The sun loomed heavy over the golden dunes, stretching the shadows of the traveling horde. Elarya rode ahead with the solemn grace of a Shakareen, flanked by Ser Kael at her side. The kel'rhakars trailed behind them, leathery-scaled and dark-eyed, ever watchful. Among them, the Rhazkaan warriors remained alert—three in total—yet none more intense than Varkas, whose one good eye tracked everything and everyone.
Nestled within the arms of Yasri, Elarya's handmaiden, lay Sulien. Swaddled tightly in silk and soft linen, the child appeared docile. But inside, Sulien—the soul of a woman from another world trapped in the body of a newborn—was far from calm. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat. Her infant eyes, helplessly wide, took in every detail: the caravans of merchants ahead, the wary Rhazkaans behind, and the endless desert stretching in all directions.
Far on the southern horizon, something shimmered. What began as a mirage solidified into something real: a vast wall of smooth stone, high and gleaming, the color of polished pearl. Trees rose behind it, towering and green, breaking the endless sea of sand. And beyond those walls, veiled just barely by the desert haze, lay the famed city of trade: Albareen.
Elarya slowed her steed, eyes wide in reverence. "So this is the city of Albareen," she murmured. Ser Kael followed her gaze, lips curling faintly. "It lives up to the tales."
Behind them, Yasri tightened her hold on Sulien as the baby began to squirm. Inside, Sulien nearly lost his composure.
"Oh my god, it's real. A real fantasy city... Albareen." The green trees behind the gates were impossibly vibrant. The walls were too perfect, too polished. Her thoughts raced."I can't believe I'm seeing this up close. It's so surreal."
But her awe gave way to quiet disappointment. "So this is where it happens... This is where they all fall. But maybe... maybe I can change it?" Sulien wriggled harder in Yasri's arms, grunting louder, his tiny fists thumping against the silk." Please, look at me. Just look—" Sulien thought, trying to catch the handmaiden's gaze, as if by sheer will he could make her understand. But Yasri only cooed gently, mistaking it for a baby's fuss.
The only thing Sulien could do was wriggle and grunt in Yasri's arms, his tiny fists clenching in silent protest.
As they drew closer, the procession slowed. Guards emerged atop the city wall, weapons in hand. They spotted the horde of Vol'kherens, and unease rippled through their formation.
"Easy," Ser Kael muttered, hand resting on his sword hilt. The tension among the Rhazkaans sharpened. Varkas shifted forward a step, his muscles tight, eyes flashing.
But then, a voice rose from the crowd. One of the older merchants stepped forward, raising both hands and calling out in the eastern tongue—a melodic and sharp language that Elarya heard, but which carried the tone of diplomacy.
The guards didn't lower their weapons, but they paused. Moments later, a single guard descended from the rampart. A horn was raised. A low, mournful horn blew, its echo rolling across the desert like distant thunder. The blast echoed across the gates.
The Rhazkaans tensed. The Vol'kherens shifted and growled low in their throats, their massive forms bristling. Ser Kael half-drew his blade, but Elarya raised her hand.
"Steady," she commanded. Her voice was unshaken, noble. Royal. Behind the horde, something subtle stirred—Sulien, writhing in Yasri's arms, the only flicker of unrest amid the gathered Ke'rhakars.
Sulien squirmed violently in Yasri's arms, Sulien's panic growing. "No! Don't go in there! Turn around! Red flag! I repeat, Red flag!" Her inner scream was useless. Sulien's baby mouth could only manage a high-pitched groan and frustrated coos.
Yasri clutched Sulien tighter. "Hush now, little shanor," she whispered in the language of the vol'kherens, her voice low and melodic, bouncing him gently.
But Sulien was far from soothed. " I swear to god, this body is going to be the end of me. I can't even speak properly."
The two dragons in the woven basket—mere hatchlings—sensed the disturbance. They chirped and hissed, agitated by Sulien's emotions. The second handmaiden, who guarded them, looked around nervously.
The other handmaiden hovered close to the dragon basket, her fingers twitching with hesitation. The hatchlings hissed and rustled, their small bodies reacting to Sulien's distress. She tried to shush them, her voice barely above a whisper, but fear rooted her to the spot. She dared not touch them. Not properly. Not when they were beasts born of fire. All she could do was murmur nonsense and hope they calmed on their own.
Elarya heard the faint stirrings of unease behind her—sharp chirps, shifting footsteps, something not quite right. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting as if to listen. But before she could turn or question it, the deep sound of chains filled the air as the gates of Albareen began to open. Her attention shifted forward.
The gates of Albareen began to open. Chains clanked and scraped, echoing across the dunes as the heavy stone slab was drawn downward with grinding effort.
Elarya turned back toward the opening gates, her expression unreadable. She cast a final glance over her shoulder, brows furrowing faintly—but the sound of the chains drowned whatever she heard amongst the horde. She faced forward once more.
From the city emerged five men adorned in gold-threaded silk, each one bearing the arrogance of power. Their robes flowed like water, their jewelry shimmered like coins. These were not mere gatekeepers. These were men who ran the city.
They spoke with the merchants, exchanging formalities in the eastern tongue. The Rhazkaans could not understand a word of it, but they watched with their usual mix of caution and contempt.
Once the exchange concluded, Elarya dismounted. Ser Kael followed her lead. She approached the men, shoulders square, her long braid trailing behind her like a banner.
"I am Elarya Ashborne, blood of Vyrmyr," she said in common tongue, her voice clear and unwavering. "As the Shakareen of my kel'rhakars. We heard Albareen is truly a city that welcomes all — We seek shelter and peace within your walls."
One of the five stepped forward—a bald man, weathered but regal, his eyes sharp as steel. He gave a slight bow.
"I am Merakh, First Speaker of Albareen," he replied smoothly, his tone formal yet measured. "And you, Shakareen, are heard. The merchants have spoken on your behalf, and we honor their word. Your people shall have their place within these walls—safely and without hindrance."
Elarya inclined her head. "Then I thank the generosity of your gates." From among the horde, Sulien stared with growing horror. "Oh.. I am truly fucked.." his soft face scrunching in a silent scowl.
"Do they even realize what's coming?" Sulien knew what lay ahead, knew the doom that awaited within those walls. But knowing didn't ease the weight in his tiny chest. "It's all happening. And I'm stuck like this." His gut clenched. "Am I gonna die twice now?" His eyes remained unblinking, frustration bubbling just beneath his still, baby-like features.
The baby dragons had settled, as if sensing Sulien no longer in distress. Even the handmaiden that guarded them sighed in quiet relief.
Then came the formal proclamation. Merakh turned and raised his voice, "Albareen opens its arms to the Shakareen and her people. Let none hinder their passage."
The crowd stirred.
Elarya stepped forward, walking between the Rhazkaans, the merchants, and the four silent men of Albareen. All eyes followed her, some in awe, others in quiet suspicion.
Sulien could only watch, his infant eyes tracking his mother's every step.
"There she goes. Walking like a queen. No hesitation. No fear. Just vibes." A lopsided grin tugged at his soft lips—half admiration, half dread.
"My fearless mother. Marching us straight into death."
His lips puckered, his brow twitching with mock gravity—a pitiful imitation of adult exasperation trapped in baby flesh.
"I swear to god, I'm biting my fingers the moment I grow teeth."
And so they entered Albareen — a city gleaming with promise, and shadowed by the weight of things to come.