<u>Valerius POV</u>


    Valerius stands proudly at the vanguard of her army, ensconced in her chariot. A zandleeuw is harnessed to the chariot, its mandibles click with a menacing rhythm that sends vibrations rippling through the earth beneath them.


    Towering above conventional mounts, these formidable creatures reach six meters in length and stand three meters tall, their bulk weighs in at a staggering nine hundred kilos.


    Their sleek bodies are encased in a smooth exoskeleton, at the belly of the beast sprout pseudopod limbs adorned with shifting plates, granting them unparalleled agility in traversing the rough sands. Atop their fly-like heads are eyes resembling a myriad of reflections, each glance akin to peering into an endless kaleidoscope of perspectives.


    People tend to avoid looking at a zandleeuw''s eyes. It is unnerving. These zandleeuws, are not merely beasts of burden but esteemed companions, sustained by the algae and mold that grow beneath the desert''s surface in its endless cave systems.


    They were tamed and domesticated hundreds of years ago from the wasteland north of the canyon, alas they do not fare well south where it is colder. They do have a southern counterpart called sand fleas. But these miniscule beach critters pale in comparison.


    Sixteen zandleeuws pull caravans filled with supplies and rations.


    Legate Hephast approaches Valerius’s chariot. He pets her zandleeuw, scritching it under one of its plates, “who’s a good lion! Yes, you are! You deserve a treat, don’t you Athana?”


    The burly brown-haired Legate pulls out a chunk of moss from his pocket and feeds it to the zandleeuw. The creatures sucks up the moss, it’s exoskeleton convulses as the food passes through, a myriad of colours shimmer over the surface.


    Valerius regards her uncle distantly, even though she wished she could jump in his arms like she did when she was younger.


    Her uncle grins hardily at her and says, “as discussed, I’ll flank the West side of the canyon, and legatus Theresia will flank the East. Once either of us gets word of our scouting party or we reach the fiftieth kilometre we will turn around and head back. From there we will support you depending on how the next few weeks develop. We have to cover all our bases. You will head straight towards the Oasis in pursuit of the prisoner, all the cohorts and high-ranking centurions agree with that notion. That is most likely where it would’ve fled. If it did decide to hide in the canyon - or gods be great - travelled south. Either me or Theresia will catch the prisoner.”


    Hephast grumbles and places his hand on the chariot, “You are a rash young lady. This is a risky plan and the legion of soldiers you are taking with you will pay the blood price. The decision has been made. But I would’ve let it go and kept our legions here. We’re leaving our advantage behind.”


    Valerius grins, “Uncle, you forget yourself. You did the exact same thing when chasing after the previous champion of blood. My father bested them at the stronghold, and you gave chase after they fled back to their barren wasteland. The current one is weakened, disorientated, and has no army to speak of, it might not even be able to gather one. I do not see the risk.”


    Valerius straightens her shoulders; she stands proud and tall with her bronze armour. The blue ribbon in her hair is neatly bound. Valerius gently touches it before putting on her helm.


    Hephast looks up at Valerius, his gaze is far away, “There are many details me and your father did not share in the telling of that battle. It is with good reason you are the champion of valour, and not I.”


    Hephast puts on his helmet and begins to walk away, with a hollow voice he gives her a few parting words, “Go for the kill Valerius. We’ve given it enough chances to let go of its piety. Clearly, it would rather die than repent.”


    Valerius solemnly stares at the reigns in her hands. Imagining them to be the shackles she drove into that - that possessed thing. For thirteen years she’s desperately searched for a way to sever its connection to Sanguinem, that heinous god. She bought the services of a druid, spend hours upon hours in the strongholds library searching for a solution.


    It was all for nought. Valerius tried to spare the monster for thirteen years. No more. It is time to end this.


    She looks back at her army. Hastati, principes, triarii, and camp workers. A legion under her command, four thousand souls.


    She clenches her fist as she looks down at the reigns controlling her zandleeuw Athana. Her eyes glow as she calls forth piety from her soul. The strength compresses the leather with so much force it snaps and shoots out of her palm like a whip.


    What need for an army does she have with strength like this? She can move mountains; she can cause earthquakes. She can pulverise diamond.


    She will charge ahead when she sees the prisoner. Valerius can’t let her men get involved. They bleed too fast; they’d die like flies. Her initial idea was to leave with the scouts. The sooner the better. Every second counts. But her council advised patience.


    Clypeus would condone. She is his champion. She’s worked all her life for this. She was chosen. All these great legates, cohorts, centurions, and warriors. Yet she — a twelve-year-old girl — was chosen to be their gods'' champion and only she got to manifest piety. She chose the strength of a god so none could oppose her.


