Blood on the white sand

The night was cold and endless, the kind of cold that wasn’t just air against skin but a presence that crept into bone and stayed there. The White Desert sprawled around them in every direction, a sea of pale dunes that shifted like a living thing under the silver light of the moon. The stars burned faintly overhead, distant and uncaring. A small fire cracked and spat in the sand, the only island of warmth in an ocean of cold silence.

Cidolfus sat on the far side of the flames, black cloak wrapped around him, though the fabric did little to stop the chill. His arm still ached from the earlier fight. Clain lay across his knees, the blade’s black steel catching faint flickers from the firelight, still stained with the drying blood of men he’d cut down hours before. He didn’t clean it. Not yet. It felt wrong to wash away the last proof of what had happened back in Moonlight.

Across from him, Emily huddled beneath a too-thin travel cloak. Her small frame seemed even smaller now, her shoulders hunched, her knees pulled up to her chest. She had stopped crying hours ago, but her eyes were red, her cheeks raw from the tears. The silence between them had stretched too long—long enough for the crackle of the fire to feel louder than it should.

“Can we even survive without Mom and Dad?” she finally whispered. Her voice was so soft it almost vanished into the desert wind.

Cidolfus didn’t answer right away. He stared into the flames, his mind caught between now and the screaming echoes of earlier that night. The smell of burning wood was too close to the smell of burning thatch, the smell that had clung to Moonlight as it fell. His jaw tightened.

“We will,” he said at last, the words firm but quiet. “That’s what they would’ve wanted.”

Emily’s gaze flicked toward the dunes, toward the endless darkness. “This is the most dangerous place in the Middle Lands. Everyone says so. There are monsters here, Cid. Real ones. Things that—”

“I don’t care if it’s soldiers, monsters, or the gods themselves,” he cut in. His voice was sharper now, but it wasn’t anger—it was something closer to a promise carved into stone. “No one’s touching you. You hear me, Emy? You’re all I’ve got left. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Her breath caught, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “Promise me you’ll protect yourself too. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lose you, Cid. I can’t lose you too.”

He looked at her then, really looked—at the way her hair had fallen out of its braid, at the faint tremor in her lips, at the stubborn spark still buried in her gaze despite everything. “I promise, Emy,” he said, softer this time. “I’ll protect you, and I’ll survive. I swear it.”

She shifted closer until her head rested against his side, her face turned toward the fire. Within minutes her breathing evened out, light but steady. Sleep came for her quickly—too quickly for someone who had seen what she’d seen tonight.

But Cidolfus didn’t sleep. His eyes stayed on the dark horizon, watching for movement, his fingers resting on Clain’s hilt. The desert was too quiet. He thought about his father’s voice, about the rules Charlie had drilled into him, about the weight of the sword now his alone.

“We have to go east,” he murmured, almost too low to hear. “It’s our only chance.”

That was when he heard it.

A sound, faint but wrong. Not the hiss of wind or the shifting sigh of sand. This came from below, deep and heavy, like something vast was moving under their feet. His mother’s old warnings surfaced in his mind—stories about the things that tunneled beneath the White Desert, predators older than kingdoms.

“Emy,” he said, calm but urgent. “Wake up.”

She stirred, rubbing her eyes. “What…?”

“We have to go. Now.”

She sat up groggily, confused—then the ground beneath Cid cracked open.

A monstrous head exploded from the sand, scattering fire and embers. Four black eyes gleamed in the moonlight above a maw lined with teeth jagged as broken stone. Two horns curved back over its skull, ridged like the spine of a mountain. The Mersomufs.

Emily’s scream tore through the night.

“Run!” Cid yelled, shoving her away from the collapsing sand. “Don’t stop until I call for you!”

“But—what about you?!”

“I’ll fight it!”

She didn’t want to go, but instinct took her. She ran.

The Mersomufs surged forward, the ground quaking under its bulk. Cidolfus moved with it, circling wide, eyes scanning for a weakness. His father’s voice whispered in his mind—the legs, the underbelly, the throat.

It struck faster than he expected. A swipe of its clawed limb flung him aside like a doll. He hit the ground hard; pain exploded in his arm, a crack echoing in his head. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright.

“I can’t die here,” he rasped, gripping Clain tighter. “I promised her.”

The monster lunged again. This time he sidestepped, ducked under its swing, and drove Clain deep into its front leg. The beast bellowed, stumbling.

“Fast enough now, are you?!”

Another slash—second leg. Blood, thick and dark, hissed as it hit the sand. The Mersomufs collapsed forward, screeching. Cid didn’t wait. He ran straight up its lowered neck, every step burning his muscles, and with a roar of his own, he brought Clain down in a two-handed arc. The blade bit deep.

