The morning sun poured golden warmth over Sandhollow, its rays slipping through the window panes and casting soft glows across the room where Prick and Mira still dozed. A gentle knock sounded at the door.

  “Rise and shine!” Amber’s voice sang through the house like a trumpet blast. “It’s going to be a fun day!”

  Whisk groaned from the next room. “Why is she so loud in the morning?”

  Kira sat up, stretching her arms. “Aren't you the same?” he teased.

  Prick sat up with a sleepy smile, brushing strands of golden hair from her face. “She really is full of energy.”

  They gathered in the living room, where Amber was already bouncing on her heels in excitement, arms folded behind her back like a mischievous guide.

  “I’m gonna show you everything Sandhollow has to offer!” she beamed. “The shops, the fountain plaza, the snack stalls, the playground, the cacti that look like people—it’s all on the list!”

  “You made a list?” Mira asked, blinking.

  “Of course!” Amber held up a scroll. “Item number one: fun!”

  Sandhollow was a lively town. Unlike the harsh wilderness they’d been traveling through, it was filled with voices, colors, smells, and laughter. Houses were made of sturdy sandstone, decorated with bright awnings. Children ran freely through the cobbled streets, and adults greeted one another with nods and smiles.

  Amber guided them past fruit stalls bursting with desert melons and starberries, past smithies where metal clanged against anvils, and potion shops with vials bubbling in rainbow hues.

  Everywhere they went, someone greeted Amber.

  “Morning, Amber!”

  “Out showing off again, huh?”

  “Don’t cause trouble!”

  She grinned and waved to everyone. “I only cause fun trouble!”

  Whisk lingered near the food stalls longer than the others, his nose twitching at the aroma of grilled flatbreads and sizzling skewers. Mira got distracted by a book merchant selling dusty scrolls about ancient desert creatures. Kira tagged behind Prick, keeping close, eyeing people with wary curiosity.

  Prick, for her part, smiled and watched it all quietly. For a moment, she felt like just another traveler. Not a princess. Not a girl burdened with a cursed kingdom. Just someone with new friends in a place full of life.

  They stopped by a little park where children tossed handmade rings onto cactus arms. Amber jumped in to play, laughing as she missed every shot. “They make it look easy!”

  “Maybe they’re magic,” Whisk joked, arms crossed.

  “You just don’t want to try because you’d lose,” Amber shot back.

  “Me? Lose?” Whisk scoffed. “I only lose to trees.”

  Prick laughed at the memory of the map-chasing tree incident. “You did lose to a tree.”

  The day passed in a blur of laughter and wandering. The sun eventually began its slow descent toward the horizon, bathing Sandhollow in orange and pink hues.

  As the streets calmed and the stalls started to pack up, Amber clapped her hands. “One last stop! You have to meet my parents.”

  “Oh?” Mira blinked. “Your parents?”

  Amber chuckled. “They’re the mayor and mayoress of this town!”

  “They won’t mind?” Prick asked.

  “Probably? I think they won’t mind,” Amber answered while laughing.

  Prick exchanged glances with Whisk, then shrugged. “Lead the way.”

  Amber led them to a large sandstone building near the center of town—taller than the rest and framed with banners that bore Sandhollow’s crest: a blooming desert rose cradled by golden sunrays.

  The town hall was quieter than the streets, with guards standing by the entrance and workers finishing up paperwork inside. Amber barged right in.

  “Mom! Dad! I brought guests!”

  An elegant woman and a broad-shouldered man looked up from their desks. The woman had golden-brown hair and energetic eyes, though her expression was calm and poised. The man bore sun-wrinkled skin and a mustache that twitched when he smiled.

  “Amber,” the woman said gently, standing up. “You know not to barge in while we’re—”

  “They’re my guests!” Amber beamed.

  Her father chuckled. “Then we must greet them properly.”

  The mayoress stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Thank you for humoring our daughter. She tends to… dive headfirst into excitement.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Kira mumbled under her breath.

  The mayor extended his hand to Whisk and Prick, then to Mira and Kira. “Welcome to Sandhollow. It means a great deal to us that you’ve made Amber’s day brighter. We’re often too busy to give her the attention she deserves.”

  Amber rolled her eyes. “You’re just saying that ‘cause they’re cool looking.”

