mira asked in awe.

  Amber shrugged. “My parents left it to me. I don’t like sleeping alone, so I always invite the kids here. “

  “You’re all welcome for the night.”

  “That’s incredibly kind,” Prick said.

  Amber smirked. “Well, the only condition I want is to listen to the stories beyond the towns. And you all look like you’ve got plenty.”

  Whisk whispered, “I like her.”

  “You like anyone who gives you free stuff,” Kira muttered.

  Amber led them inside. The house was warm and filled with light—paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and the air smelled of spiced bread and orange peel. She handed out soft towels and showed them where they could wash up, then pointed to a guest room with woven mats and two beds made from fine cotton.

  “I’ll introduce you to the town tomorrow,” Amber said, stretching her arms.

  “When the sand rises.”

  “What does that mean?” Mira asked.

  Amber grinned as she walked toward her room. “You’ll see.”

  The group split the bed up. Mira and Prick took one bed while Whisk and Kira settled in the other. The house felt peaceful in a way few places ever had, like the storm of the past few days had finally started to calm.

  In their bed, Prick lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as Mira brushed her hair.

  “She’s interesting,” Mira said.

  “Mm. She’s definitely not normal.”

  “Neither you nor Whisk is normal either.”

  “You make a good point.” Prick admitted.

  Across the hall, Kira sat on the edge of the bed while Whisk flopped across it dramatically, arms and legs spread wide.

  “This bed is heaven,” he mumbled into the pillow.

  “You’re snoring tonight,” Kira warned.

  “I don’t snore.”

  “You do.”

  “…Only when I’m dreaming about sword fights.”

  Exactly.”

  The house fell quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the moon through the curtains. Outside, the desert wind whispered through the palm trees.

  Tomorrow would bring something new—but tonight, they rested.