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[hr][color=#B8041A][b]LOCATION[/b][/color][b]:[/b] The Desert
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The conversation with Ayla kept playing through Kaspar’s mind as the group traversed the sands of Torragon. Some part of him felt guilty to be so selfishly distracted when the threat for danger was so high, but the larger part of him couldn’t be bothered—there were nine others in the convoy, three of whom could sense farther with the Gift than he could ever hope to. They did not need him.

He wished he could say, at the very least, that his distraction had been productive—but the boy wasn’t sure that it had. He kept trying to imagine what it was he wanted, but found so much of this “ideal” life in conflict with itself.

He loved his parents—the Elstrøms—greatly, and he knew they loved him. He had more opportunities than would have ever been available to him Kerremand… But less freedom. The path before him was set as the heir of a noble family, and he didn’t mind terribly much most days. But there was an immense pressure, like an executioner’s ax hanging above his neck. Above his whole family—above the lineage he purported himself to be from. 

If it was discovered that he was not the legitimate, blood-born heir, it would have dire consequences for the Elstrøm name and family. Even if the discovery was centuries from now, it could throw into question the continuation of this family.

By right of blood, the Elstrøm line would die the day he took the title of Marquis. No child he sired would be legitimate; no blood of his, no matter how distant into the future, would truly belong in the seat of the Marquis. This was the true danger of his past, the reason why this secret needed to be so closely guarded. The last morsel of knowledge of his past would need to die with those who knew it now. No written history, no great secret passed to another, no matter how deeply he trusted them.

For the first time since he had arrived at Ersand’Enise, Kaspar found himself longing for Willa. Not even the tutor knew the truth of him, but she had consoled him from nightmares he could not explain many times in his childhood. She may not understand why he needed the comfort, but she would provide it nonetheless. 

But… there were others capable of that, too. Ayla had seen his stricken face earlier and offered him comfort though he could not tell her what had shaken him. She had offered words of encouragement and kindness.

He wondered if she would be as kind if she knew he’d lied—that his whole life was a lie. If she knew how dangerous he was. 

His eyes scanned his collection of classmates, and with a sharp jolt of pain in his chest, Kaspar wondered if they could ever forgive him, were they to learn the truth. For being so dishonest, for impersonating someone of importance when he was anything but, for being a monster who had nearly killed because he had lacked control. Would they forgive the blood on his hands, when his own birth mother could not? 

He shut his eyes tightly, breathing as deeply as the stifling air would allow. There was good reason he could never reveal the truth to them—not even to the kind and bright Ayla. It would be the undoing of his family, and the undoing of himself.

Choking down the pain and forcing his mind to other things, Kaspar Elstrøm von Wentoft continued on into the sands.

[hr]
By the time they had stopped to eat, Kaspar was on edge, focus so tightly coiled that he felt like it might burst. The halassa had been a less than welcome sight, reminding him of the charcoal one he’d left on the wall of his room—with double the fighting force they’d had the previous night, the boy had faith they could handle it. But stopping to fight among these sands would undoubtedly bring trouble of its own kind. 

He’d been relieved when Escarra had scared them off with the rifle, though his mind wondered what sort of attention the noise would attract, if any. Did sound travel well here in the desert, or did the wind and the sand choke it before it truly got a chance to live?

The rhinodon was a surprise to the boy. He didn’t know much of desert wildlife, and all that knowledge stemmed from the previous night’s experience. He steered his camel out of the way, pulling on his knowledge of riding horses, but the movements were strange to Kaspar and he hadn’t been reacting as quickly as he hoped to, feeling off-balance. 

He’d noticed Zarina’s attempts to distract the creature, and was grateful even if they didn’t seem to have much effect. He managed to avoid the first charge, narrowly avoiding a nasty spill off the back of his steed, and had tried to move himself out of the way of the next charge—until the beast suddenly gave up its quarry, making a brisk retreat. 

Kaspar at least knew that it wasn’t a [i]good[/i] sign, his fears being confirmed heartbeats later when the ranger called for them to flee to the safety of the hoodoos. As he had spurred his camel toward the cliffs he saw the great wall of sand approaching and felt his throat tighten. It had reminded him of the snow squalls that would sometimes pass through Wentoft in the coldest months. While this sand squall would likely be free from the dangers of hypothermia, he could only think of the abrasiveness of the particles—far rougher than that of snow. 

They’d found shelter enough among the hoodoos, and the sand squall had revealed a good enough shelter to rest.

As he ate, trying to let his mind rest for a time, Kaspar was grateful for the shade. The heat out here was monstrous, and part of him thought a snow squall might be [i]refreshing[/i] now. He certainly preferred the harsh chill of Helbahn to the hell that was this desert, but knew there was no real point in wishing for something that was a continent away. 

Lunch was a quiet affair for the noble; he preferred to observe conversations most of the time anyway, and the classmates who might try to drag him into one all seemed occupied with their own discussions. It didn’t bother him, though a piece of the boy was curious to know what they talked about as words failed to reach his ears. That was, perhaps, by design—noting this, and not wanting to intrude unless invited, the Helbahnese spent most of his time passively watching the card game, occasionally glancing up to observe Escarra’s movements. 

Kaspar could not say he was [i]pleased[/i] to be moving again, as they shuffled away from the ruins and back into the sand, but he pushed his growing discomfort away in favor of focusing on the task before them. He did not have long to contemplate the potential success of the journey, as the tethered among them finally noticed the aberration. Despite the heat in the air, Kaspar felt a small shiver go down his spine. 

They moved further along the cliffs, and there was no room now for distraction; his crimson eyes were constantly scanning the movements above, the froabases looking for any opening to swoop down upon them. As they rode, Kaspar drew from the sands around them, letting something of a reserve build up in his manas in case he needed to act quickly. Quietly, his fingers slipped into the pocket of his vest and he clutched his wand in one hand, preparing for the peace to rupture at any moment. 

