A male dark elf with furrowed brows flung open the towering doors of the royal court. Moonlight spilled across the stone floor, streaming through arched windows and casting pale silver beams throughout the grand hall. At the far end sat a middle-aged dark elf woman draped in flowing silver robes that shimmered like starlight. Her eyes were closed in silent meditation, her posture serene yet unmistakably commanding. Flanking her were two guards clad in obsidian armor, their expressions stern and unmoving.

  The elf’s footsteps echoed through the vast chamber as he strode forward. Twenty paces from the throne, he dropped to one knee, head bowed low.

  “Mother. What’s going on? Why are we entrusting retrieval of our relic to mercenaries? Humans, of all things.”

  The queen opened her eyes. A cool, silver light glinted within them. With a graceful motion, the moonbeams in the hall began to stir, threads of light weaving through the air. They converged into a single, narrow beam, hovering before her like a spear.

  With a flick of her finger, the beam extended, lifting her son’s chin so their eyes met.

  “Vaelen,” she said quietly. “If you weren’t my son, you’d already be dead for barging in here and questioning me.”

  The moonlight pressed down on him—not hard, but firm enough to break a sweat. Still, he met her gaze.

  “I’m just trying to understand,” he said. “Have we really fallen so far that we’re relying on people who can’t even circulate mana properly? I’m not doubting you, I just… why them?”

  The queen’s expression didn’t change, but her voice softened.

  “Because they’re expendable,” she said. “You think I’d send our own into something that might kill them? You’re hot-blooded, but you’re not a fool. You’ve seen it—how the other elven clans have gone quiet. That kind of silence always means something. Something big. We need to keep our strength close, ready.”

  Vaelen’s jaw tensed. He looked down for a moment, then back up.

  “I get that. But how do we know they won’t just run off with it? It took years just to locate the relic. If we lose it now…”

  The queen’s lips curled into a slight smile. With a wave of her hand, the beam dissolved, moonlight settling back into place like dust.

  “Do you know what humans want most?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. She continued.

  “A home. That’s all. I promised them one—and now they’re loyal little pets. Wagging their tails. They won’t run.”

  Vaelen stood, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

  “I see. I still don’t like it… but I understand.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now go. And next time, do not disturb my meditation for such minor matters.”

  He gave a short bow. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  As he turned and walked away, the queen closed her eyes again. The moonlight danced gently around her, silent and unbroken.

  ---

  It was early morning, just after dawn, but the base camp was already hustling and bustling. It didn’t take me long to prepare—mostly because I didn’t have much to begin with. The provisions were handled by the logistics team. All I had to do was show up.

  I glanced around my tent for a few seconds. It wasn’t much, but it had been my home for many years. This was probably the last time I’d see it. Swallowing the emotions bubbling inside, I wheeled myself out and headed to the command center lobby.

  Within minutes, the seats filled up. Once no one else entered the building, we began counting off—one hundred twenty in total. Looking around, it felt like there had been no criteria at all in choosing participants. Young, old, fat, thin—even individuals with visible disabilities, like myself, were included. Odd.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Good. It seems that everyone is here. Everybody, listen up. The commander will now give the final mission briefing before we set off,” announced a middle-aged man who acted as the commander’s assistant. At his signal, the commander stood and walked to the podium.

  He cleared his throat and began the briefing.

  “As I’ve told you before, our mission is to retrieve an important elven relic in a place called Thal’Nareth. It’s far—about a week or two if everything goes smoothly—but it will be a perilous journey. We’ll be crossing what’s known as the Desert of Madness.

  “Thankfully, our client provided a talisman that blocks the psychological effects of the desert. Unfortunately, that won’t help us with its inhabitants. We’ll face monsters and creatures driven mad, far more violent and aggressive than normal. At worst, only half of us will survive the journey—and those who do must still brave the dangers of Thal’Nareth, now a haven of powerful undead.

  “But do you know why it’s worth it? This relic is our ticket to Noctharis.”

  A spark of excitement lit his eyes as he said it.

  The crowd responded with murmurs and eager chatter. No one seemed fazed by the potential death toll. We all shared the same thought: we might finally have a home.

