Chantelle shattered the silence of the scarlet dawn with a strident cry of terror, sitting up and throwing off the blanket Tiras had thrown over her during the cold, bitter night. The warrior was startled into consciousness, half-drawing a blade before realizing there was no imminent danger. Confused and somewhat annoyed, he crouched by the quivering girl. "I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to kill you. I just wanted…to avenge his death. Forgive me, please…" The girl's words trailed off in sobbing as Tiras gently held her.

She had been dreaming, he realized. "It's okay. You just had a nightmare. Everything's going be just fine. Look, the necromancer's awake." This only seemed to frighten the girl more. Considerably baffled, Tiras stroked her silky, jet-black hair, wondering just what the sorceress had been dreaming about. Probably dreams of magic, of fire and killing. He longed to comfort her more, but part of him was still repulsed by the ruthless nature she had exposed earlier, and the fact that he had stayed up all night in the blistering cold, tending the two comatose magi before him, deterred him from doing so.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tiras could see that the girl's eyes were haunted and wide with fear; they held guilt and shame with some sort of vision only she could see. Shadows seemed to fill her sight; she stared at him without recognition for a long moment. She shivered with something more than fear. In fact, she seemed sick, cheeks pale and drawn, her dark eyes full of icy warmth. It hurt him to see her so vulnerable. At last, Chantelle stopped shivering so violently and seemed ready to reply, but Vladimir cut in irritably.

"If the two of you will get up, we should be traveling further tonight. Before long, night will set in and we must find shelter from the cold."

"Alright, let's go," Tiras said roughly, helping the shaken girl stand up. He looked back one last time at the sight he had contemplated all day, the crater of the falling star, the physical reminder that would stand as a monument to Chantelle's fearsome power…her cruelty.

The companions traveled on, and as time dissolved into mere fragments of star and sunshine, wintry air and breath-taking heat, Tiras found himself looking at the sorceress when he thought her back was turned, when she talked so animatedly with the other magic-user. There was just something so intriguing about her, something apart from her strength and resilience against the life-sapping land. Something he could not figure out.

A week passed, and as the travelers approached the heart of the desert, the number of sand dunes noticeably increased, in gentle slopes and steep climbs. Chill night began to fall on these, but slowly, as the sun was reluctant to relinquish its hold on the land. During the period between the sunset and the coming of the first stars, a cool breeze stirred up the soft sands. The temperature was comfortable, not too warm and not yet cold. Visibility had been reduced, but at no great discomfort, for the only thing to be seen was the same endless brown stretches of sand, varied here and there by the dunes and a few stout cactuses.

As the companions navigated the endless sand dunes, Vladimir found that they were not far from the haven of the place known as the Far Oasis, consulting the precious map he'd obtained from Drognan. Their progress had been sped by Tiras' knowledge of the land, and the use of various waypoints. Furthermore, it had been decided the best traveling time was during the early hours of the morning and during the relatively cooler hours just before night to avoid heat strokes as well as losing too much energy and moisture. Unfortunately, many desert predators would undoubtedly have this knowledge, too.

Chantelle still distanced herself from her companions as they crossed the deserts of Aranoch, though Tiras had tried more than once to draw her into conversation as he pushed them on at the pace of a fanatic, driving the group to extreme fatigue. It seemed the warrior wished to finish the quest as soon as possible, ignoring the group's physical and emotional needs. He was not insensitive to anxiety, however, and gave the sorceress her space.

The rapidly cooling night, for some reason, seemed more sinister than the ones past, lending credence to the girl's edginess. Each hungry howl of the wind, every imagined sound caused the panicky sorceress to jump. Vladimir observed this and silently drew near the fearful girl. "Tiras mentioned you had a dream earlier. Do not allow a nightmare to plague you in the world of the living, Chantelle. Expose the dream to reality, and it will lose its power."

"I…I don't know. It just seemed so real!" she murmured.

"Tell me," the necromancer pressed.