The creature shuddered. Then stilled.

Emily appeared moments later, skidding to a stop at the sight of the corpse. “Cid!” She dropped to her knees beside him. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“You’re not. Sit down.” She pulled at his arm despite his protests. “Mom taught me enough—hold still.”

Her small hands worked quickly, wrapping strips of cloth around the worst of it. The fire had burned out, so she dragged him back to the meager shelter of their packs.

By morning, the air smelled faintly of cooked meat. Emily sat by the rekindled fire, grimacing at the spit. “It smells horrible. But it’s food.”

He sat beside her, more steady now. “Thanks, Emy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“You’d probably be dead,” she said flatly.

He smiled. They ate. His body healed faster than it should have—something that always left him uneasy. Before they left, he cut a shard from the Mersomufs’ horn and tied it to his belt.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” he said.

One and a half years later.

The White Desert had not grown kinder. If anything, it had learned their scent.

Wind hissed over the dunes, dragging grains of pale sand into whispering streams that bit against skin and stung the eyes. Beneath that constant sigh came another sound—low, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something buried deep.

A Mersomufs was on the hunt.

But this time, it wasn’t hunting them.

A group of five clung to a small outcropping of stone half-swallowed by sand. Two were mages, their cloaks flapping wildly, hands weaving wide, clumsy circles of power. The other three were swordsmen, armored but wind-burned, shouting over the roar of the beast that circled them.

“Hit the legs!” one swordsman bellowed, charging forward.

“You hit the legs!” one of the mages snapped, loosing a blast of flame that went too wide, scorching sand instead of hide.

The Mersomufs lunged. The group scattered in disarray. One mage stumbled, ankle catching in a rock crevice. The shadow of the beast fell over him.

And then it stopped.

No—something had stopped it.

A figure now stood between the mage and death. Tall for his age, lean muscle moving easily beneath a black shirt and long coat. His hair was windswept, his hood down, his face unreadable. In one hand, a black steel blade.

One clean strike.

The leg came off.

The Mersomufs screamed, twisting, but the boy had already moved. In the next blink, the head separated from the body, and the desert went still.

The group stared, breathless, as blood steamed into the sand.

“Who the hell—?” one swordsman began.

“You humans?” the boy asked, his voice calm, almost bored.

“Yes,” the mage said, still trembling. “Who… who are you?”

“Cidolfus Lynvern. That’s Emily.”

The girl beside him—taller now but still far younger than him—stepped forward, brushing sand from her black skirt. Her eyes scanned the group with quiet judgment.

One mage frowned. “Your spells—”

“I don’t use spells,” Cid said.

“Then your swings. They’re too wide.”

“That’s why yours barely scratched it,” Emily cut in, her tone blunt. “You need focus. Precision. If you don’t cut deep, you’re just making it angry.”

“We’re from the Academy,” the mage growled. “Who do you think you are?”

Cid shrugged. “Just a cursed boy.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

The mages exchanged looks, their surprise poorly hidden.

“We need a village,” Cid said. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere close.”

Before anyone could answer, a shadow crossed the sand. A sound followed—deep, guttural, and too familiar.

Emily’s voice went sharp. “It’s him again.”

A black wyvern, wings pitted with old scars, tail nothing but a jagged stump. The same one from the old hunt. The one that had lived.

Cid’s eyes narrowed. “You again. This time, no mercy.”

The group’s leader cursed. “We can’t fight that! Run!”

But Emily stood her ground beside her brother. “Not without him.”

The wyvern dove. Cid met it head-on. The clash was violent—talons against steel, the shock of impact throwing sand into the air. The force of the blow sent him skidding back, boots furrowing deep lines into the dune.

It came again, faster. This time, it caught him, claws closing around his torso, lifting him high into the air.

“Cid!” Emily screamed.

The wyvern hurled him downward.

Mid-fall, instinct and training took over. He twisted in the air, boots striking the wind as if it were solid, launching himself upward in a burst of speed that should have been impossible. Clain met horn—one shattered in a spray of black shards.

The beast roared, fire spilling from its throat.

Cid dove low beneath the plume, rolling to his feet. Another strike—second horn gone.

It spun toward the others, wings spreading.

Emily shouted. “No!”

Cid moved—too fast for the eye to follow. He placed himself between his sister and the beast’s gaping maw. Took the blow against his side, letting the pain ground him.

Then he rose, slow and deliberate, eyes cold.

One step forward.

One slash.

The head fell.

The body crashed into the sand, a tremor running through the ground.

Cid swayed on his feet, blood running freely from a cut across his ribs. He dropped to one knee, vision darkening.

