The sun was no longer a celestial body. It was a personal enemy. It was a sadistic, golden eye staring down at us, daring us to stop moving so it could cook us into jerky.

  We had been walking for hours since the Kraken fight. The adrenaline had faded long ago, drained away by the relentless, crushing heat. In its place was a thirst so profound it felt like I had swallowed a bag of sand.

  My tongue felt like a strip of dried leather in my mouth. My lips were cracked, tasting of iron and salt. Every breath was a struggle against the superheated air that shimmered off the white flats, scorching my throat with every inhale.

  One. Two. Don’t die. One. Two. Don’t die.

  I counted my steps. It was the only thing keeping me upright. If I stopped counting, the rhythm would break. If the rhythm broke, I would stop. And if I stopped, the salt would claim me.

  “It’s too loud,” Faelar mumbled from behind me.

  I glanced back, turning my head slowly to avoid the dizziness. The dwarf was in a bad way. He had stopped sweating an hour ago—a dangerous sign. His face was flushed a deep, unhealthy purple beneath his beard. He was currently unbuckling his left pauldron, his fingers fumbling with the leather straps.

  “Faelar, keep your armor on,” I rasped, my voice sounding like two stones grinding together.

  “It’s screaming, Commander,” Faelar whispered, his eyes wide and unfocused. “The metal... it’s screaming at the sun. I have to hush it. It’s waking the babies.”

  He dropped the heavy steel plate onto the salt. Clang.

  “There,” he sighed, patting the air. “Shh. Go to sleep, little shoulder.”

  “He is experiencing acute thermal delirium,” Elmsworth croaked. The wizard was walking in a zigzag pattern, his wand held out like a dowsing rod, though the tip was drooping. “The thermal variance is affecting his cognitive faculties. Also, the horizon is bending. Why is the horizon bending? The math doesn't support a curve of this magnitude. Unless... unless we are on a sphere made of soup.”

  “Just keep walking,” I ordered, though the command lacked any real authority. I sounded like a ghost giving orders to corpses.

  To my left, Liam was no longer gliding. The elf’s effortless grace, usually so annoying, had evaporated. He was stumbling, catching himself, then stumbling again. He kept checking his reflection in the flat of his dagger, but he wasn't looking at his face. He was looking past his reflection.

  “Table for four,” Liam muttered to the dagger, adjusting a collar that wasn't there. “Yes. The patio. And bring the wine list. Something red. Something... liquid.”

  We were falling apart. The Salt Flats were stripping our minds layer by layer, leaving only the raw, desperate animal need for water.

  The Ward Stone in my bag buzzed again. A frantic, angry vibration against my spine.

  BZZZZZT. BZZZZZT.

  I ignored it. It wasn't real. It was just a fly trapped in my ear. A giant, mechanical fly that wanted to lecture me about hydration.

  Buzz off, I thought. I’m busy counting.

  One. Two. Don’t die.

  The madness didn't hit us all at once. It crept in slowly, twisting the heat haze into things that weren't there. The white landscape became a canvas for our desperate desires.

  “By the Anvil...” Faelar gasped, stopping dead in his tracks.

  I stopped and turned, swaying slightly. “Faelar? Move.”

  The dwarf wasn't looking at me. He was staring at a jagged, crystalline formation of salt rising from the ground—a deadly looking spire of razor-sharp minerals. But he didn't see salt. His eyes were filled with teary wonder.

  “It’s... it’s the Amber Sea,” Faelar whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Look at it, lads. A golden ocean of lager. The foam... it’s distinct. It’s glorious!”

  He pointed at the deadly spike.

  “And look! The barmaids!” Faelar giggled, a sound that was terrifying coming from a dwarf. “They have beards like spun gold! They are waving at me! Huzzah! I’m coming, my beauties! Daddy’s thirsty!”

  “Faelar, no!” I croaked.

  The dwarf dropped his shield and ran toward the "ocean." He was about to dive face-first into a cluster of crystals that would shred him to ribbons.

  Liam moved. Or, he tried to.

  The elf intercepted Faelar, grabbing the back of his belt. But Liam wasn't acting like a soldier saving a comrade. He was acting like a bouncer at a high-end club.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Liam said, his voice terrifyingly polite, his eyes glazed over. “This section is VIP only. Do you have a reservation?”

  Faelar struggled against Liam’s grip, his boots slipping on the salt. “Let me go! The beer is getting warm! The barmaids are singing my song!”

  “I’m afraid the dress code requires shoes,” Liam said, looking down at Faelar’s boots with disdain. He then turned back to a salt pillar he was leaning against as if it were a mahogany bar. “Gar?on? This patron is unruly. Please remove him. And where is my Chilled Pinot? I ordered it an epoch ago.”

  He tried to tip the salt pillar with a pebble. The pebble bounced off. Liam looked offended.

