Chapter 54 The Dusty Hills
Serafina
As I tucked the loose strands of my hair beneath the hood of my cloak, I already knew what was going through Azerath’s head.
This was not the easiest way to enter the Dust District. Nor was it particularly clever to try crossing the sand in the middle of the night.
The Dusty Hills stretched before us like a pale ocean of death beneath the moonlight, the dunes rising and falling in silent waves beyond the red-stained walls of the district. The sand shimmered faintly, almost beautiful from a distance. But beauty could lie.
In Dust, it often did.
I glanced briefly over my shoulder at Azerath. Even beneath the shadow of his hood, I could see the faint gold glow of his eyes watching me. Yes, he was absolutely thinking that this plan was foolish.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
Still, I stepped forward.
Slowly and carefully, I placed one foot ahead of the other the way someone might step into still water, easing my weight down so gently that the sand barely shifted beneath my boot.
“Follow me,” I whispered over my shoulder. “If the sand shifts too much, I’ll throw a rock to pull it away from us.”
Azerath’s voice came quietly from behind me. “Why don’t you use your Lumenflare?”
I kept my eyes fixed on the sand in front of me as I lifted my other foot and let the grains slide slowly away. “The light will grab the Warden’s attention.”
That seemed to satisfy him for the moment, because he didn’t argue further.
The Dusty Hills were silent except for the faint whisper of sand sliding against sand.
The name of these dunes didn’t inspire fear the way a headsman’s axe might—bright steel flashing beneath the sun. But those who lived inside the district knew exactly what it meant when the Warden uttered its name.
Death.
Once, long ago, the dunes hadn’t been feared at all.
Before Warden Voss took control of Dust, the dunes had simply been a dumping ground. Waste from the outer districts was hauled here in creaking carts every day—broken tools, rotten food, torn clothing, anything the Empire decided was worthless.
And for the Dust-born, it had once been an opportunity.
My foot slid slightly into the sand, and I slowly lifted it again, letting the grains cascade downward before placing it gently a few inches ahead.
Back then, many of the Dust-born earned their living collecting garbage from the outer districts. It had been honest work, simple work. They gathered the refuse no one else wanted and dumped it here using long wooden sticks—tools designed to push the trash deeper into the dunes where the sand could swallow it safely.
The sand here had always been strange. Alive, some people said. Hungry, said others.
But if you understood how it moved, it could be managed.
People made decent money doing it—enough to survive, enough to eat.
To make the work safer, the old Warden had built the tall tower overlooking the dunes. It wasn’t meant to intimidate anyone. It existed so watchers could warn the workers if the sand began shifting too violently.
Back then it had been a place of caution. Not execution.
Then Warden Voss came... and everything changed.
The sand brushed against my ankles now, creeping upward along the fabric of my trousers. I carefully lifted my boot again, letting the grains slide downward into a small mound before placing my foot slightly away from it. The movement drew the surrounding sand toward that mound instead of toward me.
Taxes had been the first problem.
Warden Voss increased them on nearly everyone in Dust, but the garbage collectors suffered the worst of it. They were forced to pay nearly half of what they earned just to keep their permits.
Many refused.
But the Warden’s Collectors were always waiting by the gates.
Finn had told me the rest of the story.
I could still picture him standing behind his fish stall, hands slick with scales as he cleaned the day’s catch.
“Ugly business,” he had muttered as he scraped a blade along a fish’s spine. “Collectors and trash men started shouting at each other. One thing led to another.”
My breathing remained slow and steady as I lifted my other foot from the sand.
“The Collectors pushed one of the men,” Finn had said. “Hard. The man stumbled backward, straight into the dunes."
Sure, the trash collectors carried long sticks meant to push garbage deeper into the sand. But they hadn’t been fast enough.
“They tried to pull him out,” Finn continued, tossing the freshly scaled fish into a barrel of water. "But the more they struggled, the faster the sand moved. By the time the sun rose the next morning, the man—and the trash they had dumped—were gone."
Not buried.
Gone. As if they had never existed.
That was when Warden Voss realized what the dunes could become.
The Dusty Hills were no longer a dumping ground.
They were an execution site.
I swallowed and continued forward.
Finn had told me another story too—one that might have been a lie. But I hoped it wasn’t.
He said a young boy once rescued his dying grandmother from these dunes and dragged her out before the sand could swallow her. I never learned how. But the story meant one thing.