Chantelle spoke hesitantly, "I…we were here in the desert. Tiras woke me up, and we were talking." Her voice gathered strength as she continued. "Then all of a sudden, sand maggots burst out of the ground! We were faring well at first, but I heard the Gorebellies coming. You saved me when I was distracted. Then one of the insects…it killed you! I was shocked. I didn't know what to do. I can still see it so clearly, here in my mind! I was so angry. I wanted to take revenge…for you, and I forgot about Tiras. My magic killed him too. I wanted to die… That's when Tiras woke me up."

Chantelle shuddered and shook, guilty tears washing down the smooth curves of her cheeks and past her chin. She dropped her head, letting her silky hair fall across her face in caressing waves to hide her tear-streaked face. Vladimir smoothed away the wet trails on her lovely face.

The horrors of her dream slowly turned to lifeless, silent ghosts that drifted away with the next wind that blew through the night. "Good," Vladimir said, noting the color returning to her ashen cheeks. "Don't you feel better now? Take control of your own mind and banish your fears. You've learned to do that from practicing your magic. Remember your training and forget the dream."

Chantelle smiled wanly, feeling relief from the horrifying events in her mind. If I keep active and think of other things, she thought, the dream will trouble me no longer. "Thank you for talking to me, Vladimir."

The dark sorcerer's words stirred questions she'd long been troubled about. "I've noticed something strange in my magic. Before journeying here, I had been inept with any fire spells. In fact, I've never successfully casted any magic to do with fire before. Maybe it had been something to do with my…condition. But I seem to grow more and more powerful in the element of fire. You are magi, yourself. Do you have any idea why this might be?"

"There can be a number of explanations for this. But I would learn of your condition first to prevent a premature answer."

"I've been sick as long as I can remember. I don't know why. I always feel so… cold. My teacher, Arcanna, believes my affliction is magic itself, but that does not seem quite right. She helped me to feel warmth for the first time in my life, but my sickness always resurfaces after casting a difficult spell. I still have never been able to cast fire-related spells…until now. Suddenly, strange words pop into my head, and I say them without knowing why, without knowledge of their meaning. Usually, this is a fatal practice among magic-users, because we lack the will and power and speed to reverse a potentially disastrous miscast spell and shield ourselves from its effects. In other words, you are supposed to die, or at least suffer grievous injuries, if you cast a spell without extensive knowledge about it. But this is not the case. Instead, I can control this unknown magic. Or maybe it controls me! My quest was to seek mastery over the fire element, to end my sickness forever."

"Perhaps this is not as bad as you fear. Perhaps a deity is watching over you, to provide you with guidance as you develop your skills in this area. Maybe it is even Arcanna herself, subtly communicating with you at a distance to help you fulfill your quest. The desert, hot and dry as it is, may also enhance your inner abilities. At any rate, your newfound skills are very useful to us. If it can help save one of our lives, how can these powers be harmful? It is my belief that you should thank your unknown benefactor, and submit yourself to the magic, next time this occurs. Revel in the feeling. Let fire cleanse your doubts and purify your soul. Fire will be your guiding light in this time of darkness."

Chantelle gazed at the necromancer warmly. "Your words are wise, Vladimir. If only I was so sure of myself too. I will follow your advice. I only hope that I can prove to be worthy of your confidence in me."

Tiras broke in, calling, "There's an old sign up ahead. I think we're getting near the Far Oasis!"

The battered sign, carved into a rocky outcropping, stood forlornly in the darkness. Crude white markings indicated the Far Oasis was indeed nearby. Whoever had carved the lettering had not mastered a basic knowledge of language, but the sign still served its purpose. Once they reached the sanctuary, they would be able to refill their water and stop to rest. It had been a long day.

