The travelers moved forward with their journey, now eastward toward Blukar. The forest unfolded before them in a symphony of sound. Creeks whispered and gurgled, their voices soothing against the steady crunch of boots on soil. Slowly, signs of life emerged—footprints pressed into damp earth, cottages tucked between trees, smoke curling faintly from chimneys. Familiarity softened their path, easing the weight of vigilance.

  By midday, the city of Blukar rose before them, its gates wide and many of its natives gathered to welcome them. The mayor herself awaited their arrival, a woman of striking presence. Her hair, black as polished obsidian, shimmered against the turquoise suit she wore, its seams glittering with gems that caught the light. Her eyes, deep blue—kind yet steady—held the travelers with a quiet strength.

  The mayor stepped forward. “Welcome, fellow humans. It is good to have you here, and I am truly sorry for your loss.” Her gaze lingered on them with a gravity that softened her words. “I have already heard of your mission, and I believe it to be quite honorable. But we… we have our own predicament.”

  Her voice tightened, urgency threading through each syllable. “Children have vanished from Blukar—though not in the same way as elsewhere." Rumors drift through the city like uneasy ghosts, whispering of the forest beyond, dense and wild, where strange plants thrive in the shadows. One in particular—the burning twig—is feared above all. Sweet as sugar, chocolate, and caramel, its scent lures the unwary. It burns without end, untouched by water, and those who breathe its smoke are said to fall under possession.

  It is believed the children wandered too close, their innocence stolen by the fumes. Now, strict rules keep them confined to their homes. Yet every so often, one slips past watchful eyes—and a trembling friend returns alone, voice quivering with the tale.

  Khater stepped forward, shook the mayor’s hand, and thanked her for sharing the painful truth of what had happened in her city.

  The mayor inclined her head. “Come. Let me take you to your chambers so you may rest. And this evening, we have arranged entertainment. Why not ease the pain with good wine and music?”

  The travelers exchanged wide, grateful smiles. It had been rough, and though their hearts ached to find their children, rest was desperately needed. A little joy, they hoped, might give them the strength to continue.

  That evening, the city shimmered with celebration. Dancers adorned in glittering jewels and radiant fabrics swayed to the pulse of drums, their movements fluid and mesmerizing. Some twirled beside dragons trained to breathe fire, the creatures’ flames carving bright arcs across the night sky.

  Weary from their long journey, the travelers surrendered to the enchantment. For a fleeting moment, their mission dissolved into laughter, music, and wonder—the weight of danger forgotten in the warm glow of Blukar’s revelry.

  The spell broke with a scream that sliced through the hall like a blade. A man stumbled forward, breathless, eyes wild with panic. He collapsed before the mayor and Khater, clutching his chest as he forced out the words:

  “One of the dragons—fire—it scorched one of our men! He provoked it… poking at the beast with his fork…”

  The mayor and Khater hurried to the scene. There, in the flicker of torchlight, a man writhed on the ground, half his face blistered and charred. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt flesh.

  “Send him to the wizard,” the mayor ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Let this be a lesson—dragons are not toys to be trifled with.”

  Then she turned to Khater, her tone softening. “These dragons were gifts, purchased from Merster, our neighboring frelam. The natives of Caber use them to guard their children. But here in Blukar… their purpose has faltered.”

  Khater’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know where the children might be.”

  “We have searched every corner of Blukar,” the mayor replied gravely. “They are not here. But whispers speak of Santia—a hidden city built by humans, where the elite dwell. We suspect the children are there. Yet entry requires a special pass.”

  Khater leaned forward. “And how might I obtain one?”

  The mayor’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “I have one. My ex-husband left it to me. He was… a prick, but the pass remains.”

  Khater bowed his head. “Then I will use it. I swear to you, I will find your children.”

  The mayor nodded, gesturing them back toward the hall, where music and firelight still danced.

  The night slipped by in a blur. For the first time in days, the travelers rested in real beds rather than tents, their weary bodies melting into softness. Ram cared for Jalem, easing him into sleep before turning to retrieve the box that held the dragon flower. But when her hands searched for it, a cold shock seized her—it had vanished. Panic rose sharp and fast. She asked Jalem whether he had moved it, but his confusion only deepened her own. With trembling fingers, she raised the mirror, her voice unsteady.

  “Wizard!”

  The glass shimmered, and the wizard’s face appeared. “Hello, Ram. How fare things?”

  “They are not good,” she whispered.

  “Tell me.”

  “The box… it has vanished.”

  The wizard’s brow furrowed. “I will consult my floating book. It holds the knowledge of lost potions.”

  In Sativ’s chamber, the comforts of Blukar meant nothing to her. All her thoughts circled the box. As the night grew heavier, she drew it out, pulled the cork from the flask, and let three drops of nectar sear across her tongue. The rush came bright and brief—gone far too soon. Hungry for more, she repeated the act again and again, pursuing the fading bliss until her body quivered under its weight.

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  In Ram’s room, the mirror shimmered. The wizard’s face returned, solemn and shadowed. “I know who has it. Sativ.”

  Ram’s heart sank. “I shall go at once.”

