Every slave had a story, and with nothing but sand and time, Rane patiently heard the ones willing to talk. He learned of Dall, the horse thief who had been betrayed by his own brother for a single gold coin, and Rali, the daughter of a merchant who’d been exiled for bearing a stranger's child. Shill, the oldest of the ashfen, claimed to be a lord's scribe who got sold off after the archives he was responsible for caught on fire.

Some kept to themselves. Perhaps their crimes were too heinous to share, or their throats too dry to talk. Rane practised his magic by making ice constantly, so he doubted it was the latter. The weather grew milder as the days passed as well, making the task easier. According to some, the hauling beast could go about two weeks without a meal. The slaves, on the other hand, couldn't last that long.

Leylin checked on the small cell daily, giving each slave the bare minimum of water and dried up bread crumbs needed to stay alive. His eyes seemed glazed over each day, as if pondering something. Maybe the heat and the sun had taken their toll on him as well. The other slaves had noticed this change and grown bolder. Whenever Leylin seemed lost in his thoughts or deep into his books they’d try to snatch a loaf of bread from the sack the man kept them in. They’d only succeeded once, but that had been enough to justify a dozen more attempts.

Today, Leylin provided them with an even grander opportunity. The hauling beast grunted to a halt and the man got down from his seat. He turned his back to the wagon and headed into the desert. Rane gazed further down his course, but saw nothing except sand.

“He’s gone,” Rali whispered. “This could be our chance!”

“Help me with this!” Dall was already up and fiddling with the lock outside the cage.

“No!” Rane pulled the man away. “Are you mad? Where are you gonna go? We haven’t seen a single person in weeks, let alone a village or city. If you leave, you’ll be dead in hours.”

“I’d rather be dead in hours than in weeks,” Dall said with a panicked tone. He pulled back, trying to tear the lock from its hinges. Rusty though it was, it’d still be too much for a malnourished slave to crack.

“Leylin said some of you-- us, would get to live after the journey is over!”

“And you expect us to trust him?” One of the younger ashfen men spoke up. He’d never given his name. “I’d rather take a shot at the desert.”

“I expect you to trust me,” Rane said. “I’m a mage myself, so I know some of the things he’s capable of. If you go out now, there’s a chance he will find you. Even if he doesn't, you will die. And for what? The only thing you’ll manage is to get the rest of us punished.”

“And why would I believe your words?” he scoffed. “So far all you’ve done is give us some ice and cost Torien his arm.”

“I--” Rane stammered. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said under his breath.

“He also stood up to Leylin while you were all busy shitting your pants.” Shill placed his wrinkly hand on Rane’s shoulder in order to stand. Despite his aged figure, he looked up to the man without fear. “Besides, Rane’s right.”

The man grimaced. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know much about Leylin,” Shill replied, “but I remember parts of a book I copied years ago. If memory serves right, we’re currently crossing the blazing desert, one of the old natural borders between Silyra and Andre.”

“That’s good, right?” Dall asked. “If we’re on Andren territory, there should be a city nearby! Maybe we could reach it.”

“Why do you think it’s called the blazing desert?” Shill emphasised the words. “It’s not just the colour of the sand. With the heat and the sandstorms, it’s impossible for anything to survive here.”

The young man went to bang his fist against the bars, then stopped himself and pursed his lips. “So you’re saying we should just sit here and wait?”

“No. We’re gonna escape eventually,” Rane replied. He glanced outside, at Leylin’s slowly approaching form wavering under the sun. “But we’re choosing the right moment, and we’re not leaving anyone behind.”

Most slaves nodded in agreement. Dall and the other ashfen relented with a sigh, then sat back down, before Leylin was close enough to notice something amiss. Rane chose a spot near Shill as the wagon started moving.

“You said this desert used to be a border,” Rane whispered. “What is it today?”

“Andren territory, most likely,” Shill said with a huff. He pushed his legs outside the bars and let them hang from the wood. “But don’t take my word for it kid. I read my last book twenty three years ago. Who knows which side the aspect of war favoured during that time? Perhaps it’s part of your kingdom again!” Shill chuckled.

Rane smiled back at the old ashfen. With so many years a slave, the man had no sense of belonging any more. The two of them were alike in that sense. Besides, the only reason Rane was interested in the state of the kingdoms was to gather clues about his family’s whereabouts. “What’s the aspect of war?”

Shill turned to look at him, seeming a bit taken aback. “A god,” he replied, “governing war in all its forms.” His voice hid a passion as he spoke.

Rane furrowed his brows. The only god he knew of was the Arbiter, the deity that supposedly enforced Oaths. In his mind, he hoped it didn’t exist, and that the Oaths being carried out was simply a result of an intricate spell. Better than to think there was something intelligent that relished in causing so much anguish. As for the aspect of war, he’d never even heard of it before. “Is that the god ashfen believe in?”

