Cold was a new enemy, one as merciless as a midday desert sun. Our sodden clothes clung to our skin like a layer of ice, and every gust of wind was the bite of a thousand needles. Kael's command to "keep moving" was easier said than done. My muscles screamed in protest, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.
We left the roar of the river behind, climbing a steep, muddy slope into a world that was alien and hostile. Slick roots and sharp stones lay in wait with every step. The air smelled of damp earth and decay, a scent so opposite the dry, clean fragrance of the sands at home.
I glanced at Kael. By the riverbank he had looked older; now, under the strain of the climb, he looked fragile. His steps grew heavier, his breath shorter, and the light from his lantern trembled violently in his hand.
Seeing him stumble on a particularly treacherous patch of mud, a new instinct took over. It was no longer panic, but purpose. I thought back to the whisper in the riverbed—that faint, gritty song of the sand. I reached out, not with my hands, but with my mind. I focused on the mud beneath Kael's boots, compacting it, pulling the water from it bit by bit until it became firmer ground.
He regained his balance, glancing down for a moment in confusion before pressing on, perhaps writing it off as a moment of luck. I did it again, and then again. Creating small, solid footholds in the slick mess. It was exhausting; each patch I firmed up felt like it drained a small piece of my essence, but it kept us moving. For the first time since leaving my world, I wasn't just a liability. I was an anchor.
Dawn arrived not as a glorious explosion, but as a slow, miserable reveal. It was not the golden dawn of my desert, promising heat and life. This was a sickly grey light that filtered through the wet canopy, revealing a world of dull greens and browns. The light only served to show how exhausted and filthy we truly were.
The mountains, once a distant silhouette, now loomed over us, an indifferent wall of grey granite. They looked impassable.
"We... we have to stop," Kael gasped, leaning against a tree, his body wracked with shivers. "Even if the hounds can't follow... the Magi can sense magic from a great distance. The more I exert myself, the brighter we shine to them."
His eyes found mine, and there was a new recognition in them. "How... how did you do that? In the mud?"
"The same as in the river," I answered, my voice hoarse from cold and fatigue. "There's sand in the soil. Grit. I can... feel it. Ask it to be still."
Kael nodded slowly, a faint smile touching his blue-tinged lips. "A Sand Girl in the mud lands... Who would have thought." He scanned our surroundings, his experienced eyes searching for shelter. "There."
He pointed to a shallow alcove at the base of a rock cliff, partially hidden by overgrown bushes. It wasn't much, but it was dry and out of the wind. We stumbled into it and collapsed onto the rocky ground. The relative silence, broken only by the dripping of water from the leaves above, was deafening after the roar of the river and the frantic pounding of our own hearts.
"The Library... why is it so important?" I asked, hugging my knees for warmth. "What's in there?"
Kael closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering. "Knowledge, Iris. Knowledge is power. The Sunken Library doesn't hold gold or magical artifacts. It holds truths: the history of the world before the Magi rewrote it, the ways of magic they have tried to erase, knowledge of their weaknesses." He opened his eyes, and the intensity in them burned away some of his weariness. "And maybe... just maybe, a record of your Sandsong. Maybe a way home for you."
Hope, a dangerous emotion I had nearly forgotten, fluttered inside me. A way home.
We rested in a tense silence as the world outside slowly brightened. I tried to feel for the song of the earth around me again. It was there—faint, muffled under the weight of water and plant life, but it was there. It was a thin thread connecting me to my home.
After what felt like an eternity, Kael stirred. He didn't stand, but he seemed a little stronger.
"We can't stay long," he said quietly. "Reaching these mountains was the easy part."
I stared at him. "The easy part?"
He turned his gaze to the massive granite wall that rose above us, as if he could see right through it. "The Sunken Library doesn't lie abandoned. It doesn't welcome visitors," he said, his voice heavy. "The Magi aren't the only things we have to fear. The Library has guardians of its own."