  “No,” her mother said, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “because it’s true. We’re grateful.”

  Prick offered a soft smile. “It’s been a long time since we were just… kids. This was a nice change.”

  The mayor and mayoress exchanged a look. “Well then,” the father said warmly, “you’re always welcome here.”

  Princess Prick offered a grateful smile, though her eyes remained firm. “Thank you. We actually came here hoping to find some clues about a group of bandits. They were the ones who captured Kira and Mira’s parents… We’re hoping to find where they’ve gone.”

  At that, the mayoress leaned forward slightly, concern knitting her brow. “Bandits, you say? That may explain something strange we’ve been noticing recently.” She turned to her husband, who gave a slow nod.

  “Our scouts have reported seeing a fortress—newly built, hidden near the cliffs just outside town. It wasn’t there before. Whatever it is, it doesn’t bear any known banner. And the area around it’s been suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.”

  Prick straightened, absorbing the information. “Then that might be it… That could be where they’re keeping them.”

  Amber sat up, her brow furrowed now with worry. “A fortress? That close to town? How did I not know about this?”

  “Because we didn’t want you knowing,” her mother said with a small sigh, patting Amber’s hand gently. “It’s dangerous, darling.”

  The father shifted the topic with a warm smile, looking back at Prick. “That aside, what news from the Ironhart Kingdom, Princess?”

  Prick blinked. “Wait… how do you—?”

  The mayoress chuckled lightly. “We’re old friends of your parents. Your mother and father… before they were royalty, they were guildmates of ours. Adventurers, back in the day.”

  “We shared a tent more than once,” the mayor added with a soft laugh. “It’s been years, but I’d recognize your mother’s eyes anywhere. And you have them.”

  That familiar ache struck Prick in the chest. She lowered her gaze. “Ironhart… is gone,” she said softly. “Everyone… turned to stone. The entire kingdom fell to the curse “Eternal Heat”. I was the only one spared.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts. “I don’t know why. But I’m the last one left.”

  A heavy silence fell over the table. Even Amber looked stunned.

  The mayoress’s voice was quiet with sorrow. “Oh, child…”

  The mayor spoke with gentle resolve. “If there’s anything we can do—supplies, shelter, anything, you only need to ask.”

  Prick shook her head. “Thank you, truly. But we’re on a journey now. With this cat here and these twins here. We’re searching for the Lost Oasis… to stop the curse once and for all.”

  There was a clatter as Amber stood so abruptly her chair scraped back against the floor. “Wait—what? The Lost Oasis? You’re looking for it?” Her eyes glittered with excitement and disbelief. “That’s real?! You didn’t tell me you were looking for that!”

  Prick smiled faintly. “I don't know if it’s real or not, but I know the answer to stop the curse is there.”

  Amber’s fists clenched in delight. “Oh, you have no idea how badly I want to go! I’ve read about the Oasis since I was little—I want to see the world, fight monsters—live!”

  “Amber,” her father said, clearly familiar with this speech.

  She groaned, throwing her hands up. “But you never let me even go outside town! You keep me locked up like a treasure box! I'm not fragile!”

  Her mother’s tone was calm but firm. “It’s because we treasure you. The world out there isn’t safe. Not now.”

  Amber huffed and crossed her arms, glaring at the fire pit as if it had personally offended her. “Maybe it never will be.”

  Prick glanced between them, feeling the shift in the room. Something told her that this conversation wasn’t over—and that Amber's fire wouldn’t stay cooped up for much longer.

  The mayoress smiled gently, her eyes softening as she looked at the group. “It’s getting quite late. Amber, why don’t you lead your friends back home? Make sure they get some proper rest.”

  Her father nodded in agreement. “We’ll make sure provisions are ready in the morning. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. And… thank you, Prick. For carrying the burden you do.”

  Amber, still slightly flustered from the earlier argument, straightened up and gave a small nod. “Y-Yeah. Come on, you guys. It’s not far.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Prick offered a quiet thanks to the couple before following Amber toward the door. Whisk, who had been unusually quiet throughout the exchange, gave the mayoress a thumbs-up, while Kira and Mira bowed politely, their hands still linked together as if afraid to let go of each other.

  As the wooden door creaked open and the night air rolled in, cool and fragrant with desert blooms, the group stepped out under a sky sprinkled with stars. The moon hung low, casting pale silver light across the sandy streets of Sandhollow.

