After hours of pushing the cruiser to its limits across the endless dunes, exhaustion clawed at my body. My muscles ached from the relentless vibrations, my head pounded from the unrelenting sun, and my stomach had long since given up on complaining about its emptiness. Sleep and proper food were distant memories at this point, and my body was starting to rebel.

  As I eased up on the throttle, the cruiser’s speed dipped slightly. Somehow, Jaffrah noticed immediately. He circled back, his sharp gaze locking onto me as if he had been expecting this moment.

  "If you can hold out a little longer, I’d rather sleep in an actual inn," he said, his tone carrying that same air of superiority he always seemed to wear like a second skin.

  I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Did he forget he’d spent years rotting in a prison cell? His standards should’ve been lower than mine.

  "And how much longer until we reach this luxurious accommodation?" I asked, leveling him with a tired stare. "Are we talking hours or days? Because I’m running on fumes here, and the thought of another bite of dried mystery rations makes me want to walk into the nearest sinkhole."

  Jaffrah scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re like a child."

  "And you’re like some noble who forgot he lost his manor," I shot back, unable to help myself.

  A hint of a smirk ghosted across his face before he exhaled sharply. "We have a couple of hours, at best, before we reach the coastal town of Polarist. And before we get there, we’re ditching these clothes. Hopefully, you’ve got something in that bag of yours I can wear."

  I glanced at my pack, mentally cataloging what I had. Considering I’d packed for survival and not a fashion show, he wasn’t going to be thrilled.

  "Depends," I said, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes. "How do you feel about oversized tunics and pants that may or may not have been looted off a corpse?"

  Jaffrah let out a slow, tired sigh, muttering something under his breath that I was pretty sure was a prayer for patience.

  I just took off again, knowing Jaffrah would easily outpace me. The cruiser hummed beneath me, kicking up a thin veil of sand that glimmered under the twin suns. My hands gripped the controls tighter than necessary, knuckles white from tension and exhaustion. The last couple of days could easily be written off as the worst of my life.

  I had, single-handedly, caused a spaceship destroyer to obliterate the only small city I'd come to know. The possibility of all those innocent lives at stake because of my actions to sell those berries. I kept imagining blasts reigning down from the ship, people scrambling away in hopes to survive. As the buildings around them crumbled to ash. I hope that the Starbornes got what was coming for them and not that many lives were took out of my stupidity.

  What followed was no better. I spent the remainder of the time slogging through a swamp so thick with humidity it felt like breathing soup. Frogs the size of dogs, bugs the size of my hand, and the occasional snake that thought I looked like a snack kept me on edge the entire time. Every step through that marsh was a battle: against nature, against exhaustion, against myself.

  And when I thought I might find a sliver of respite, fate decided to throw me into a prison cell, one that more than likely doubled as a research lab for grotesque, half-sentient test subjects. The walls had whispered with the echo of tortured experiments, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with the memory of suffering.

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  Honestly, I'd have preferred nothing more than to grow the small town I once called my own. A simpler life. One filled with dungeon dives, monster hunting, and slow but steady progression. I could've built something worth protecting, something real. But apparently, this planet had other plans for me.

  I probably overreacted back in Thormere. My blood boiled just thinking about the smug looks of those so-called Commerce guild leaders, willing to sacrifice an entire town for a handful of credits and a power grab. I don't care what system governs this place; I won't be anyone's pawn. Not for schemes, not for wealth, and certainly not when innocent people in my town are left to pay the price.

  Jaffrah was already a speck in the distance, his flying form cutting through the dunes with precision. I adjusted my grip, took a steadying breath, and throttled up to catch him. Rest would have to wait. There were answers to find, and gods help me, if someone else tried to use me again, they'd learn firsthand what desperation made me capable of.

  The hours stretched on, the dunes blurring together in an endless sea of gold beneath the twin suns. Just as I was about to give in to the ache in my muscles, the horizon shifted. The sand dipped into rolling cliffs, and beyond them, the unmistakable shimmer of water. Polarist.

  The coastal town unfolded before us like a mirage solidifying into reality. White stone buildings cascaded down the cliffs in stepped terraces, their surfaces gleaming with sun-kissed brilliance. Colorful awnings stretched across narrow streets, fluttering in the cool ocean breeze. Wind towers stood like silent sentinels, guiding the currents into shaded alleys where market stalls bustled with activity. The scent of salt and grilled fish wafted toward us as we neared the edge of town. Below, the harbor was alive with motion. Metallic, system-powered vessels hummed alongside wooden fishing boats, the contrast between old and new stark yet harmonious. Seagull-like creatures circled above, their sharp cries mingling with the shouts of dockworkers.

  "Welcome to Polarist," Jaffrah called back, his voice carrying on the wind. "Hope you're ready for a different kind of chaos."

  I wasn't sure if he meant the town or whatever came next. Either way, I gripped the controls tighter and followed him down the winding path toward the bustling coastal streets.

  We weaved through the narrow streets, the cruiser now moving at a slow crawl as people gave us curious glances. Jaffrah seemed unbothered, his eyes fixed ahead until he came to a stop in front of a squat, weathered building wedged between two larger structures. The wooden sign above the door read: The Salty Cask.

  "This the place?" I asked, dismounting.

  Jaffrah nodded. "Trust me."

  The tavern door creaked as we pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old wood, brine, and faint traces of stale ale. Dim lanterns cast flickering shadows on the walls, and the bar was empty except for a single figure polishing a glass.

  The bartender, a grizzled man with sea-worn skin and sharp eyes, looked up. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second when they landed on Jaffrah, then he gave a curt nod. "Thought you were dead."

  "Not yet," Jaffrah replied. "Still got work to do."

  The bartender set the glass down, stepped around the counter, and without another word, led us toward the back. He opened a door that revealed a narrow staircase descending into the ground.

  "Stay close," Jaffrah said as he took the lead.

  The staircase ended in a dimly lit chamber that was far larger than I'd expected. Around a broad wooden table sat figures of various races, dwarves, halflings, elves, humans, and others I couldn't identify. Maps, diagrams, and scribbled notes cluttered the surface. The atmosphere was tense, voices hushed.

  A woman with silver hair and pointed ears stood as we entered. "Jaffrah," she said, her tone wary but not hostile. "You really are alive."

  "I am," Jaffrah answered, eyes scanning the room. "And it looks like the rebellion has grown."

  "Desperation does that," she said. "The tyrant king's grip tightens every day."

  Jaffrah's jaw tightened. "He's not a king," he said softly. "He's a corrupted shadow of the brother I once knew."

  The room fell silent, and the weight of Jaffrah's words settled over us like a cold mist. I shifted uncomfortably, already feeling the threads of a larger conflict wrapping around me. I had wanted answer but now I wasn't sure I was ready for the truth.