  “The service here is abysmal,” Liam sneered. “I’m leaving a scathing review.”

  I looked down at Nugget. Surely the chicken was sane. He was a bird. Birds didn't hallucinate.

  Nugget was strutting. But he wasn't moving like a chicken. He was lifting his legs high, slamming them down with immense force, shaking his head from side to side.

  In his mind, his shadow stretched for miles. He wasn't a bird. He was a Titan. A scaled god of destruction.

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  He approached a small pile of salt pebbles. To him, it was a fortified city.

  CLUCK. (Translation: ROAR.)

  He stomped on the pile, scattering the pebbles. He looked up at the sun and shrieked a challenge. He was Nugget, Destroyer of Worlds.

  “We are losing structural integrity,” Elmsworth mumbled, trying to write an equation in the air with his finger. “The variable is thirst. If X equals water, and Y equals death, then... carry the two...”

  He collapsed to his knees, sobbing dry tears. “I can’t solve it! The numbers are too dry! The integers are parched!”

  I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. They were losing it. I had to be the anchor. I was the Commander. I had the manual.

  I looked ahead.

  The wavering heat lines on the horizon suddenly snapped straight. The blinding white faded into a crisp, clean gray stone.

  My breath hitched.

  It wasn't the desert.

  It was the Citadel Parade Grounds.

  The lines were painted perfectly straight. The flags of the Guard were snapping in a cool breeze. And in the center of the square, where the execution block usually stood, there was a fountain. A magnificent, marble fountain spraying arcs of crystal-clear, ice-cold water into the air.

  Standing beside it was a man in a pristine uniform. His boots shone like mirrors. His jaw was square.

  Drill Sergeant Krell.

  “Unit 734!” the Sergeant barked, his voice cutting through the heat. “You are out of formation! Your uniform is dusty! You look like a disgrace!”

  “Sir!” I instinctively snapped into a salute, my back straightening. “Apologies, Sir! The terrain was hostile!”

  “Excuses are for civilians, Unit 734!” Krell shouted. “You require discipline! And you require hydration! Report to the fountain immediately! Double time!”

  “Sir, yes Sir!”

  I started marching. My legs found a strength I didn't know I had. I pumped my arms. I marched with perfect cadence, heading straight for the fountain. Straight for the water.

  “Kaelen!”

  A voice called out from the side. A ghost. I ignored it.

  “Kaelen, stop!”

  I was ten feet away. The water looked so cold. I could smell it.

  “Kaelen, it’s a Salt-Sink! Stop!”

  Something slammed into my waist.

  I hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the wind out of me. I scrambled, clawing at the stone, trying to reach the fountain.

  “Let me go!” I screamed, thrashing against the weight on my back. “That’s a direct order! The Sergeant has the water! It’s regulated!”

  “There is no Sergeant!” Liam yelled, pinning my arms. He was hovering over me, his face pale and wild, the "VIP" persona gone. “Look at it, Kaelen! It’s dust! It’s just dust!”

  I looked.

  Liam slapped me. Hard.

  The world flickered. The Parade Grounds dissolved. The fountain vanished.

  I wasn't marching toward water. I was marching toward a depression in the salt flat—a pit of super-fine, grinding dust that swirled like quicksand. If I had taken three more steps, I would have sunk and suffocated in minutes.

  “Oh,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  “Yeah,” Liam panted, rolling off me. “Oh.”

  He looked around, blinking rapidly. “The waiter never brought my wine. I think this establishment is a trap.”

  We picked ourselves up. We gathered the delirious dwarf—who was still muttering about golden beards—and the weeping wizard. We kept walking.

  Ten minutes later, we crested a massive dune.

  And we all stopped.

  There, in the valley below, was a miracle.

  It wasn't a hallucination. It couldn't be. We all saw it.

  A shimmering pool of deep, azure water. Palm trees swaying in a breeze that didn't exist. There was even a small hut with a thatched roof. I swear I saw a hammock.

  “The Oasis,” Willow whispered, her voice trembling.

  “Water,” Faelar croaked. “Real water.”

  Logic failed. Caution failed. The Manual failed.

  “RUN!” Faelar screamed.

  We ran. We stumbled down the dune, sliding, falling, getting up again. We were a stampede of desperation. Even Elmsworth sprinted, his robes flapping behind him like broken wings. Even Nugget bounded down the slope, wings flapping, abandoning his Kaiju persona for the promise of a drink.

  We hit the valley floor. We charged toward the blue water.

  “I’m drinking the whole thing!” Faelar yelled, diving into the air like a swimmer leaving the blocks.

  I dove too. I opened my mouth, ready for the splash, ready for the cold.

  CRUNCH.

  I hit the ground.

  It was hard. It was hot. It was dry.

  I skidded across the salt, scraping my chin, staring in horror as the ground beneath me refused to turn into water.

