Desert Prince

Somewhere in the desert, early morning.

When the first ray of dawn pried apart the darkness above the horizon, a monster—one completely swathed in clothing and thick cloth—stirred in a sheltered spot beneath a massive boulder and clumsily crawled to its feet.

But it had not woken naturally.

In the dimness, the "monster" stretched out its thick limbs, yawned wearily, and clawed its head and face free of the heavy cloth before taking a deep breath.

Day had broken.

The youth wrapped in those layers of clothing reached his hand beyond the boulder's shelter.

A chill wind immediately swept across his palm, making him shiver.

It's freezing.

Tales, bundled up from head to toe, trembled and shook his whole body, rubbing his hands together before reaching beside him. The fire he had painstakingly lit with flint and dead branches the previous night had gone out at some point.

He shook his head, still shaken.

Next time, I can't spend the night on a dune this high. The wind's too strong. Even with a boulder blocking it, it won't do.

In the faint morning light, the Prince thought this as he leaned groggily against the rock behind him.

He gazed at the boundless desert wilderness in the distance, taking thirty seconds to fully wake from his drowsiness.

Throughout Tales's six years of study in Dragoncloud City, nearly every scholar fortunate enough to visit the Palace of Heroes and teach its two distinguished students had described the Great Desert with words like "scorching" and "blazing," or something similar.

Damn it.

Tales drew his body tighter and thought resentfully, They must have all been repeating hearsay.

The truth was that only half the time here was lethally hot.

The other half—the nights were cold enough to store ice, or freeze a Tales solid.