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It had been a complete madhouse. Explosions and earthquakes. Battles breaking out in the middle of crowds. Blood and screaming and running and fighting.

Worse still, he knew now in retrospect that he himself had been among the luckier ones, too. Not only did he manage to escape, but the timing of things could have been far worse for him. He’d only been visiting the Golden Fort for a few days, serving as an apprentice to his much older cousin, who happened to be Lord Hamza’s second son. If he hadn’t been at the Golden Fort, he would have been back in Zebul, most likely in his little hut along the outskirts of Qalatin Castle.

And Zebul was much closer to the border with Calthos than Kuros was. If things had been that bad at the Golden Fort of all places, then he couldn’t even imagine what Qalatin looked like now. He just hoped it was still standing. And that he would see it again, one day.

He’d been trying not to dwell on it too much, though. His reaper, Orolix, had been trying to keep him focused. News would come in time. Whenever they managed to get back up to the surface, most likely. It was more important to stay alert.

Logically, Taj knew the reaper was right. And he tried to listen.

But it was so difficult. He knew only too well that he wasn’t the correct person for this job. This wasn’t supposed to be his role.

Thus far, Taj had only ever been meant to observe and learn from his more experienced kin. And to do as he was told. Silently.

And most certainly, he had not been meant to end up in the custodianship of Ivan, the Salesman of Death.

But that is exactly what happened. Instead of returning home to Zebul, he’d been tasked with protecting a frozen head and thrown into a giant hole.

Far from ideal, to say the least.

Even now, he still didn’t know what had become of his Hahl. Of his cousins or even Lord Hamza himself. The group of people he’d managed to escape with into the Undercrust had been hounded incessantly by Abolish pursuers, and now, there were only a handful of them left.

At this point, he was the most powerful warrior in their little troupe.

Which was terrifying.

His elder cousin, Jafar Dagher, had been the one leading them until only two days ago, when their pursuers had caught up to them again.

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His flaws? Asad still didn’t understand. This was all too much. Far, far too much. He wanted to sleep. Or was he already sleeping? Was that not what was meant by resting?

Agh. He’d never felt so tired.

“Oh no. I fear I am failing to restore your strength and instead merely sapping it away. Damn my weakness. Even now, my failures continue to grow.”

Huh?

“This cannot happen. I will not allow it. Come along, Young Lion. You are not ready for where I am about to take you, but I do not see a better option. Clearly, you cannot stay with me, nor can I return you in your current state.”

Ugh, so many new questions were bubbling rebelliously into his exhausted mind. They were going somewhere new? Why? In fact, where were they now? What was wrong with this place?

“We will go to a place that I have found along the path of my great search. I do not know if things will be better or worse for you there, but I promise that I will do my utmost to protect you.”

Protect? From...? Hmm...

The voice sighed. “Alas, our ever-beleaguered kin. I fear you must abide these trials for some time yet.”

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The blazing heat of the Undercrust was unfamiliar to him. He’d heard the stories from his cousins about this place, but actually being here for the first time was something else.

If only it had been under better circumstances.

He’d always intended to visit this place eventually, but never had he thought that the first time would be as a result of fleeing for his life.

From the mayhem at the Golden Fort.

Even now, all these weeks later, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Tensions had been building between Sair and Calthos for a while, but it had been so slow. Nothing ever really happened. At least, that was what it had felt like. It was just something that all the adults had been talking about ad nauseum, an ever-present fear that he and the other young Sandlords had grown accustomed to.

Grown to ignore, perhaps.

And then everything went to hell.

The seat of his people’s power, the Golden Fortress of Kuros, came under attack by the forces of Calthos and Abolish. By the fabled Mad Demon himself.

In his entire life, Taj Dagher had never been so terrified as he had on that day.

Next page on the 26th

Thanks for reading, everybody.