  I looked up.

  The palm trees flickered and vanished. The blue water evaporated into heat haze. The thatched hut dissolved into a pile of ugly, jagged rocks.

  It was a mirage. A cruel, perfect reflection of the sky on the heated ground.

  Silence fell over the group. It was the silence of the grave.

  Faelar was lying face down in the salt, making a sound that was half-sob, half-choke. He tried to scoop the salt into his mouth, spitting it out instantly, gagging on the brine.

  Willow curled up into a ball, pulling her cloak over her head to hide from the sun.

  “It’s not real,” she wept, her voice muffled. “Nothing is real. We’re dead. We just don't know it yet.”

  We were broken. We couldn't go back. We couldn't go forward. The heat was winning.

  Elmsworth was sitting cross-legged, staring at something in his hands. He wasn't crying. He was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself.

  “The variable...” he muttered. “The variable is right here.”

  He held up the Pearl of Tides.

  The massive blue pearl swirled with inner light. In the blinding white desert, it looked like a piece of the deep ocean frozen in time. It pulsed, cool and inviting.

  “Elmsworth?” I rasped, rolling onto my back.

  “It is a condensed hydro-magical core,” Elmsworth whispered, his eyes wide and manic behind his cracked goggles. “Density analysis suggests... ten thousand gallons. Compressed singularity. If the containment field is breached...”

  He looked at me.

  “It is worth a kingdom, Commander. The magical integrity is priceless. It could power a city for a year. The academic papers I could write...”

  “I don't need a city,” Liam said, his voice barely a whisper. He was lying on his back, staring at the sun with dead eyes. “I need a drink.”

  “Smash it,” I said.

  Elmsworth hesitated. “But the resale value! The economy! The historical significance! The Game Master gave us this loot!”

  “I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE ECONOMY!” Faelar roared.

  The dwarf pulled himself up, swaying like a tree in a gale. He grabbed the Void-Beak—the indestructible obsidian beak of the Kraken—from his belt.

  He crawled over to Elmsworth. He took the Pearl and placed it on a flat, sturdy rock.

  “Faelar,” Elmsworth warned, scrambling back. “The release of pressure will be... significant.”

  Faelar raised the black beak high above his head. He looked at the Pearl with pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “I hate the ocean,” Faelar growled. “But I love a drink.”

  He brought the beak down.

  SMASH.

  The sound wasn't a crack. It was a boom—like a cannon firing in a library.

  The Pearl shattered.

  For a split second, there was a flash of blinding blue light. The air pressure dropped so fast my ears popped.

  Then, the sky tore open.

  It didn't start with a drizzle. It started with a deluge.

  A column of water—pure, freezing, violent water—exploded upward from the shattered pearl and rained down in a perfect, twenty-foot circle.

  It was a localized monsoon. A hurricane in a bottle.

  “GAH!” Faelar screamed as the freezing water hit him.

  Then he started laughing. A wet, gurgling, hysterical laugh.

  We opened our mouths. We didn't need cups. We just lay there and let the storm drown us. I felt the water hitting my face, soaking my armor, filling my cracked lips. It tasted like the deep sea—cold, crisp, and alive.

  Willow was dancing, spinning in the mud that was forming instantly. Nugget was flapping his wings, splashing in a puddle, looking like the happiest Kaiju in existence.

  We filled the canteens. We filled the flasks. We drank until our stomachs hurt.

  For thirty glorious seconds, we were the kings of the desert.

  Then, as abruptly as it began, the rain stopped. The magic was spent.

  The sun returned, instant and harsh. But we were soaked. We were sitting in a muddy puddle in the middle of a white hell, dripping wet and alive.

  “Best drink I ever had,” Faelar sighed, wiping mud from his beard. “Worth every copper.”

  The Ward Stone in my bag buzzed.

  I reached in. My hand was wet. I pulled out the slate. The screen was flashing with angry red runes.

  [SYSTEM ALERT] [ITEM DESTROYED: PEARL OF TIDES (LEGENDARY ARTIFACT)] [QUEST REWARD FORFEITED.] [GAME MASTER MESSAGE: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? THAT WAS A +5 MANA BATTERY! DO YOU KNOW THE DROP RATE ON THAT?? YOU GUYS ARE THE WORST.]

  I stared at the message. I didn't know what a "Drop Rate" was, and I certainly didn't care about the Game Master's feelings regarding battery efficiency.

  I looked at my team—alive, hydrated, and laughing.

  I smiled.

  “Yeah,” I whispered to the stone, imagining the angry wizard on the other end. “We know.”

  I tossed the stone back into the bag.

  “Alright, Misfits,” I said, standing up and shaking the water from my cloak. “Hydration break is over. Let’s get out of this sandbox before the Game Master throws a dragon at us.”

  hrows a dragon at us.”