When Marceline finally rode back to tell the majority of them that a wyrm had been sensed a mile off, it felt in some ways like rainfall after a drought. The threat was known, and though it had not yet attacked, Kaspar felt the anticipation bleed from him. He nodded, unsettled but prepared. He followed Escarra as they made for the rocky ground near the cliffs, senses on alert but breathing calm. 

But the calm could not last, and as the tension, thin wire that it was, snapped into chaos, Kaspar’s heart beat into his throat. Some of his companions may be able to hasten their beasts with the Gift, but he had no such talent—he arrived at the rocky outcrop among the last of the convoy, barely outpacing Zarina despite her detour to save the supply camel that had spooked. 

For a moment, they were safe among the rocks, but it could not last—not after the wyrm had stirred up the sands and the creatures of Eshiran’s Throat. As blood began to spill and soak into the sand, Kaspar felt his camel startle and tensed with expectation. 

He’d enjoyed riding horses over the past five years at Wentoft, lessons frequent—but he’d first been put in a saddle at eight, shortly after he arrived there. The boy still remembered walking around the training yard, clutching tightly to the mane of the horse as he rocked back and forth, legs already aching. It had been merely a harmless garden snake that spooked his steed, but enough to send it galloping across the yard in a panic, poor Kaspar unable to keep his grip as he slid from the saddle, landing harshly on the ground and barely avoiding the back hooves of the beast. Willa had consoled him then, too, holding his hands as he’d sat in the grass and sobbed, startling every time the horse snorted from a few dozen feet away. 

He felt a similar sense of helplessness now, as his camel bolted from the scene. Try as he might to control it, the noble couldn’t calm the beast—and though he was unhappy with its behavior, he could not say he blamed it. 

It would not be enough to save them, though. As he felt the froabase descending, shadows of its wings upon the sand, Kaspar turned in his saddle and swung his wand out, a barrier of stone slamming into the creature.

It was closer than he had expected, though, claws already grasping at his camel. He felt a pang of guilt at being unable to save the beast, but his life was more important. He pushed off, sending himself one direction as his steed was ripped from underneath him, horrific screeches coming from both it and its predator. He hit the sand and rolled, more by force than by choice. 

Stopping on all fours, teeth bared and bloodied red from biting his lip and tongue in the fall, there was something wild in the face of the boy. As another predator swirled in the sky and dove toward him, he reached out with his manas and [i]pulled[/i]. 

It was like the creature’s face had burst, but there was no flesh spraying out from the impact—blood spilled on him and the sand around him as it screeched, and Kaspar felt the pressure building in his blood as a harsh spear of rock appeared in the air, only half-conscious of his casting it. The froabase rolled to the side mid-air and took the jagged weapon only half in the throat, tearing at the flesh but not outright killing it. 

It circled, preparing for another dive, and Kaspar felt the pressure building again—but this time, he was not the one drawing. 

With a start, he realized his attacker had stopped moving, hanging from the air like one of Ysilla’s puppets against a darkening sky. 

He would’ve hit his knees if he were not already on them, and his blood-soaked hands came up to clutch tightly to his head, nauseous from the immense pressure. He felt like he was going to explode, and for half a second wondered if this was the price of using Blood Magic. 

Then it stilled, and turned stranger still—Kaspar glanced up, expecting to see the Paradigm himself among the sands, but instead saw [i]Jocasta[/i] in the air, emanating power in a way he’d never felt so directly. And the froabases were gone, and he questioned if they’d ever been there at all.

Jocasta dropped to the ground, but Kaspar fell forward onto his hands, fingers digging into blood-soaked sand as he panted out harsh breaths. When he finally looked up again, blood dribbling down his chin, Jocasta was being tended to. 

Curiosity prickled at the boy, but he could shove it aside easily enough. Right now, he didn’t care what sort of forbidden magic she had tapped into—it had saved their lives. He hardly had room for judgement or disapproval, given his own attempt to escape death, though an internet in her and her abilities would certainly grow from here. 

Kaspar pushed to his feet, blood-splattered and looking worse-off than he actually was. His mouth tasted of copper but the wounds were not terrible; bothersome, but they would heal up fine. As he made his way to the group, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, the boy noted who had been lost. None of his classmates, thankfully, but two of the guards—it was sad, though he couldn’t spare the energy to be truly upset by it now.

Much of the journey back was a blur, Kaspar’s awareness shifting in and out. He found a camel somewhere, though it was definitely not his own. He wasn’t sure if he was dozing or simply losing awareness from the stress, but when he truly noticed his surroundings again, the blood on his shirt was dry and it flaked from his chin and throat. The walls of the Refuge were in sight, and for a moment a sense of safety overwhelmed him.

It was tamped down by a bitter, amused remembrance of what had happened the previous night within sight of those walls. There were nearly done, but Kaspar would not truly believe it until they were well [i]within[/i] the walls. 

And he doubted he would truly feel [i]safe[/i] until they were back in Ersand’Enise, far away from this hellscape.

[hider=TLDR]
Kaspar spends the initial part of the journey thinking about his conversation with Ayla, why keeping his true identity a secret is important, and how his classmates might react if they knew.

He’s quiet but tense through lunch, mostly watching guards play cards. 

When the froabases attacked, his camel was taken and he jumped from it. Another froabase attacked and he drew from it directly and attacked using Blood Magic; while he didn’t try to hide it, it would’ve been difficult to notice in the moment because of the chaos. 

He’s in and out of it on the journey back. He looks pretty bloody, but his only injuries are from biting his own lip and tongue while jumping from his camel.
[/hider]