  Amber led the way, her steps quick and full of unspoken energy. Prick lingered behind for a moment, looking back at the warmly lit house where the mayor and mayoress still stood, watching them go.

  “Thank you again,” she said softly.

  “Take care of each other,” the mayoress replied. “And don’t let the weight of the world crush the fire in your heart.”

  With that, the door shut, and silence took over the street once more.

  They walked in quiet for a while, until Amber spoke, her tone a mix of bitterness and longing. “They mean well… but sometimes it feels like I’m stuck behind invisible walls. I want to do something. I want to help. Not just sit and wait.”

  Prick glanced at her, then at the faint outline of Amber’s house ahead. “Maybe… this journey is your chance.”

  Amber didn’t respond right away, but Prick could see the faint glow of a smile on her face in the moonlight.

  As they reached the familiar doorstep of Amber’s home, the soft creak of the gate and the warmth of the porch lamp welcomed them. Whisk stretched with a yawn. “Beds. Please. Preferably soft.”

  It had been a good day.

  But Prick couldn’t sleep.

  She stared at the wooden ceiling above her, thoughts stirring. Amber’s boundless joy, the warm welcome from her parents, and the peacefulness of Sandhollow—it was all comforting, too comforting.

  Her instincts warned her not to let her guard down. Somewhere inside, a quiet tension lingered.

  She turned slightly. Mira had already dozed off beside her, soft breaths steady and calm. From the other bed, faint shuffling and Whisk’s half-muttered dreams echoed through the quiet.

  Prick sighed and closed her eyes.

  Then came the scream.

  It pierced the stillness like a dagger, sharp and sudden. One scream turned into many. Shouts. The clatter of something breaking. Then—booming footsteps. Roars. A horn was blaring across the town.

  Prick bolted upright. “What was that?!”

  Mira sat up in alarm. “Something’s happening.”

  Whisk was already out of bed, blade in hand. Kira stumbled up groggily, blinking in confusion. “I thought I was dreaming about frogs…”

  Another scream rang out—closer this time.

  They all rushed to the window. Fires were starting across town. Shadowy figures moved quickly through the streets, some on foot and some mounted on large, snarling creatures with hardened scales and tusks—desert beasts.

  “Bandits,” Prick said coldly. “Too many.”

  Prick's heart sank. One figure was already outside the house, calling out to someone.

  Amber.

  She was out there, her hair lit by the glow of nearby flames as she helped pull a small child from beneath a collapsed fruit stand. With surprising strength, she carried the child and motioned for others to follow her. “This way! Get to the alley! Move!”

  Prick rushed to the door. “Amber’s outside!”

  “Wait—Prick!” Mira called, but it was too late.

  Prick ran barefoot into the night, smoke stinging her eyes. She reached Amber just as she finished getting a family of three to safety.

  “Prick!” Amber turned to her, panting. “You okay?”

  “I should be asking you that!”

  Amber gave a quick, worried nod. “I’ve seen raids before. They come fast. We need to get people away from the main streets—”

  A roar cut through the air as a beast charged down the road, scattering townspeople. A dozen bandits followed behind, their eyes wild, weapons drawn.

  Among them was a bandit Prick recognized.

  The one who had fought Whisk.

  He rode behind a man twice his size, towering over the others on a red-armored beast that looked more like a living tank. The rider’s face was stone-cold, eyes dark and narrowed beneath a plated helm. A scar ran down one cheek, and his voice when he shouted echoed with terrifying power.

  “FIND THE GIRL WITH BLONDE HAIR!”

  Amber’s expression changed in an instant. “They’re looking for you…”

  Prick’s blood went cold. She took a step back. “No…”

  Mira, Whisk, and Kira emerged from the house.

  The bandits swarmed the street, knocking over carts and setting fires as they went. The smaller one—the same bandit who had lost his arm—rode past the others, catching sight of Prick.

  “There she is!” he shouted, pointing with his remaining arm. “There’s the princess!”

  Prick’s heart dropped.

  The huge man beside him didn’t even speak. He simply turned his beast and began charging forward.

  “RUN!” Mira shouted.

  Whisk threw himself between Prick and the approaching horde. “Stay back!”