A cloud of nipping insects had landed scores of bites earlier, and Tiras worried about infection. Some bites resulted in an insistent itch, but others had turned a painfully stinging vermeil. After warding off the pestering bugs with a small spell of necromancy, lizards had attacked the small group. Fast and cunning, the reptiles stood upright on two legs, evaded Tiras' swords and Chantelle's spells. It took yet another enchantment from Vladimir to disperse the swift beasts, and hungry eyes could still be felt watching them.

"Hey! I see a pond up ahead!" the barbarian excitedly yelled. He raced toward a distant stand of palm trees that encircled a round pool of sparkling water. The sight was very beautiful in the night, striking a nostalgic note in the chambers of the heart. A slight glow suffused the whole scene, but the source of illumination could not be found. The effect was almost magical. Leafy green palms beckoned invitingly with pale white limbs, smooth and unblemished. The plants stretched forth into the air, full of the glory of life. Below, fresh, whispering waters gently sloshed against the sloping banks, promising rest and sweet comfort. He wanted nothing more than to listen.

Chantelle, on the other hand, watched uneasily as the man ran laughing toward the desert oasis. Arcanna had cautioned her before venturing into Aranoch. "Beware of desert mirages. They are demonic illusions designed to trick unwary travelers into getting lost and eventually dying of thirst or another, more painful demise. Be strong, for the enchantments of a demon will certainly be so."

"Is it real?" she asked the silver-blond man quietly.

Vladimir replied uncertainly. "We can all see it, so it must be. But on the other hand, a carefully crafted illusion could fool even the most astute observers. I have known some keen fighters to follow illusions, will-o-the-wisps and the like, to death, almost against their will. The trouble is that they are all too self-assured. One should always exercise caution. Our friend there may be running into a trap."

Amazed at his choice of words, Chantelle did not register the last words. Our friend? Vladimir had certainly changed over the past few days. The necromancer was more respectful, much more amiable than their first encounter. Chantelle approved wholeheartedly of this change. She had always thought the man was attractive in his own way, so wise and powerful. The girl smiled a little at her thoughts. Who would have thought she would come to like a necromancer? She cleared the stray thoughts to watch Tiras approach the seductive refuge.

"Come, my friends! It's safe! Look, the waters are nice and cool!" Wet splashing noises could be heard shortly after. Hearing Tiras' healthy admission, the two's last bit of caution and reservedness slipped into waiting, rippling pools like the barbarian at the moment. They ran for the inviting sanctuary, inspired by their own deep thirst.

The warrior submerged his entire head in the pool, drinking deeply of the refreshing liquid. It seemed to travel down his throat and spread to the rest of his body without even passing through the stomach. His bulging green veins darkened a shade as he relaxed his muscles. Smiling, he slowly laid back into the moist sand, letting the shadows of the night embrace him.

It felt good, the cool sands pressing against his bare back. Gentle waves mimicking the powerful rolling waves of the Westmarch coast rolled against the shore, glistening with bubbly white foam. Wind rubbed the swaying palms and left, leaving a lingering sense of longing for the faintest stroke, the slightest touch. The sounds of night were muted and quiet; for the first time since leaving his homeland, he felt truly at peace in the solitude. The day's troubles seemed to weigh on him with an almost physical burden. It was so tiring. The last sound he heard was the soft lapping of pearly waves drawing slowly closer.

Chantelle reached the pond before the dark sorcerer, driven by a nearly insane desire to relieve her thirst. Be strong…be strong…be strong… Arcanna's words faded away, a thing of the past, drowned out by the louder clamor of basic survival thought attuned to nothing but the preservation of precious life. The waters were glossy and sweet, trickling through her fingers with a velvety feeling. She bent down to drink in quick gulps, hastily allowing the silken liquid to caress her parched throat, cleansing both body and mind.

Vladimir knelt beside her to do the same though with far less abandon and even a certain sort of grace. The girl sighed gustily and sprawled near the water, interlacing her fingers beneath her head and staring into the dark sky. The stars above were bright and shiny and metallic in a field of utter blackness. And it was so wearying all of a sudden, so hard to keep her eyes open. A short rest would do her so much good right now…