The Seven Paths

King Silas paced the length of the cool, shadowed throne room, the heavy fabric of his royal robes sweeping grandly against the stone floor. He stopped, tapped his foot, and glared over at the two royal guards standing like stone pillars by the entrance.

“Where is he?” King Silas demanded, huffing out a breath. “The Summit of the Seven is tomorrow. The entire future of our civilization rests on the next twenty-four hours, and my master scout is completely unaccounted for.”

The left guard shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “He’s out on the western ridge, King Silas. On top of the highest sandy mountain.”

King Silas stared at him, his brow furrowing. “Doing what, pray tell? Scouting for enemy movements?”

“Uh, no, sir,” the right guard squeaked, looking anywhere but at the king. “He said the wind was ‘just right’ and that he needed to check the wind currents. With his feet.”

King Silas closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Excuse me?”

Without another word, the old king turned, marched past his throne, and stepped briskly out onto the royal balcony. He gripped the stone railing, looked out over the vast, shimmering expanse of the desert, and cleared his throat. He took a massive breath, puffed out his chest until his royal medals clinked, and roared into the open air:

“ZANEEEEE!”

The echo rattled off the valley walls, sending a flock of desert birds scattering into the sky.

A mile away, standing at the absolute peak of that towering, hundred-foot dune, Zane pricked up his ears. The golden sand shifted beneath his boots, and the merciless sun beat down on his shoulders. Ahead of him, Aurelia stretched out like a rumpled sheet of gold—a suffocating wasteland of drying wells and cracked earth.

To Zane, it was like canvas.

“That’s my call,” Zane muttered, a cocky grin splitting his sun-browned face.

He reached behind his shoulder, his fingers catching the sleek, metallic housing of his pack. With a sharp click, he detached a compact frame no larger than a rifle case. He tapped the kinetic release valve on the side.

Clack-shhhk.

The frame unfolded smoothly, snapping into a sleek, five-foot aerodynamic sand-board. The under surface glinted with the hyper-advanced craftsmanship of the Zephyr nation—a lattice of micro-repulsor vents designed to eliminate friction entirely. It was a gift from Zephyr’s finest tech-smiths who knew exactly what the master scout of Aurelia was capable of.

Zane dropped the board onto the crest, stepped into the magnetic bindings, and felt the satisfying thump as his boots locked into place. He pulled down his goggles, took a deep breath of the searing desert air, and looked down the near-vertical drop.

He launched.

The acceleration hit him, a sudden, glorious rush of pure speed. The micro-repulsors hummed to life, kicking up a massive rooster-tail of shimmering golden dust behind him as he tore down the face of the mountain. The wind ripped at his cloak, but Zane was completely in his element, his body swaying in perfect, rhythmic sync with the weight of the sand.

As he cleared the first drop and barreled into the trough between two massive dunes, he threw his head back and let his voice boom against the roaring wind, chanting the lines he’d sung since he was a boy:

“Sun on the engine, wind in the gears,

We haven’t seen water in twenty-some years!

The borders are heavy, the valleys are dry,

But the drifter is chasing the gold in the skyyyyy!”

He leaned hard on his back foot, carving a deep, elegant arc up the side of the neighboring dune, spraying sand fifty feet into the air. Reaching the crest at maximum velocity, he caught the lip and launched himself into the open air. For two breathtaking seconds, Zane was weightless, suspended against the blinding blue vault of the sky, before slamming back down onto the downward slope. He absorbed the impact flawlessly, his heart hammering with pure, ambitious energy.

With one final, sweeping drift, Zane bled off his speed, bringing the board to a smooth, spraying halt right at the iron gates of the Aurelia capital. He tapped his heels together, releasing the bindings, and caught the board as it folded back down into its carrying frame with a series of clean, mechanical clicks. He slung it over his back, wiped the gold dust from his goggles, and swaggered past the pale, hollow-cheeked guards who looked at him with an immediate spark of hope.

“Zane,” one of the guards breathed, his voice raspy. “Is it true? The summit?”

“The summit is locked in, Marcus,” Zane said, flashing a confident wink as he blew past the iron gates. “Tell the boys to keep their chins up. The Sand Drifter is on the clock.”

He hurried through the crumbling streets of the capital. The poverty of Aurelia was impossible to hide. The grand aqueducts that once fed the city were cracked and choked with tumbleweeds. The public fountains were nothing but dust-basins. Children sat on doorsteps, their eyes heavy, watching him pass. The urgency of his mission clutched at his chest, burning away his casual swagger as he re-entered the royal palace.

The throne room was cool, shadowed, and smelled of old parchment. At the far end sat King Silas, who had just walked back in from the balcony, dusting a stray speck of sand off his royal sleeve.

The King looked ancient, the weight of a dying kingdom pressing down on his slumped shoulders. His hair was the color of ash, and his hands trembled slightly as he rested them on the arms of his throne. But when Zane finally walked through the doors, King Silas’s eyes brightened, and a genuine, warm smile broke through his weary face.

“You ride like a madman, Zane,” King Silas said, his voice a deep rumble. “I could hear you chanting all the way from the balcony.”

“If you aren’t riding fast, you’re just collecting dust, King Silas,” Zane joked, walking right up to the dais and offering a crisp, informal salute. “The Zephyr board is holding up beautifully. I made the western scouting loop in record time.”

King Silas chuckled, but the humor quickly faded from his eyes, replaced by a heavy, profound solemnity. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking intently at his young, ambitious Right Hand.

“The Summit of the Seven is tomorrow, Zane,” King Silas said softly. “The other six regions await our representative. You know what is at stake.”

“I do, King Silas,” Zane said, his tone turning serious. “The Soul Cores. We need the coordinates. We are running out of time. Look at the lower districts—the wells are completely dry. If we don’t find the cores and achieve our ascension soon…”

“I know,” King Silas interrupted gently, raising a hand. He turned his head, looking out the high arched windows of the palace toward the vast, barren horizon. The old king sighed, a sound full of deep, historic sorrow.

“Do not lose heart, my boy. This suffering… it is only a temporary shadow. Look at our friends in the Glacias region, Zane. Today, they have a beautiful, diamond-like kingdom of sculpted sapphire ice and warm aurora borealis. They live in absolute majesty, protected by a Guardian who watches over them. But do you know what they were before their King found the three cores and ascended?”

Zane shook his head quietly, hanging on every word.

“They faced absolute zero,” King Silas whispered, his eyes distant. “The cold was a monster. Their people were freezing to death in their beds, turning into literal ice statues in the streets. Mothers went to sleep holding their children and woke up holding blocks of ice. It was a graveyard. But their King made the ultimate sacrifice. He found the cores, took his true place as their ascended Guardian, and saved them. He turned their nightmare into a paradise.”

King Silas turned back to Zane, a fierce, desperate spark of hope igniting in his old eyes. He reached out, placing a heavy hand on Zane’s shoulder.

“The other regions do not hate us, Zane. They pity us. They are thriving, and they want us to stand beside them as equals. Tomorrow, at the grand pavilion, you will stand among the other six Right Hands. You will represent the pride of Aurelia. Use their scholars, use their charts. Find us the path to the Soul Cores.”

Zane felt a massive wave of pride and ambition swell in his chest. He clutched the strap of his folding sand-board, his jaw setting with absolute determination.

“I’ll find them, King Silas,” Zane promised, his cocky grin returning, sharper and more focused than ever. “Glacias and others got their paradise. It’s our turn now. I’m going to bring back those cores, and we are going to make this kingdom whole.”