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3
RURDRAX
As my Hiika carried us swiftly through the desert, away from the terrifying monsters, my mind began to wander.
To anyone else, these monstrous apparitions might be the embodiment of fear itself, but for me, they were a distant second to a terror far more personal and relentless.
The throne.
My father’s throne.
The seat of power that had been held by generations of our family, a legacy that was now mine to continue.
The very thought of it was enough to make the monstrous shadows in the fog seem like harmless apparitions.
I was a prince, yes, but what good was a prince who had no interest in the affairs of the court, who spent more time in the company of art dealers than in the council chamber?
The desert air was dry and stale, carrying the scent of dust and a smell that somehow comforted me.
It was a far cry from the heavy perfumes and polishedmarble of the court, a place where every word was a weapon, and every action had consequences.
My father’s voice echoed in my head, a stern reminder of the legacy I was expected to uphold.
He didn’t see the value in my art collection, no matter how profitable it was.
To him, it was a sign of my frivolity, an indication that I was not ready to take on the responsibility of the throne.
My fingers clenched around the Hiika’s reins, the rough fibers digging into my skin, an unpleasant sensation that mirrored my growing frustration.
Art was my passion, my sanctuary in a world of political machinations and power plays.
But it was not enough.
It was never enough.
The Hiika beneath me responded to my unspoken tension, its muscles twitching uneasily.
Its scent filled my nostrils, a musky aroma that held a strange mix of danger and familiarity.
In many ways, this journey was a rite of passage, a chance to prove to my father that I was capable of more than he believed.
This venture into the desert, braving the unknown dangers of Enchor’s Heart, was my chance to showcase my worth outside the art galleries.
The anxiety was heavy, a stark reminder of the task at hand.
I could feel the weight of my father’s expectations, the harsh reality of my status bearing down on me like the monstrous shadows in the fog.
But I was not going to be daunted.
Not by my father’s ambitions, not by the landscape, and certainly not by the monstrous shadows in the fog.
I had chosen to embark on this journey, and I would see it through.
I could hear the whispers of the wind as it whipped through the desert, its soft hiss seeming to urge me on.
It was as if the alien world was watching, waiting to see how I would fare against its trials.
As the monstrous apparitions of the fog receded behind us, a sense of determination washed over me.