  Bandits dismounted and charged. Whisk deflected two blades at once, but they came fast and in numbers. He grunted as a kick sent him stumbling, then caught himself and countered with a powerful slash.

  Prick backed away, trying to avoid the chaos. Amber pulled her toward a safer alley—but it was too late.

  The one-armed bandit lunged through the fight, tackling Prick to the ground.

  She screamed, struggling against his grip, but he held tight.

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Your Highness,” he hissed.

  “No—!”

  He dragged her away toward the monstrous rider, who waited with terrifying stillness. The massive man said nothing, but his gaze locked with Prick’s as she thrashed in the smaller bandit’s grip.

  Whisk saw it.

  “No!” he shouted, trying to push through a group of enemies.

  But there were too many.

  As Prick was hoisted onto the beast behind the large man, she locked eyes with Whisk, her heart pounding.

  “Prick!” Whisk roared.

  Prick didn’t get to answer before they rode off into the smoke.

  The fading hoofbeats were quickly drowned out by the sharp clang of steel and the war cries echoing across the scorched sand. Whisk stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes narrowed, his massive blade balanced on his shoulder. All around him, the smoke curled like grasping fingers, swallowing the sun and shrouding the battlefield in a ghostly gloom.

  From the shadows, the remaining bandits emerged—seven of them, encircling Whisk like wolves closing in on a lone prey.

  “Look at the little catboy, all alone,” one sneered, spinning a pair of curved daggers.

  “Didn’t run with your princess, huh?” another grunted, hoisting a thick iron mace. “That’s real dumb.”

  Whisk rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Nah. I’m just warming up.”

  Then he launched himself forward.

  His greatsword, far too heavy for someone of his size, moved like an extension of his body. With a feral yell, he swung it in a wide arc, scattering the first two bandits with the sheer force of the strike.

  One barely dodged in time, while the other took the brunt of the blow on his shoulder and collapsed with a scream.

  Whisk didn’t pause. He pivoted, ducking under a spear thrust, and drove his elbow into the attacker’s gut. As the bandit doubled over, Whisk flipped his sword in a tight spin and brought the flat of the blade crashing into the man’s back, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

  Three left now. One rushed from behind, and Whisk spun on instinct—too slow.

  A chain lashed out, wrapping around his ankle. Another bandit yanked, trying to pull him off balance. Whisk stumbled but dug his heel in, growling. The third came at him with a hatchet, but Whisk twisted his body, letting the blade graze his sleeve before slamming the butt of his sword into the attacker’s face.

  Blood sprayed. The man fell.

  “Two down,” Whisk muttered through gritted teeth. He reached down and tore the chain free from his ankle with brute force, yanking its wielder forward. With a wild grin, Whisk kicked him straight in the chest, sending him flying backward into a pile of scorched crates.

  The last bandit—daggers in hand—looked shaken.

  Whisk raised his sword. “Still wanna try?”

  But the man didn’t answer. He darted forward instead, slashing with wild speed. Whisk parried once, twice—then the third strike nicked his cheek. Blood trickled down, but Whisk didn’t flinch.

  He grinned.

  Then, with a roar, he brought his blade down in a heavy diagonal slash. The bandit blocked with crossed daggers, but the sheer power of the blow sent him skidding across the sand, arms trembling.

  Whisk stepped forward. “You’re fast,” he said. “But I’m not the same guy I was yesterday.”

  The bandit turned to run.

  Bad idea.

  With one clean motion, Whisk hurled his sword like a spear.

  It slammed into the ground just in front of the bandit’s feet, the force toppling him over. Before he could recover, Whisk was already there, grabbing the hilt and pointing the blade at his neck.

  “Stay down,” Whisk said, panting. “This is your last chance.”

  The bandit didn’t move. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender.

  The smoke still lingered, swirling through the streets of Sandhollow as fires crackled in the distance. The chaos of the raid was winding down, but the air remained thick with panic and the scent of burning wood. Screams had become sobs, and the clashing of steel had faded into distant echoes.

  Whisk stood in the center of the street, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, blade dripping and trembling in his grip.

  Around him lay the broken remains of the last few bandits, some moaning, others still. A group of town guards had finally arrived—too late to stop the worst of it, but just in time to secure the aftermath. They eyed Whisk with wary respect, unsure who he was, but recognizing a fighter who’d just helped save their town.

