The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~The Night Desert~

I thought I had seen it all when I beheld the Silverwood.

But it is nothing compared to the Night Desert.

An endless ocean of black sands. An expanse of rolling hills, dunes upon dunes of black, as far as the eye can see. Strangely enough, it is remarkably beautiful. Instead of glittering, golden sands. It's an iridescent black. As if the night sky was grated over this great plain, filling it with black star dust.

The young, noontide sun beams down on the grainy seas, shimmering shingles of black.

We continue our journey. Anthia and her brother in the lead, Duce Merian and Kelan behind them, followed by the Herems and I with the Avangard squadron tight at our flanks and rear. To get through the Night Desert, let alone to get passed it. It will take us days.

We voyage through in a suffocating silence. Each breath an effort.

Despite the uncanny appeal of our environment. The Night Desert is like satan's solarium. The heat is inconceivably unbearable. Everything bone-dry, desiccated from the heat just like my insides. My throat withering, every empty swallow scratches the back like grinding stones. My tongue is cloven to the roof of my mouth.

It's like there's a dry, leathery in-sole wagging away at the back of my throat. My throat itself has the slow-strangling sensation that a python is trying to squeeze the life from me. Even my eyes feel like they're gradually melting into the back of my head, making everything seem mirage-like.

A million sun-spears stab my skin.

Every sun-scoured scrap of fauna has barbs, hooks or thorns, all burnt to a blackened crisp to befit the dark theme. A screaming hawk flies overhead. Like us, it is being blasted and blazed by the sun. A nebula of wavy radiation surrounds us.

Hours lag by, each more gruelling than the last. Every black grain of sand scorched by the cantankerous heat, the temperature is arid and staggering. Making everything feel humid and stuffy, like I'm trapped in a minuscule box despite the infinite open space that rolls beyond continuously.

My chest heaves, bellowing for air. I cover my mouth to muffle my coughs, but that only seems to intensify them.

Nature's laws have been overthrown in the Night Desert. It's an orgy of wanton violence between its denizens, all of whom have been disfigured and crippled by their attempts to live here. Seared by the sun, singed by the brutal climate.

There is one main smell in the desert. It's as virulent as the heat itself, cloying and sticky. The only dominate one is the smell of sweat and my own burning flesh.

One hand on the reins. I slant my torso to the left to dig in my saddlebag, then I fish out my warm, hoary canteen. Desperately, I turn open the lid and tip my head back to drain the water in one gulp, leaving only half. I need to save it. I need to conserve as many ounces as I can for who knows how long we will be condemned to trudge through this inferno of fire and brimstone.

I slip the canteen back into the bag and I place my hand on my chest. The leather collar of my corsage tightens round my neck. I bark out a series of suppressed coughs that wrack my frame, both hoarse and drawn-out.

"Hera Aurora," Dario utters with every scrap of loathing he bears. "If you are going to proceed to sound like you're dying. Please do so silently."

My face encumbered with sweltering heat. "My apologies," I say over my shoulder, matched with equal disdain. "I did not mean for my suffering to bother you."

"The... only one who's a burden is Dario," Solaris's expresses painfully, like each word strains him. His eyes droopy, lips cracked, dead skin peeling. "I would say it was the heat that caused his wits to burn. But unfortunately, they were not there to begin with."