The pair bonded quickly with Vinelyn, discovering an easy overlap in interests.
Weapons became the first bridge. Blade was drawn, grips examined, balance tested with careful hands.
They compared craftsmanship, debated weight and reach, and spoke of durability as if it were a living thing.
Halise and Midia surprised them. Both were well-versed in arms, their observations precise, their questions informed.
After discussions about weapons, their curiosity soon turned toward Riche.
"An Angel Destiny?" Midia asked. "We've never even heard of that."
Halise nodded. "We know nothing about the Church with the Angel Destiny."
Mihel stepped in.
"It's like the other major churches," he said, settling back. "The Fountain of Everlasting Life. The Church of the Blade. The Holy Order was founded in the Fifth Period. But unlike the rest, it's sealed off. Heavily guarded. Even its believers never meet an Angel."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"The Destiny itself is barely studied. We don't even know what an Angel-destined Common Circle can do."
Silence followed. Genuine, attentive.
"But I guess, now since we have Riche here, we might uncover some secrets." Mihel said smiling.
When Mihel finished, Midia frowned slightly.
"Then how did Riche receive it?" she asked. "He isn't part of the Holy Order. Was it… a mistake?"
Mihel chuckled softly.
'If this is a mistake, wait until you hear my situation.'
He cleared his throat. "Mistake according to whom?" he said. "The gods? The same gods we assume exist?"
His gaze sharpened. "And how certain are we that they do?"
Vinelyn rose from his seat, his tone firm. "My family follows the True Magic. He was born during the Second Period. His existence is recorded in multiple religious texts. How can you deny a god verified by history?"
Mihel noted it instantly. 'Order of Wisdom. There must be a church near Burth.'
"Don't misunderstand me," Mihel replied calmly. "I follow the Lady of Life. I'm not denying belief. I'm questioning certainty. How do you know your 'True Magic' is truly a god?"
Vinelyn hesitated, then answered, "Because these beings shape Destiny. Not just a few lives. Everyone's."
Mihel leaned forward. "My grandfather was Bladesmith Destined. A smith of Fate itself. Yet we know of no God of Smiths. No records. No church. So who decided his Destiny?"
"Just because we don't know a god," Vinelyn countered, "doesn't mean one doesn't exist. Some may choose not to be worshipped."
Mihel laughed. Not mockingly. Honestly. "I doubt any being with the power of a god would accept obscurity."
Vinelyn exhaled sharply, then smiled in defeat. "Impossible," he said. "I give up for now. All I know is that the True Magic once walked among his followers."
His eyes burned with conviction. "And I'll follow him until the end."
Mihel sat back, expression unreadable.
Halise broke the tension with a soft smile. "You two were evenly matched. Let's call it a draw."
Vinelyn grinned at Mihel. "For now. We're continuing this later."
Mihel nodded.
Suddenly, the Engine lurched forward, then slammed to a halt.
Bodies jolted. Metal groaned.
A moment later, a voice crackled through the speaker.
"An unfortunate incident has occurred. The Engine has derailed. The journey will be delayed. Please remain in your compartments until assistance arrives. We apologize for the inconvenience."
Riche frowned. "Derailed?" He glanced around. "Where are we?"
Halise pulled the curtain aside. Her face stiffened. "This… isn't good. It's sand. Everywhere."
'Sand?' Mihel's thoughts sharpened.
'That means we've crossed the line beyond Wahum.'
"You think there's food on this thing?" Midia asked, worry slipping into her voice.
Mihel stepped toward the compartment door.
"Vinelyn, come with me. Let's ask at the front. Riche, stay here. Watch the surroundings. Any movement, anything strange."
Riche nodded immediately.
Mihel slid the door open.
Heat slammed into him like a living thing. Dry air scorched his lungs. Fine sand whipped into his eyes, carried by a relentless wind.
Outside, the Engine sat helpless, its massive wheels half-buried, metal sinking into the desert like a wounded beast.
Other students had already spilled out from the next compartments.
Mihel waved at them. "Is the front of the Engine that way?"
A boy answered, tall for his age, muscles pressing against his cloak. "Yeah. We tried knocking. No response. The door's solid metal." He lifted his hand, showing raw, bruised knuckles. "Tried punching it too."
Mihel exhaled and turned back.
When they re-entered, the others looked up expectantly. Vinelyn shook his head. "Front's sealed. Tight."
A collective sigh filled the compartment.
Mihel forced his focus elsewhere.
Five beds. Two stacked. One beneath the window. Weapon storage mounted above. Nothing out of place.
He crouched near the bed by the window and checked underneath. Empty.
As he stood, something caught his eye.
A faint ridge in the wooden floor.
Mihel tapped it lightly.
Hollow.
"There's something here," he said. "Riche. Vinelyn. Help me move the bed."
They dragged it aside, revealing thin cut lines etched into the floorboards.
"You were right," Midia murmured.
Mihel dug his fingers into the slit and pried it open.
The panel lifted.
Beneath it lay a hidden compartment, packed tightly with supplies wrapped in silver foil. A single note rested on top.
'Only for emergencies.'
Mihel allowed himself a thin smile.
"Good," he said, pulling the first packet free. "Because I think this qualifies."
Midia scanned the packets, counting quickly.
"There's enough here to fully feed five people for one day," she said at last. "If we ration… maybe more. But there's no telling how long we'll be stranded." She grimaced. "And this desert is unbearable."
Riche folded his arms. "If we eat only what's necessary?"
Midia thought, lips moving silently as she calculated. "One meals a day… we could stretch it to around two and a half weeks."
Mihel frowned.
'That's assuming nothing goes wrong.'
He was already turning the problem over in his mind, searching for contingencies, when a low rumble rolled through the air.
Halise leaned toward the window. "I see something." Her eyes brightened. "Looks like help. Black bikes, coming this way."
A wave of relief swept through the compartment.
"See?" Halise said. "We worried for nothing."
Mihel didn't relax.
He glanced outside.
The vehicles were wrong. Built for speed, not repair. And the men riding them wore full black, from cloak to boots.
Weapons gleamed at their sides.
"Weird…" Mihel muttered.
Then, louder, sharper, "Riche. Get your weapons. Those aren't Engine workers."
The bikes drew closer, engines growling like restrained beasts.
Mihel and Riche leapt outside from the compartment, blades already in hand.
Inside, Halise snapped her bow open and took position by the window, arrow nocked.
Midia flipped frantically through a thick book she'd been reading, its pages filled with sketches and regional notes.
Vinelyn, meanwhile, spread paper across the bed, striking a match. "Magicians specialize in illusion and deception," he said calmly. "I'll prepare something."
Midia froze mid-page.
Her face drained of colour.
"These men…" she shouted, standing abruptly. "They're most likely the Rajhu tribe.
Desert raiders. They attack anything that enters their territory." Her voice tightened. "The black attire matches the records exactly."
Understanding passed through the group in a single, heavy breath.
Then—
A spear screamed through the air.
Halise barely dodged as it shattered the window frame.
Another spear punched through the wall, slamming into the floor with a violent thud, its shaft still trembling.
Silence followed.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then the desert answered.
The fight had begun.