“It’s not just one!” Shill said sternly. “Different aspects rule over different parts of our world, from the rain, to the sun, to life and death itself. It is through their grace that we--”

“Quiet!” Leylin banged on the roof a couple of times. Shill swallowed and turned to look outside without another word. The wagon crawled to a stop. Leylin’s boots shifted through the sand and all the slaves lowered their heads and shrunk further into their corners. It was time for someone to be eaten.

Rane cursed under his breath. What use was there to gods, fake or not, if they wouldn’t help their believers in a time of need? He steeled himself and stood up, facing the cell’s door. Right now, no god could help them. There was no one he could count on but himself. He’d try his best to save whoever Leylin chose. Even if he knew he was doomed to fail, he’d try. Only then could he sleep at night.

“Everyone out.” Leylin held the door open. The slaves froze. Only the dead left the wagon. “Out,” Leylin said again, dark magic swirling in his eyes, and the slaves complied.

Rane let his feet sink into the red sand. They had stopped next to a towering boulder, and the slaves had already squeezed under its shadow. He turned his attention to the mass of brown fur strapped onto the wagon. Its entire body was heaving up and down with each breath.

Leylin sat atop the boulder and peeled a fruit with trembling hands, under the hungry gaze of about a dozen slaves. “I fed it a desert boar,” he said and bit into the fruit, “but if you get close there’ll be no saving you.”

“Where are we?” Rane squinted and took in the desert. The sand was coarse and formed in dunes.

“We’ll soon cross the Andren borders. Danira is but a fortnight away.”

Rane had heard of that town before, from the human he had judged in the dungeon. Old man Shill had been right. They were near the borders after all. “So what now?” he asked.

Leylin gave him a sideway glance. “Be quiet.”

“Why are we waiting out here?” Rane insisted. “Shouldn’t we rest during the night to avoid the heat?”

Leylin pressed his palms against his eyes. “Won’t you ever stop? All you do is question and complain. Keep your sufferings close to yourself, just like everyone else.” He stood from the boulder and waved the rest of the slaves away. They scattered.

“No one should bear their burdens alone.” Rane gazed at the man. There's a kind of tiredness that needs food and a good night's sleep, and another that needs so much more. Leylin’s was the latter. Despite his best efforts, Rane felt a hint of pity. “Not even you.”

Leylin laughed. “You’re just a kid, and yet you speak as if you’ve seen it all.” His eyes met Rane’s for a moment. “What do you know of my burden? No one can rest the sins I carry upon their shoulders. You don’t know of the lives I’ve had to claim… The blood I’ve spilled. I–”

He stooped forward and took half a step to right himself. His trembling fingers found the blood dripping from his eyes. “Look at what you’ve done! You made them angry!” An aura of darkness gathered around his body, one the sunlight couldn’t break through. Leylin writhed and groaned beneath its shade.

If Rane had known his words would trigger such a change, he’d have stayed silent. He could feel the nora inside Leylin’s body growing berserk and chaotic. He couldn’t even look at the man for long without getting dizzy. It was more power than he’d ever seen. More than he had ever thought possible. His fingers felt for the moisture in the air, ready to cast.

“Your acts of mercy and kindness are a naive joke. You couldn’t give what I’ve given!” Leylin grasped his head and spoke through the pain. Black arms formed out of his magic and turned to push against his skin, as if trying to rip themselves free. “To think you’re selfless compared to me… It’s an insult.” His stomach bulged unnaturally, and the darkness pulsed stronger. Leylin vomited blood.

Rane stepped back, staying silent and vigilant. Not much else he could do as the man unravelled. Part of him wished Leylin would take his final breath here. It would solve a lot of problems.

The darkness slowly subsided instead. It was still there, like a sickly second layer of skin enveloping Leylin, but visibly thinner. “I’ve killed and killed and killed for humans to survive to this day.” His voice was coarse, but calmer now. “Prove it to me. Show me you have the mettle.” With trembling hands he reached into his blood-sullied clothes for a dagger and threw it in front of Rane’s feet. “You only need to kill one, and the rest will live.”

The heavy, black metal of the blade sank into the sand. “You mean…” Rane looked down at the polished and sharp edge of the weapon, imagined himself using it.

“The life of one slave for the life of every other.” Leylin straightened his back and wiped the blood from his face.

Rane went down on one knee and picked up the dagger. "Swear an Oath and I'll do it. I can't trust you otherwise."

"You don't get to make demands. This isn't an agreement or a deal." Darkness flashed from Leylin's hand and an ashfen slave behind him collapsed in screams. "It's an order."

"Stop!” Rane yelled. “I'll do it." It wasn't fake, his kindness. He just didn't have the power to make it matter back then. Rane's hands tightened around the dagger's hilt. When Sydell had forced him to choose it was agonising, but this time he had already made his decision. The agony only came afterwards.

"I hope you're relieved of your burdens one day." Rane looked up at the sun. “And I hope you are a man who honours his promises.” The desert was so quiet now, after the storm, so peaceful. Not a bad place to die. He turned the blade on himself and breathed in deeply, holding the tip inches from his neck. Leylin’s magic whizzed through the air, reaching to stop him.

One life for every other.

Rane thrust.