    She’s unbeatable.


    Valerius blows her war horn, signalling her legion to march. She lets her eyes travel up the gate, where she sees Elanor waving her goodbye. Valerius blushes when Elanor blows her a kiss.


    How lucky she is, to be wed to such an intelligent, tough, courageous, wonderful, beautiful girl. She hopes she can be worthy of such high nobility.


    Valerius never realised how different men and women can be until she reached the capital. In the eyes of Clypeus every person is the same. Man, woman, child. We all die the same, we all fight the same.


    But in the capital we are divided.


    There was femineity, and masculinity. So many customs, rules, nuances. It was a spectrum of identities she was never aware of.


    It doesn’t apply to her. She’s not one of them. She’s a soldier.


    Valerius thinks to herself, That’s all I am to them. The metropolis controls the number of legionnaires I gets to retain and command for the protection of the realm. They control how many I can afford to retire, how many should die in battle by any given year. It’s disgusting. We are nothing but numbers to them. Hopefully Elanor can help my position in regard to the senate. There’s a storm brewing if they find out the truth- who am I kidding.


    When they do.


    She shakes her head. Sweat dripping down her body, she can smell the muff leather on the inside of her helm. She’s lucky all their bronze is cold-forged. It has this interesting property. When struck, bronze hardens. It loses it’s plasticity. In addition to that it does not heat up in sunlight.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She focuses her mind back on the task at hand. Hephast and Theresia will march a day later, their legions consist of mostly men who were awoken the night before to retake the stronghold, and they were given horrific orders by Hephast.


    Valerius looks at the bridge created by the ingenious machinery of the ballistae. The bridge spans the canyon, a mere two hundred meters. Nowhere else is the canyon this narrow. From three hundred kilometres west, to three hundred kilometres east. Without the stronghold, this would be the easiest place to drop down into the canyon and climb up to the other side, yet even at this part, the canyon is still four hundred meters deep with twists and turns, and rocky obstacles. She cannot see the bottom of the canyon in the darkness, but she knows it’s riddled with corpses and skeletons of wildebeests.


    The first few days are uneventful, as the legion marches across the landscape, the arid desert begins to take on a new biome. Rocky terrain gradually turns into sandy stretches of land, which then turn into dunes.


    The desert stretched endlessly in front the legion as they continue their journey towards the oasis. The sun beats down relentlessly. When Valerius looks towards the horizon, she sees ripples of heat moving across the desert, distorting the view.


    The air is so dry it sucks moisture from her body with every breath. She’s been gradually shifting the sleeping time of the Legion. By the following day they will sleep during noon, and march at night. Even with their armour the sun is too hot during the day, and without the strongholds talus fields, tall trees, and underwater river there’s no good way to remain cool.


    These fresh soldiers from the south thought the stronghold was hot, now they get a taste of real heat. Some of them might suffer heat delirium. Some of them might die.


    Before departing Valerius held council with her cohorts and legati. They truly gave her a headache and argued like children.


    Nevertheless she got their logistical preparations done. They were meticulous, she had worked with cohort Marcus to ensure there could be no shortage of water and rations. Caravans laden with supplies and rations trailed behind the army, pulled by massive zandleeuw’s whose mandibles clicked and whose claws swam through the sand.


    If any soldiers collapsed, became ill, was hurt. They could take place in the caravans whom will slowly empty out of supplies in the coming weeks.


    The journey through the desert was perilous, the shifting sands and treacherous terrain testing the endurance of both soldier and beast alike. Valerius’s stubborn determination guided them through the labyrinthine dunes, steering clear of hidden pitfalls and finding the most efficient path forward. Maps were useless here. The dunes shifted, the landscape changed, and even the oasis had been known to move.


    This was why expeditions beyond the canyon were rare. She had been trained for this since childhood, yet it still felt like a fool’s errand.


    She hated it. The responsibility.


    She missed the days when her only concern was perfecting her swordplay, strengthening her draw with the bow, pushing herself to the limit. Now, too often, she left the navigating to her cohorts, only stepping in to correct their mistakes when necessary—much to their frustration.


    On the third day, it happened again. The cohorts had charted a course that led dangerously close to a region known for its deceitful sands. They know the region shifts, so it’s better to chart a few days around the region once it’s clear what region they are approaching.