  Whisk didn’t care.

  His eyes were on the direction the beast had ridden off in. Sand still settled in its path.

  “Prick…” he whispered.

  Without thinking, without waiting, he took off—darting down the alley, past the guards, past the frightened villagers. His body ached and his legs were sore, but nothing could stop the fury and desperation burning in his chest.

  “Whisk!” a voice called out.

  He didn’t stop.

  Another voice, closer this time. “Whisk—stop!”

  Something tackled him sideways, soft but firm, and fiery.

  Whisk rolled across the sand, grunting, before finding Amber sitting on top of him, panting.

  He blinked. “Amber? What the—?”

  “You can’t just run off alone!” she shouted, her voice almost cracking. “You’ll die!”

  Whisk pushed her gently off and sat up. “They took her. I’m going after her.”

  Amber’s brows furrowed. “I know. I saw everything. But do you even know where they’re going?”

  “I don’t care!” Whisk snapped. “I’ll follow their tracks until my feet bleed! I don’t need a plan—I need her back!”

  Amber stood up, dusting herself off. “Then you’re going to need help.”

  Whisk looked up at her, confused. “Help? Who? You?”

  “Yes,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  He squinted. “How are you gonna help?”

  Amber didn’t answer with words.

  She lifted her right hand, and with a deep inhale, her fingers curled into a loose fist. In the next second, a blaze erupted from her forearm, dancing like a living flame. It curled upward, illuminating her determined face in warm orange light.

  Whisk’s eyes widened. “You can use fire magic?”

  Amber nodded. “I’m from the Ashmira bloodline. I don’t know much about it… but I know I can burn things really well.”

  “That’s…” Whisk hesitated. “That’s actually kind of cool.”

  Amber grinned, the flames shrinking. “Told you I’d be useful.”

  “But what about your parents?” he asked. “Won’t they freak out if you leave town? They’re clearly strict—”

  “They are,” Amber admitted, her shoulders slumping for a moment. “But… they’ll understand once they know why I left. Prick needs help. You need help. And—honestly?” She looked him in the eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for something like this. Something that matters.”

  Whisk opened his mouth, unsure what to say.

  Footsteps crunched behind them.

  It was Kira and Mira, slightly out of breath, their clothes dusty from helping with evacuation efforts.

  “We’re coming too,” Mira said without preamble.

  “We saw him,” Kira added, his voice lower than usual. “The huge man riding that beast. That was the same man who took our parents.”

  Whisk’s eyes narrowed. “You're sure?”

  Kira nodded. “We’d never forget that huge body. That presence.”

  Mira looked between them. “If we help, we can find them. This is our chance.”

  But Whisk shook his head, standing.

  “No,” he said. “You two stay.”

  “What?” they both said at once.

  “You’re strong-willed,” Whisk admitted. “Way stronger than me, probably. But you’re not ready. You’re too young for this guy… he’s something else. You felt it. You know it.”

  Kira clenched his fists, but didn’t argue.

  “I’ll bring her back,” Whisk said, quieter now. “I’ll bring your parents back, too. I promise.”

  Mira looked like she wanted to say something, but then her shoulders relaxed. She gave him a small nod.

  “We’ll hold down Sandhollow,” she said. “You focus on getting her back.”

  Whisk looked to Amber. “You sure you’re ready?”

  Amber held out her hand.

  Flames danced again.

  “I was born ready.”

  The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was beginning to pale. The fires had been mostly put out, and townspeople were beginning to gather, helping one another rebuild what was lost. The chaos of the night would leave scars on Sandhollow—but in the hearts of four young adventurers, it sparked something deeper.

  Whisk tightened the straps on his sword.

  Amber pulled on her gloves, flames still flickering at her fingertips.

  They walked toward the edge of town, following the faint tracks left behind by the desert beast and its monstrous rider.

  Whisk looked at the horizon.

  “Hold on, Prick,” he whispered. “I’m coming.”

  Amber fell in step beside him, eyes forward.

  Together, they left the town and stepped into the sands.

  That’s a wrap for today’s double drop! ??The next chapter arrives this Wednesday, so stay tuned!

  Did you enjoy the two chapters? I’d love to hear your thoughts—

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  Thank you so much for all the support. You all keep this story alive! ??

  -jmc