There was a way out of the sand. You just had to find it before the dunes found you first.
The night air was thick and humid. Sweat gathered along my hairline and slid slowly down my temple. I wiped it away with my sleeve as I moved forward, lifting my foot slowly to let the sand fall away before placing it down again.
Lift.
Slide.
Step.
Lift.
Slide.
Step.
The gate loomed closer now.Only a few more steps. Just a few—
The rope around my wrist suddenly tightened. I froze and turned my head.
Azerath stood several paces behind me, completely still, his black cloak stirring slightly in the faint breeze, the hood pulled low over his head. The rope in his hand stretched between us like a lifeline.
And he was smiling.
Not just smiling. Grinning. The faint flames dancing in his golden eyes made the expression even more irritating.
“Azerath,” I hissed softly. “What are you doing just standing there?” I gestured toward the gate. “Look. I’m almost there.”
He nodded slowly, clearly amused. “Yes, you are. I’m impressed. You used the sand itself to distract the rest of the sand.”
I narrowed my eyes. “But?”
He tilted his head slightly. “But an idea suddenly occurred to me.”
I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration. The urge was so strong my muscles actually tensed to do it. Then common sense returned. Stomping in the Dusty Hills would be a quick way to die.
I drew in a slow, steady breath. Azerath was proving to be a very annoying man when he wanted to be—especially at a time when we were supposed to be saving my brother.
“What do you mean, Azerath?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
His answer was infuriatingly casual. “I mean,” he said lightly, “I can get out of here in the blink of an eye.”
That was it. No explanation. No elaboration. Just that.
I wiped sweat from my forehead. "Azerath—"
A soft hoot interrupted me.
We both looked up.
A black owl glided silently from the darkness and landed atop the iron gate.
Blink. Of course.
Azerath looked mildly surprised.
“Blink,” he said, raising a brow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to call you.”
The owl blinked slowly at him.
“I was merely explaining to Serafina here that I can escape this place without moving like a snail.”
I sighed and looked back at him. “By the way, Azerath,” I said quietly, “since we’re here… address me by the shortened version of my name.”
He frowned slightly.
“Sera,” I clarified. “People here know me as Sera Bale.”
His brow lifted.
“If anyone discovers that I deliberately changed my name,” I continued, “the Warden will investigate. When she learns I’m not Sera Bale but the daughter of traitors executed years ago—” I met his eyes. “They will label me a traitor too.”
Azerath rolled his eyes. “They will know soon enough,” he scoffed. “Especially when I set everything on fire.”
He folded his arms impatiently and shifted his weight.
The sand immediately surged toward him, climbing quickly up his boots.
His expression darkened. “Enough of this,” he muttered. “It isn’t amusing anymore.”
Before I could protest, he released the rope and moved.
One moment he stood several paces away. The next he was right in front of me.
His arm slid behind my back while the other hooked beneath my knees, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. Before I could even finish saying his name, he jumped.
The world blurred around us.
A heartbeat later he landed softly on the stone floor at the base of the steps leading to the iron gate while Blink watched with wide owl eyes from above.
It happened so fast it felt like less than a second.
My heart raced as I turned to look back at the dunes.
The sand shifted violently where I had been standing moments earlier, forming a small mound that circled the empty space I had just occupied.
“See?” Azerath said.
His face was suddenly very close to mine. I could smell the faint scent of smoke on his breath.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He smiled before dipping his head and stealing a quick kiss from my lips.
I immediately swatted his shoulder.
“Put me down, Azerath. All this time you knew you could move like that—so fast that everything else looks like slow motion—and you argued with me.”
He chuckled and pressed a small kiss on my cheek, but he still didn’t put me down.
“I don’t argue with you,” he said lightly. “I would never argue with my wife. What do the mortals say about how a man and woman can live in wedded bliss again?” He tilted his head as if thinking. “Ah yes. Happy wife. Happy life.”
I glared at him. “You don’t say.” I pointed toward the ground. “So put me down now. Or I will be very cross.”
Azerath laughed. “As you wish, my Queen.”
For a moment I thought that was the end of his teasing.
Instead, he leaned down and claimed my lips again.
This time it wasn't quick.
It was deep.
Slow.
Dangerously intoxicating.
And despite everything—the sand, the Warden, the danger waiting inside Dust—
My heart betrayed me completely.