“In the desert, life clings where water runs; flip it, and wherever life breathes, some hidden vein of water must flow.”

Adelaide said it softly, like shade under a lone palm.

She couldn’t point to a spring in that sand-sea.

But as a Blood Mage, every flicker of life was a spark in the dark.

With blood as ink, her detection net could sweep dozens of miles.

And that was exactly what she’d paint with her own red.

Mira eyed her callus‑free, pale palm, doubt like blown grit in her chest.

“There has to be a way without blood… mm—!”

Adelaide pinched her cheek, half sigh, half smile, like kneading a warm dumpling.

“Really, trust your big sister. A few drops of red dew won’t hurt.”

With her cheeks caught, Mira wore that rare, lost‑kitten look, all soft light.

It tugged Adelaide back to when she was small, bun‑soft and just as adorable.

The memory stirred a bright itch, like sun on still water.

Her free hand fidgeted, itching to knead the other cheek like steamed dough.

“Mm… I get it,” Mira mumbled, slurred like a mouth full of marshmallow.

Pinched into babble, she finally let go of Adelaide’s wrist.

Adelaide met her early surrender with a small pout, a passing stormcloud.

With no excuse to keep pinching, Adelaide tsked inwardly and turned to her own hand, cool as moonlight on sand.

She glanced around, checking that no eyes were on her, like a fox at dusk.

An iron shard kissed her palm, a cold fang tracing a narrow red thread.

Fine beads of blood rose, rubies on white porcelain.

She didn’t blink; she curled her fist, pressing until scarlet seeped through her fingers like rain through reeds.

Red pearls tapped the sand, one by one.

Sharp, rapid whispers spilled from her lips, a swarm of starlings turning.

The leftover blood drew a sigil, thin as river roots.

A brief red flash flared; she palmed it away, like snuffing a firefly.

Her hand was seized mid‑move, a sudden tug like a wave.

Riiip—

Mira tore her sleeve; electric blue flickers danced along the strip, fireflies that burned away dust while they cleaned.

“I actually like you in that outfit,” Adelaide said, smiling with a petal of regret.

Mira shot her a small glare, then bent close and wrapped the cloth, steady as a nurse under lantern light.

Adelaide watched that focused care and only shrugged, a reed bending to the wind.

She rarely needed to tend such small cuts; her body was a frail reed, but her blood was a healing stream.

Unless she was anemic or the wound was wide, it knit within half a day.

Rahman’s stab through her shoulder had nearly vanished, a scar like old bark.

A little blood from the palm was mist on stone, not worth fretting over.

Still, if this soothed Mira’s heart, she’d let the stream run gentle.

Adelaide let Mira hold her hand, then closed her eyes, like a crane folding its wings.

Red lines unspooled from her, circle on circle, roots tasting the earth and bearing news.

Mira’s life was the first she felt, warm as a hearth.

Then the caravan, voices clashing like a flock of crows over water.

Beyond that, a blank like winter ground, a dead zone without breath.

That was normal; away from the caravan, she expected miles of quiet sand, no pulse under the skin.

Just then, one blood‑line quivered, a plucked string in the dark.

Something vast, and… sweet as nectar, poured into her mind.

Her brow lifted, a ripple across still water.

“What is it?” Mira asked, worry flickering like a lamp.

Adelaide opened her eyes, surprise bright as dawn.

“I think… I found it.”

Half an hour later, they rode their camels to the spot, boats swaying on golden waves.

The life‑pulse lay closer than she’d expected.

Set aside that odd, honeyed scent; the rest matched what she sought, leaf and wing.

She’d sensed a mass of plants, insects, even small animals skittering like rain on rock.

All signs pointed to an oasis, a green bowl in the dunes.

With water close, her mood rose like a kite in a steady wind.

But as the scene came into view, it snagged, not the picture she’d painted.

Her spell had indeed found an oasis, yet no crescent lake gleamed like a blade of moon.