  The commander continued with team assignments and roles. I was placed in a group of ten. We introduced ourselves, and one thing became clear: most of us weren’t fit to be soldiers. According to the briefing, we’d serve as support personnel and wouldn’t see combat until we reached Thal’Nareth. At that point, new missions would be assigned based on the situation.

  Our team leader was a skinny man named Marvin. His most notable feature was a mechanical arm socket that could hold tools—or weapons, if needed.

  His deputy was Rick, an old man with a slight hunch. Nothing remarkable about him aside from being the eldest in the group.

  I didn’t bother memorizing the others’ names, but one stood out. Hazel. A girl no older than eight. She sat quietly in a corner, eyes staring at the horizon. Probably a child soldier trainee—but the only one in sight.

  After brief introductions, we boarded our designated solar-powered trucks. I couldn’t get in on my own, so Marvin had two members help me up. Moments later, the truck’s radio crackled to life with the commander’s voice.

  “Team leaders, confirm readiness.”

  One by one, team leaders responded. Marvin was last. Then came the final words: “Commence operation.”

  Our driver hit the pedal. We rolled out in formation—combat vehicles surrounding the non-combatants like a living shield.

  Outside the window, our camp grew smaller. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  Petra’s tear-streaked face flashed in my mind—how she’d cried the night before. No one had ever cried for me like that. The emotions stirred something deep inside. I hadn’t planned on surviving this journey… but if I did, it would be for her.

  ---

  Almost a week passed without incident. We encountered some creatures, but they were weak and easily dealt with by the soldiers.

  Just as we started to believe it would stay that way, the commander’s voice shattered the calm.

  “Everyone, stay sharp. We’re entering the Desert of Madness. Recon team, move forward to a one-kilometer lead. Report any signs immediately. Everyone else, tighten formation and slow down. We don’t want to draw unwanted attention. I’ll say it again—keep your talismans safe, or you’ll never leave this place sane.”

  The teams affirmed, but not even an hour passed before chaos erupted.

  A scream tore through the radio, followed by a frantic voice: “Commander, this is Recon 3! Recon 4’s been taken out by a dune worm! We recommend heading northeast while it's distracted and returning to the original path once we’re clear!”

  The commander agreed. New coordinates popped up on our navigator.

  “Shit, that was a huge dune worm,” Marvin muttered. “Nobody on Recon 4 survived, probably. I heard those things can chew through titanium.”

  Tension filled the truck. Only Hazel remained expressionless, staring out the window like nothing had happened.

  We continued without further incident until dusk. The commander ordered a stop in a narrow valley. To avoid attention, we killed all lights and used night-vision goggles while eating dry rations. It seemed safe enough, but sentries were posted all the same.

  I turned in early. There was nothing else to do—and thinking about what might happen next wouldn’t help.

  ---

  The peace shattered with the crackle of gunfire and screams.

  I grabbed my handgun and peeked outside. Soldiers were under attack by horned bats—creatures the size of a five-year-old, with razor-sharp teeth.

  Some were overwhelmed immediately, torn apart by the swarm.

  “Regroup! Get in the vehicles and deploy the turrets!” the commander bellowed.

  I wheeled myself toward our truck, one hand gripping the gun, trying to move backward and shoot. It was a mistake. I couldn’t aim. The bats zeroed in, wings slicing the air. I braced myself for death.

  Gunshots roared. The bats above me exploded into chunks.

  I turned. Rick manned the turret, mowing down the attackers. With him providing cover, I reached the truck. Marvin opened the hatch and pulled me in, another teammate shoving my wheelchair inside. The hatch slammed shut.

  I looked around. Miraculously, everyone in our team survived—scratched and shaken, but alive.

  An hour of fighting passed before the area fell silent. The commander barked orders. Final count: twenty-nine dead.

  Even the corpses had a use. We arranged them—ours and the bats’—around the perimeter to mislead predators.

  But the blood and noise had drawn too much attention. We had to move—no rest, no mourning.

  The sun crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand.

  A new day had begun.