He had to admit, there was a reason Novat had become the disciple of Faraday. He wasn't without a certain… insight.
"Besides," he continued, mostly to himself, "out here, you feel the razor's edge between resilience and fragility. It's… clarifying. Haven't you noticed? The power inside you feels purer, more refined."
Novat knew that a sliver of the Desert's Authority still permeated this entire wasteland. He didn't understand the deep mechanics of how such universal laws worked, but if an esteemed patron like his mentor was willing to hole up in this sandbox, then there was obviously something special about the sea of sand.
Goddamn it, I wonder if it's just a hallucination. Every time the wind blew sand across his face, it felt like a delicate caress. Like a beautiful woman whispering right next to his ear. What is this place, really? So silent, yet so full of noise.