    In general it’s always the same order. Red rock, red sand, orange sand, yellow sand, white sand, and last but not least: The Oasis. But the region shifts, the wind blows, certain sands are heavier than others. Like oil and water. Stof stand is mostly found in the orange region. But orange is light, and tends to blow over the other regions as dunes build and break with the wind direction. Stof sand bubbles from trapped gas underground. It makes stof sand act like water. And its nearly impossible to see.


    Valerius corrected them, prompting a drawn-out argument. She was inclided to pull rank again. But she’d rather let them have their way and be proven right. Than have them undermine her when a decision does matter. Pick your battles, as they say.


    Four hours Later, as she crested a dune, she spotted the telltale shimmer of stof sand below—fine, unstable grains, that shifted as gas seeped between the grains. Anyone that steps on that gets swallowed whole.


    She led her zandleeuw around it, issuing swift orders for the warning to be relayed through the ranks. Unbeknownst to her along the line, the message was lost. A handful of soldiers, eager to shorten their march, cut straight across the treacherous ground.


    They sank almost instantly.


    The centurion responsible for these men blew his war horn, causing the legion to ground to a halt. He shook his head at these fresh legionnaires not listening to the message.


    Their comrades watched in growing horror. The handful of soldiers struggled, the faster they were consumed.


    When Valerius heard the horn she clenched her jaw, turning a sharp glare on her cohorts. She immediately knew what this was about.


    A few ropes and zandleeuws could pull the men free, but that would mean disconnecting the beasts from the carriages, wading into the center of the trap, tying the ropes, then hauling the soldiers out—losing precious hours. With no guaranteed success. Worse, the zandleeuws might get distracted, start playing in the shifting sand, and turn a bad situation into a disaster.


    With a sigh, she dismounted and strode forward. Stof sand was fine and dry, clinging to skin like a second layer. The zandleeuws loved it, their broods often nesting nearby so their young could roll and burrow in the silken grains.


    Valerius eyed the flailing soldiers, now chest-deep in the mire, and made her decision. Rather than wade in herself, she descended the dune, put her swords in the fine sands and concentrated. Her muscles rippled, her eyes glowed bronze, steam rose from her in plumes as she used piety to raise her divine strength.


    With unimaginable strength she slashed through the sand. The impact sent a ripple through the dunes, rolling outward in a controlled wave. The buried men were thrown up in a whirlwind of sand, landing safely atop a dune seven metres away. The impact blew all the air out of their lungs and they clutched their chests in pain, sucking in air haphazardly.


    She gestured for medics to check them over.


    Then turned her gaze to the valley below. Her eyes widen in shock. The displaced sand had revealed something beneath the surface—bodies.


    The soldiers murmured, their curiosity piqued, but Valerius waved them back into formation.


    They were the scouts she send ahead. The monster had killed them all and thrown them in here so we wouldn’t find them. They look horrible. All of them stripped naked and covered in necrosis. Mutilated.


    One thing could not carry all that stuff. The monster must have had help. It means it has made contact with the wildebeests.


    She exhales, taking off her helm. She scruffles her hair and feels the blue ribbon that Elanor put there. Valerius misses her so much.


    She immediately pushes that thought out of her head, and focuses on the situation at hand.


    Since the champion of bloodlust has made contact with wildebeests there’s a real chance its already reached the Oasis. At this point I should consult my cohorts and reevaluate the situation. They will want to turn back. They’ll say holding the stronghold is better than getting caught out here. They’ll say I should listen to my uncle. He has the experience and — I’M FUCKING PISSED.


    she stares at her reflection while breathing rapidly in anger. Her muscular chest strains against her bronze armour. Her glowing eyes swallow her entire reflection, making her look inhuman. The price she paid for power.


    Those snobby old-timers talked me out of leading the scouts. I could’ve saved those men! I could’ve already had that monster in my hands. No they said, Valerius you must show restraint. Valerius, do not be rash. Valerius show some discipline. Valerius be tactful. Valerius, that’s a bad idea. Valerius you cannot leave the stronghold to fend for themselves- ValeriusValeriusValerius.


    She breathes in deep, tilting her head towards the pristine blue sky. Ignoring the cohorts rushing to the scene, they yell her name, demanding explanations.


    She then unclips her war horn and brings it up to her lips. Each cohort puts their hands up in fear. Some of them scramble backwards.


    She blows her war horn three times as hard as she can. The sand near her trembles. The war horn cracks and falls apart from sheer force. The cohorts fall to the ground clutching their ears, screaming for her to stop.


    Once Valerius is done she walks up to them, her face carved in stone, “Let’s have a meeting with all the centurions present, in addition to you ten.”


    “WHAT?” one of them shouts with tears in his eyes.


    “Right, my mistake.”