The world beyond Solthera was a vast, unforgiving graveyard of a time before man. Following the jagged spine of the mountains, Azeal and Vaelora rode through landscapes that felt like they belonged to a different dimension. The further they travelled, the more the air smelled of damp earth and old magic.
By the third month, the lush greens of their home were a distant memory. They were now crossing the WhisperingBarrens—a scorched wasteland where the sun was a relentless eye in the sky. Their Luminars, once glowing with celestial light, were now covered in dust and sweat, their breath heavy in the stagnant heat.
One afternoon, the ground beneath them began to vibrate with a low, rhythmic thrum. It wasn't an earthquake; it was the footfalls of a giant. From behind a colossal rock formation, a Behemoth (Ancient Dinosaur) emerged. Its skin was like cracked armor, and its eyes were small and predatory. It didn't roar; it hissed, a sound that chilled their blood despite the heat.
Azeal immediately steered his Luminar in front of Vaelora, his hand reaching for the silver-hilted blade on his back. "Don't move," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "Its vision is based on heat. Stay still."
Vaelora held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She watched the muscles in Azeal's back tense. Even in this moment of pure terror, she noticed how he instinctively put himself between her and death.
The creature lingered, its massive nostrils flared, catching the scent of the royal Drazhin. For a second, it looked as if it would strike, but then, with a heavy grunt, it turned away, disappearing into the heat haze.
As the danger passed, Azeal didn't immediately move. He turned back to Vaelora, his face drenched in sweat, his eyes searching hers for any sign of injury.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Vaelora nodded, but as she tried to adjust her seat, her hand slipped from the reins. She was exhausted, her body trembling from the lack of food and the constant fear. Before she could fall, Azeal was off his mount and by her side. He caught her by the waist, his strong arms holding her steady.
"We need to find water," he said, his tone no longer that of a Prince, but of a man who would move mountains to keep her alive. He helped her down, and for a moment, they stood close—closer than they had ever been in the palace. The scent of dust and sweat was between them, but so was an undeniable bond.
"I'm sorry," Vaelora whispered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "I should be stronger."
Azeal pulled her closer, his chin resting on the top of her head. "No one is strong enough for this road, Vaelora. But we are still here. Together."