Zeluran flora is notoriously hardy as it has to tolerate the rapid variation between eternal twilight and the harsh sunlight. Harvesting darkgrass or voidvine is nearly as much of a challenge as surviving the local monsters to reach them.


    <hr>


    Darsus Serin read the missive yet again. But as his fingers tracing the knotwork on its miniature spool, its contents only reinforced the dread that had been building ever since he read it the first time.


    One day before Solaria. One. Day. They couldn''t have waited to throw such chaotic news until after? Or brought it up sooner so there could be proper adaptation to it? No, just ''oh, we need to change venues, do you have a place free.''


    Who did they think he was? A free hotel?


    He stomped right down to the city gate and made enough of a fuss that they brought him a sandskimmer with a driver, though the man was very disrespectful and demanded far too much in tips, but Darsus had more important things to do. He wasn''t going to take some nebulous ''the venue has to change'' as sufficient evidence.


    He absolutely had to see this place for himself. Whatever had happened to make it so unsuitable? He’d toured the place back a few weeks ago when he first arrived, and it seemed perfectly quaint. A bit behind the times, but nothing wrong with classical architecture. Not everyone could have their buildings reshaped every year, he wouldn’t hold it against his patriarch. Even if it did speak of a rather unambitious mindset which would be better off corrected before—


    Then he arrived in sight of the oasis and knew immediately that something was amiss. The skyline should have been broken by low buildings, but instead it was flat and featureless. Only the faint haze of blue and sparks of drifting mana indicated they’d arrived.


    "This is the right place, yes? Serin Court, Veshin Oasis?" he shouted to the driver over the wind.


    "I know my sands," the man replied, waving a hand toward the sun. "That way is east, you need a differential of thirteen if you want to get to Serin." Then he pointed to the steering gear, which was set on thirteen. "Thirteen."


    Darsus growled. "Then something has gone wrong with your device. There should be buildings here."


    "There aren''t. Not since yesterday."


    Darsus’ ear for gossip perked up immediately. "What''s that? You know something about this?"


    The driver yawned and rested a hand on the steering gear to hold it in place, the other hand toyed with the sail cable. "Sure do. What''s in it for me if I tell you? It''s mighty dry out here to be yakking on about news, you know."


    Darsus searched his soulspace for anything and found only a single bottle of his personal vintage. Soulspace pressure tended to increase the degradation of quality in anything perishable, but that also made it an interesting option for fermentation projects. It wasn''t quite like any other process that could be replicated outside, and since every soul was different that only made the outcomes even more unpredictable.


    "Here." He held out the bottle.


    The driver took it and sniffed suspiciously. "Strange beverage, this is."


    "It''s my last one,” Darsus admitted, a hint of pride in his tone. “Won''t find anything like it anywhere else."


    The man licked the mouth of the bottle, smacked his lips contemplatively, then took a hearty gulp. Then he violently choked and spewed it out in a spray. The bottle shattered against the sandskimmer''s floor. "What is this, saltwater tea? Vile stuff."


    Darsus stared forlornly at the uneven puddle seeping into the wood of the skimmer. "It was my last bottle."


    "I did you a favor getting rid of it before you poison yourself. Now, since I was too subtle about it before, how much will you pay for the information you want?"


    Darsus shrugged and shoved his coin purse at the man. "I don''t care. Just tell me."


    "Dragons.”


    Darsus blinked. “Uh…?”


    The man grinned and nodded, clearly enjoying Darsus’ bafflement. “Yep. Dragons. Five of ''em. They descended on the place yesterday afternoon.”


    “But… why?”


    “Why do dragons do anything?” He patted his beard and nodded wisely. “Broke up the buildings and started carrying off pieces of ''em. By evening there was only a few bits left, and this morning the place is bare.”


    Darsus turned back to stare at the blank horizon.


    The man tilted his chin to indicate the region. “You can see for yourself."


    “I—I’ll do that, then.” Darsus dismounted the vehicle unsteadily and spent the next half hour searching the area for any sign of the Serin compound that used to be here.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    No sign of it. Even the foundations were gone, only loose sand left in their place.


    What by Aelir’s name is going on here?


    Whatever it was, he suddenly didn’t want to be involved. Going back home to Orard sounded like an infinitely preferable option.


    He spent much of the return trip to the city glancing fearfully over his shoulder for the sight of wings. Several times he asked the driver if he’d heard a roar, to the man’s amusement.


    “Dragons don’t come back, they take what they wanted and move on. Y’ don’t need to be worried.”


    But that was anything but reassuring. The longer he thought about it all, the less any of it made sense and the more desperately he wanted to just have nothing to do with it.


    When Ajriol came out to greet him as he mounted the steps to the guesthouse, Darsus could only nod weakly. "I believe you are correct. My estates would be a more suitable venue, indeed, Lord Cousin. Let us make preparations and depart as soon as possible."