  She stormed into Sativ’s room, dread gnawing at her. But Sativ was gone. Her bag lay open, clothes strewn across the floor. The box sat on the bed, its lid ajar, the flask half-empty. Ram’s worry deepened. She summoned Khater, who quickly rallied a search party. Soldiers joined, scouring Blukar through the night. Yet no trace of Sativ was found.

  Helplessness settled over the town like a shroud.

  At dawn, Khater gathered the travelers. His voice was heavy, his heart burdened by memory. “We can do no more. Sativ has vanished, as Slera did before her. We must move forward. Our path leads to Santia, through the town of Ramil.”

  The mayor offered final counsel: avoid green water—it is poison. Do not travel at night, when ghostly creatures prowl. Seek the luminescent bugs for light, should fire fail you. The travelers thanked her, their gratitude tempered by sorrow.

  As they prepared to depart, Ram joined them. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, her body trembling. Khater approached gently. “Are you grieving Sativ’s disappearance?”

  Ram lifted her gaze, and the weight of her sorrow pressed upon them all. “I found her,” she whispered, before breaking into sobs.

  Confusion rippled through the group. Khater steadied her. “You found who? Sativ?”

  Ram’s voice cracked. “She was beside my bed… pale, not breathing. She must have taken too much of the dragon?flower essence and overdosed. I keep wondering why she came to my room—maybe she sensed something was wrong and needed my help. It’s all too much. The sadness is flooding my heart.”

  The travelers followed her to the chamber. There lay Sativ’s lifeless body, her face serene yet hollowed of all light. Khater and two other strong men lifted her gently and carried her outside. Together, they buried her swiftly, a memorial carved in grief and silence.

  They vowed to honor her memory as they pressed onward.

  Khater turned to Ram, his voice low. “And Jalem? Without the potion, how will he endure?”

  Ram steadied herself, though her eyes glistened. “There is enough left for him. But this time, it will be guarded. Locked away. No one will touch it again.”

  The vow hung heavy in the air, a promise forged in sorrow, as the travelers prepared to face the road ahead.

  The plan was to reach Santia, but the path led them first through Ramil. Their journey had barely begun when they spotted a sign—primitive, carved with symbols none of them recognized. Soliman stepped forward, studying it carefully.

  “This translates to Ramil,” he said.

  The Ram, who had been lagging behind, caught up and nodded. “That’s Ramil. It’s where Caber’s original natives—the Palas—have lived since humans invaded Caber.”

  Khater frowned. “But why haven’t we heard of them before.”

  Ram’s expression darkened. “Because no one wants to speak of the horrific things humans did to them.”

  Khater’s voice lowered. “What happened.”

  Ram hesitated, her expression tightening. “Are you sure you want to know.”

  Khater nodded, a mix of acceptance and unease flickering across his face.

  Ram exhaled slowly before continuing. “Well… if you insist. Humans arrived here in desperation. Their home—” she paused, meeting Khater’s eyes, “—Earth failed them. It became uninhabitable. They were terrified of Caber and its natives, so they resorted to savagery, believing violence was the only way to protect themselves and survive.”

  Khater frowned. “But Ramil’s natives weren’t responsible for what happened to the humans. They didn’t deserve whatever came next. What happened.”

  Ram’s voice grew heavier. “Humans were hungry, angry, and desperate for food and shelter. When they reached Caber, they came armed and ready for war. But the Palas—the natives—were simply living their peaceful daily lives. They never expected an invasion. They never expected slaughter.”

  She swallowed hard before continuing. “Humans forced themselves upon them, killed their children, seized their homes. The Palas tried to resist, but their simple weapons were no match for the humans’ advanced ones. They suffered unimaginable misery, lost everything, and fled here to Ramil, where they’ve remained ever since.”

  Ram’s gaze drifted toward the distant trees. “Decades have passed. The new generation has learned to coexist with humans… but the resentment remains. Some wounds don’t fade.”

  Khater pondered aloud, “Should we travel there? Our children may be there.”

  Ram’s expression tightened. “I must warn you. Your presence may be seen as another invasion, and they could react with hostility.”

  Khater considered this, then reached into his bag. “We can go with a peace offering.” He pulled out the crown he had obtained from Summ, its metal catching the light. “I will offer this as a gift to their queen.”

  Ram’s eyes widened, impressed by his diplomacy. She grinned and nodded. “That may help. And considering their long history with the ghostly creatures on Caber, they likely know far more about them than we do. Seeking their counsel would be wise.”

  As the travelers neared the town, they noticed a heavy cloud gathering above them. Moments later, black rain began to fall in slow, oily drops. This region had no Frelams overhead to shield it, leaving it vulnerable to such storms.

  Soliman stepped beside Khater, his expression tight. “I don’t feel good about this. My senses tell me trouble is ahead… yet they also tell me we’re heading in the right direction.”

  Khater nodded. “So we keep moving, but stay prepared.”

  “Extremely prepared,” Soliman emphasized.

  Khater halted and scanned the group. “Everyone—ready your weapons. But do not use them unless you must defend yourselves.”

  Worry flickered across their faces, but each traveler nodded. Weapons lifted, breaths held, they advanced toward Ramil with slow, deliberate steps.