The wind roared, whipping against the sails of the enchanted sled as it skimmed across the surface of the endless ocean. The water glistened in hues of blue and gold, reflecting the growing light of the volcanic horizon ahead. The Water Drake pulling the sled hissed, its sleek, scaled body weaving through the waves with practiced ease. Each powerful stroke of its muscular tail sent sprays of saltwater into the air, the droplets catching the light like fleeting gems.
James sat near the sled’s edge, gripping the metallic railing with one hand while tinkering with a small gadget in the other. His knuckles were white from the strain of holding steady against the sled’s speed. The wind carried the distant scent of sulfur and smoke, mingling with the tang of the sea. His stomach churned—not from the ride, but from the mounting tension that came with the knowledge of what awaited them.
He glanced up at the other passengers.
Kael Ironhide stood at the front of the sled, his clawed hands gripping the railing like a predator ready to pounce. The Beastman’s amber eyes scanned the horizon, his ears flicking with every new sound. His broad shoulders and muscular build radiated strength, but it was his restless energy that drew James’s attention. Kael’s tail lashed against the sled’s deck, the rhythmic thump a testament to his impatience.
"Keep lashing like that, and you’ll scare the poor drake," Thrain Stonehearth muttered from his seat near the center of the sled. The Dwarf was fiddling with a chunk of obsidian, his thick, calloused fingers shaping the stone with casual precision. His braided beard swayed with each movement, and his gruff voice carried an edge of irritation. "Not that it would take much to spook a beast pulling this damn contraption."
Kael snorted, turning to glare at Thrain. "Maybe if you did less carving and more preparing, you wouldn’t get left behind when the fight starts."
"Left behind?" Thrain’s deep chuckle carried over the rush of the wind. "We’ll see who’s standing when the ground starts breaking under your feet."
James sighed, shifting his focus to the sky. A faint shimmer marked the protective barrier of the Heat Resistant Runestones, their magic shielding them from the worst of the Badlands’ oppressive heat. Beyond that, the horizon was ablaze with fiery hues, a stark contrast to the calm ocean behind them.
Sylvia Luminaris stood near the sled’s mast, her glowing wings tucked neatly against her back. The Angel’s serene expression didn’t betray any hint of nervousness, though her luminous eyes seemed fixed on the distant horizon. Her presence exuded calm, an anchor amidst the unease gripping the rest of the group.
James’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than intended. Unlike Kael’s bravado or Thrain’s grumbling, Sylvia’s composure made him feel out of place—weak, even. He clenched the gadget in his hand, its small gears clicking as he adjusted its settings. He had to focus. He had to be ready.
"Do you always tinker when you’re nervous?" The question came from Elyndor Vale, the High Elf, who sat cross-legged on a nearby bench. His voice was calm, measured, but the faint trace of amusement in his tone grated on James.
James didn’t look up. "Do you always talk when there’s nothing to say?"
Elyndor chuckled softly, his hands resting lightly on his lap. His slender frame and elegant features gave him an air of effortless grace, but James knew better than to mistake the elf’s appearance for weakness. The faint glow around Elyndor’s hands—the subtle presence of his summoned spirits—was a reminder of the power he wielded.
"You’ll learn, human," Elyndor said, his golden eyes flicking toward the horizon. "Silence isn’t always strength. Sometimes, the right words can cut deeper than any blade."
Before James could retort, the Water Drake let out a sharp hiss, its body twisting as the sled began to slow. The change in momentum sent a jolt through James’s seat, nearly causing him to drop his gadget. He caught it just in time, tucking it into his satchel before standing.
The sled came to a halt near a jagged outcrop of volcanic rock that jutted out from the ocean like a broken tooth. The heat was palpable even through the runestones, the air shimmering with waves of distortion. The Scorching Badlands loomed ahead, its fiery expanse stretching as far as the eye could see.
Sylvia was the first to step off the sled, her wings spreading slightly as she descended onto the rock. Her luminous presence seemed to push back the oppressive heat, creating a faint halo of cool light around her. Kael followed, leaping onto the rock with a predatory grace that belied his size. Thrain disembarked with a grumble, his boots landing heavily on the uneven surface.
James hesitated, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The Badlands were unlike anything he’d ever seen—a landscape of molten rivers, towering spires of blackened rock, and an ever-present glow of fire. It was a place of death, of power, and of something far more dangerous.
"You coming, human?" Kael’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The Beastman’s amber eyes glinted with impatience. "Or are you planning to invent a cooler while we roast out here?"
James forced a smirk, though it felt hollow. "Just making sure you don’t fall apart before we get started."
He stepped off the sled, his boots crunching against the brittle rock. The air hit him like a wall, heavy and suffocating despite the magic of the runestones. He adjusted the straps of his satchel, the weight of his tools grounding him as he joined the others.
Elyndor was the last to disembark, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The elf’s eyes scanned the horizon, his expression unreadable. James caught a flicker of something in Elyndor’s gaze—curiosity? Fear? It was gone before he could place it.
"This is it," Sylvia said, her voice soft but firm. "The edge of the Scorching Badlands. Beyond this point, the real danger begins."
Kael flexed his claws, his muscles rippling with anticipation. "Good. I was starting to think this would be boring."
Thrain snorted. "You’ll be bored when you’re melted into a puddle."
"Enough," Sylvia interjected, her voice cutting through their bickering like a blade. She turned to face the group, her luminous eyes steady. "We have a mission. Stay focused, and stay alive."
James nodded, though his grip on his satchel tightened. He could feel the tension radiating from the others, each of them preparing in their own way. This wasn’t just a mission—it was a test. A test of strength, of resolve, and of survival.
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As the group began their trek into the Badlands, the heat grew more intense, the air filled with the distant roar of molten rivers and the crackle of fire. James kept his head down, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched—not by each other, but by something far more dangerous.
The Scorching Badlands welcomed them with a promise of fire and death.
And James wondered if they were ready to face it.