“Like stars on the earth…” Milian echoed his words. And whispered,

O lovely land,

Entrancing land,

Far from woe, far from sorrows within;

As if dreams hide

Where the night sky ends, the earth begins…

It didn’t seem that he intended someone to hear his newborn poem but in the night that quiet, even whisper can be too loud to hide anything… The whole team heard the boy. Embarrassed, Milian fell silent.

“So you’re a poet, Mil…” said Orion, a strange thankfulness in his voice. “Why haven’t you ever read us anything of yours?”

“I preferred to listen to your stories instead.” Milian laughed the question away. “Let’s go. It’s getting colder and colder by the minute.”

Orion shrugged, unconvinced by his friend’s nervous laughter. What kind of storyteller was he if he couldn’t even notice a poet beside him? Orion made a promise to himself to shut up the next time someone asks him for another story so Milian would have a chance to shine as well.

The dune they chose to climb was a mighty beast. It took the team a while to reach the top. Their feet sank in the sand with every step, the cold wind drained their warmth slowly but steadily, and their cloaks were no help. But all their efforts and suffering were rewarded in the end when they reached the top of the sandy monster and saw the shining lights of the city below.

Stars in the sky, stars on the earth; a place where dreams hide… All that Milian had expressed in his snatch of a poem before anyone had seen that with their own eyes. Poetry is a sister to magic, yes, but it also has a lot in common with divination. Fortune-telling.

Seeing the lights of the city and hearing its distant murmur lifted the team’s spirits again. The Lifekeepers ran down the dune with a burst of boyish laughter, eager to reach Torgor, that shining diadem crowning the dark sands.

In the cold air, their every breath was a puff of white vapour that the desert hungrily snatched away the moment it appeared; their every step was a fleeting impression in the sand, soon erased by everlasting winds; their voices were devoid of echoes, swallowed by the dunes. The desert holds few memories…

“I heard that Kuldaganian nightlife is truly something!” said Lainuver. He was so cold that his teeth chattered, making speaking difficult, but he just couldn’t wait to share his excitement.

“Oh we’ll have fun there all right!” Oasis’s happy voice joined him in the dark. “I’m so sick of Firaskian curfews!”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Bala, “but Kuldaganian nights are mostly work, not fun. It’s just too hot there by day to do anything, so the locals mostly live by night.”

“Oh…” Oasis’s enthusiasm died in an instant. “And what about the city we’re going to from here? That ‘Border’? Is it just like Torgor?”

“No,” said Bala remembering his visit to Border five years ago. His speech became slow and thoughtful. “Border’s people are diurnal. It’s a bit like Firaska: a city with walls and a little army to defend them. They have desert raiders threatening them from one side and No-Man’s-Land bandits from the other. But there are no curfews, so ‘nightlife’ is a thing there, yes. I think you’ll like it!” He tried to sound cheerful and supportive but with the cold that cruel, even Bala couldn’t be his usual self.

Kuldagan is a land of mystery. Formally, it’s a part of the South but in terms of magic, it’s an anomaly. Torgor is the last city where magic is reliable; further north, casting spells is a gamble. The closer you are to Border, the city guarding the entrance to the No Man’s Land, the higher the stakes in that gamble are. That’s why no mage ever takes their Transvolo further than Torgor.

Torgor is a big, busy city, similar to Mirumir in many ways, zigarella smoke excluded. There are little shops, caf'es, and dlars (local inns) on every corner and a spectacular market in the central square where all kinds of curiosities from around the world are sold.

The cult of Ancestors’ purity is still a thing in Torgor but it’s slowly fading, losing its influence to the massive multicultural flow of merchants and tourists passing through the city every day. Most of the Torgor locals still look somewhat like the city’s first people: Arnika who was a blue-eyed, brown-skinned redhead and Vadro, her husband, who had pale skin, grey eyes, and silver hair. But very few modern Torgorians are perfect copies of their Ancestors nowadays.

To everyone but Bala who had already been to Torgor, seeing so many similar faces seemed creepy. The boys couldn’t help commenting on that, though in very hushed voices not to be overheard by the locals.