No date palms bowed with head‑sized fruit, heavy like lanterns along a shore.

Only tight clumps of drought‑hard shrubs huddled together, thorny silhouettes on dust.

Sparse leaves clung without flower or fruit, and several roots lay exposed, torn like veins after a sand‑storm’s lash.

Mira glanced over, puzzled, her eyes like clear wells.

Adelaide rested her chin, thinking, a crane listening to ripples.

No, the place matched—so why just these few shrubs?

Did the sand‑storm scour the rest, leaving stubble and bone?

Wait—more than that.

If the storm swept this ridge, how did I sense so many breathing things?

A steady chill mixed with curiosity, a cold spring under warm sand.

Adelaide lowered her head and narrowed her eyes, blades in shade.

“Mira, step back a bit.”

“What are you going to do? Let me.”

“It’s fine. I just want to test a thought,” Adelaide said, gently stopping her overprotective sister, like a hand calming a restless colt.

She drew a small bottle from beneath her skirts, moonlight glass from a hidden pool.

Inside lay a stout finger, silver hairs bristling like frost on a thorn.

She hadn’t carried much out of Balad, but she never traveled empty‑handed.

By chance—the day Rockridge revealed herself, General Slandor was there, iron at her hip and eyes like steel.

She knew Adelaide practiced Blood Magic, so Adelaide dropped the pretense and asked for materials, straight as an arrow.

Not human—never; the devout High Sister Manny watched like a hawk.

Even a dead convict’s organs would feel sacrilege, ashes on the tongue.

Luckily, the Northern Army had hunted a monster half a month ago, a Silver‑maned Howler with fur like moon grass.

General Slandor tossed the carcass to Adelaide, generous as a mountain.

This finger was one piece she’d carved away, a shard of the beast’s power.

“turya—Enhance.”

A long chant compressed into two heartbeats, and the sacrifice fit the word like lock to key.

The finger crumbled to ash, a gray rain in the bottle.

Vein‑like lines crawled from her palm up her arm, red vines racing under porcelain skin.

A soft gasp escaped her; her slender arm trembled, a bowstring humming.

Mira rushed in, hands ready, like wings in a gust.

But she misread it; the tremor wasn’t pain—it was a drumbeat of excitement.

Hot blood surged into Adelaide’s head, a river breaking ice.

She grinned, teeth flashing like white stones.

In the next breath, she punched the sand at her feet, a lightning strike on a dune.

Her pale, slim arm looked delicate, and the ground was loose as sifted flour.

Yet the impact boomed like thunder, a hammer meeting ore deep underground.

“What… did you do?” Mira whispered, the sound not matching the sight, her steps faltering like a deer on shale.

Fine cracking threaded up from below, a web of breaking glass in the sand.

Adelaide didn’t answer; she smiled and took Mira’s hand, firm as a lifeline.

Heat rose in Mira’s cheeks, a bloom under snow.

Before she could ask why the grip was so tight, the earth tilted beneath them.

The dune opened like a sluice, collapsing in a slow roar and dragging them down.

She clutched Adelaide’s hand and fought for balance, a reed in a flood, until sudden weightlessness flipped the world.

Splash—splash.

“Cough… cough…” Mira jerked upright, choking water, breath flitting like a sparrow.

She forced her eyes open and met a small, smug grin, sparks dancing there.

“See? I said oasis life wouldn’t dodge a sand‑storm. They hid underground, all of them,” Adelaide chimed, bright as bell metal.

She brushed sand from Mira’s lashes, her touch wet and warm, a tide at dusk.

Mira blinked, stunned; she looked down and found half her body soaking, a river around her waist.

Water, yes—flowing water, a dark ribbon under the sand, at least a meter deep.

She froze, doubt flickering like a moth, unsure the desert still held them.

Her stinging nose didn’t lie; truth bit like salt—this was water.

Here lay the oasis they’d been hunting, a hidden lake beneath the dunes.