    "Thank you for your generosity, Cousin Darsus." Ajriol inclined his head. "You''re quite right that we must leave immediately. Will you be prepared to set out in the next hour?"


    "I will be." He wasn''t sure he wanted to stay here even that long. First the heiress being kidnapped by a matriarch, and now the estate in the oasis being carried away by other dragons? Clearly Serin had some enemies going on here that Darsus wanted nothing to do with.


    The sooner they could get to a different continent entirely, the better as far as he was concerned.


    So what if it meant he''d be scrambling to throw together an event in mere hours instead of sitting back and relaxing? He''d take an event-planning nightmare over a trip to a dragon''s stomach any day.


    His mind was already running through the menu and layouts, the ways he''d need to rearrange the tables, how his wife would fret over the mis-matched covers... but he could also use two different styles of place setting, make it look intentional. Perhaps add a third style so it wouldn’t look uneven.


    Nothing to worry about. He could make this happen.


    Anything would be better than staying in Veor.


    <hr>


    It was late when Sekir finally emerged from his concentration trance, invigorated and confident. After a bath and oversized dinner, the first thing he did was go to check on his various primary and secondary targets.


    Unfortunately, that was as far as the plan went as hoped.


    "What do you mean, he''s not here?"


    "Lord Serin has decided to move the seat of the family to Orard for the indefinite future. The Astralla townhouse will be auctioned and their oasis shares sublet. The guesthouse is available for renting if you’re interested."


    Sekir stared at the man, the sole member of the Serin household present. "You... he what?"


    "Orard, sir. There was a rather abrupt vote last evening and he and the cousins have gone to prepare for Solaria."


    "That''s tomorrow."


    "I am aware, sir."


    Sekir was tempted to kill him on the spot. The false respect, politeness with nothing beneath, infuriated him as little else could.


    Or perhaps it was the fact that his adversaries had so utterly disregarded him that they thought they could escape to another engaldria with impunity.


    Sekir looked up at the sky. The Ghost Moon was waning, the faint glow of its last arrival platform almost out of sight. He cursed and started running.


    "You won''t be able to catch him," the infuriating servant called after him. "They''ve left hours ago."


    Only the fact that Sekir had no time to waste spared the man''s life. He had to take a sandshark, and nearly killed the creature with how aggressively he stabbed his mana into its control centers.


    But he reached the sealed platform beneath Sectri Oasis with a quarter hour to go and hauled the massive gate open. He lit the beacons and pressed mana into the platform, overcharging it to the point where the slightest brush of connection would activate the transportation.


    Then he waited. There had to be someone watching.


    Sekir Lifekeeper knelt right there in the middle of the circle and closed his eyes. Aelir, grant me this one thing. The capricious deity of the Above must have been listening, for the lurch and flash of teleportation took hold no more than a half minute later. Sekir drifted as reality stretched, then slammed him to the ground on the arrival platform. He stood slowly and nearly fell at the dissonance of being so far away from the majority of his forms. He’d not made any proper preparations for this trip.


    He kept a body or two on Zelura in case of emergency, of course, but even at maximum speed his soul couldn''t possibly make the jump from planet to moon, which made them all but irrelevant to normal operation.


    He''d tried flying to the moon before, as had most spiritwalkers at one point or another. If it was so easy to get there, a mere flash, a simple step, why couldn''t he do it himself?


    The distances were deceiving, was the answer. It would take months at the very least. Perhaps even years. He didn''t know anyone who''d tried it and survived, except those who gave up within the first weeks.


    As the transit flare faded, Sekir scanned his surroundings. He''d ended up on the far south edge of civilized land, and a grinning group of vampires waited for him. Naturally. Anyone who''d accept an unsigned flash so quickly without a return flare were sure to be predators.


    Sekir turned his palms outward to display the gleaming imprints shifting across his hands and inner forearms. "Welcome, my friends," he said in a measured and calm tone. "Please, step closer. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in."


    Half the group frowned in confusion, prepared weapons raised halfheartedly. The other half blankly stepped forward, joining him on the platform.


    "Wait for me," he told them, with a quick shooing motion. He sealed their entrancement on his left arm and held it against his chest to give it full access to his mana. Then he stepped forward toward the remaining half, who''d been able to resist. He held out his right palm and activated his soulspell, flooding the world in purple light. "I need to get to Orard as soon as possible. What arrangement can we come to to make this happen?"


    The answers were hesitant, confused, and varied, but the overall answer was the same.


    "You can''t."


    "It''s too late in the day. This is the last platform, and Almas is further along than Orard."


    "Unless you plan to somehow create a new platform in the wildlands, the only option is waiting for the next Dark Night to cycle around."


    Sekir killed them each in turn once he was satisfied with their answers, then signed to his subordinates. "Come. You, bring me to your leaders. The others of you, follow."


    Three weeks. A lot could be done in three weeks. If he was going to be stranded on Zelura for the duration, then he may as well make the best of it.


    <hr>