“We need a village, now!” Emily shouted, panic in her voice.

“We’re twenty minutes away!” one mage called. “No hospital, though!”

“We don’t need one,” Cid muttered through clenched teeth. “Just Bill. Tell him… Charlie and Ellie’s kids…”

Then the world went black.

He woke to the smell of woodsmoke and the faint tang of alcohol.

The ceiling above him was low, planked in dark timber. The light that filtered through the single, warped window was a muted gold — afternoon light.

He tried to sit up. Pain flared along his ribs, sharp enough to draw a hiss from between his teeth.

The door creaked. A man stepped in, broad in the shoulders, his beard threaded with silver. His eyes were assessing, sharp as a whetted blade.

“You’re awake,” the man said, voice rough from years of shouting over tavern noise. “You’re in Bill’s Tavern. And you’re lucky you’re not dead.”

Cid blinked the fog from his mind. “…Who are you?”

“Bill. I own the place. And you’re going to tell me how the hell you know Charlie and Ellie.”

Cid’s hand tensed on the blanket. “I’m their son. Cidolfus Lynvern. The girl you probably saw with me—Emily—is my sister. We’re from Moonlight.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering there. “What’s Ellie’s birthday?”

“Twenty-third of the third month,” Cid said without hesitation.

Bill didn’t move for a moment. Then he let out a slow breath and nodded once. “Then you are her son. She was my sister.”

The words landed heavy. Sister. Mother. Family that had been ripped from him in a single night.

“You’ve been out two days,” Bill went on. “And you’re healing too fast for someone with no magic.”

“That’s because I don’t have any,” Cid said flatly. “I’m the cursed one.”

Bill studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What do you want from me, kid?”

“I need help,” Cid said. “Someone to take care of Emily. She’s still a child, and this… this isn’t a life for her. I’ll take whatever room you can give me, but she needs something better.”

Bill scratched at his beard. “I know someone — Briks. Alfrey. Travels often. He can take her in, keep her fed, clothed, safe. You, though… you’ll work. You’ll earn your keep. You’re a hunter now, whether you like it or not.”

The door opened again. A girl stepped inside — dark hair, eyes as quick and appraising as her father’s. She carried herself like she owned every inch of the room she walked into.

“So you’re my cousin,” she said. “I’m Jesika. Bill’s daughter.”

Cid inclined his head. “Cidolfus.”

Later that day, the man named Briks arrived. Tall, sharp-featured, with the casual confidence of someone who’d survived more than one knife fight.

“You’re the kid?” he said. “Fine. I’ll take the girl. Not you.”

“Good,” Cid said. “That’s all I ask.”

“Then rest today. I leave with her tomorrow.”

Emily burst through the door not long after, relief flooding her face. She threw her arms around him before he could stand. “You’re okay…”

He returned the hug, keeping his voice steady. “We’re safe now. Let’s celebrate.”

They spent the evening in the tavern. Emily eventually fell asleep at the bar, her head pillowed on her folded arms.

Jesika came to stand beside him. “You’re not going to be here when she leaves, are you?”

“I can’t,” Cid said quietly. “She’ll cry. And I’ll break. I have to go now, before morning.”

He slipped away to the roof, the desert wind cold against his face. From up here, the tavern’s lantern light spilled in soft, flickering pools onto the sand. He sat, Clain across his knees, watching the stars wheel slowly overhead.

Morning.

Briks came down the stairs, gear strapped tight. “Where’s the kid?” he asked.

Bill’s expression was grim. “He’s gone. Left you a message.” He handed Emily a folded scrap of paper.

She read it once, twice, then the words blurred and she threw it aside. “No! He promised! He said we’d be together!” She tried to run for the door, but Bill caught her.

“He left you… to protect you,” Bill said, his voice low but firm.

“I don’t care! I didn’t want protection — I wanted him!”

Jesika came over, laying a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “He watched over you all night. He never left your side until he was sure you’d be safe.”

“I just wanted one more hug… one more day…” Emily’s voice cracked.

Briks knelt beside her, his tone gentler than before. “He gave everything for you. Even himself. That’s real love, Emily. It hurts like hell because it’s real.”

“Then why does it hurt like this?”

“Because love,” Briks said, “always costs something.”

Above, from the roof’s edge, Cid watched as the caravan disappeared into the pale light of morning. Emily’s small figure stood in the back of the wagon, head turned toward the tavern until the last possible moment.

“I’m sorry, Emy,” he whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind. A tear slid down his cheek, catching the first glint of sunrise.

“One day… I’ll be strong enough. I’ll come back. And I’ll never let you go again.”

His hand tightened around Clain’s hilt.

“But today… I break my own heart so yours can heal.”