The desert pulsed under a burning sky. Heat shimmered like steam above the sand, the air thick and dry as scorched parchment. Rell dragged his boots through dunes so wide they swallowed sight, his cloak tattered and stiff from salt and soot.

  Every step sunk him deeper.

  His body had stopped sweating.

  The jungle—so alive, so noisy—was a memory now. This place was death on slow wind.

  “Where… sand end…?” he muttered, the words dry and cracked in his throat.

  No answer. Just silence and a shimmering emptiness.

  He stopped walking.

  His foot hadn’t landed.

  It sunk—fast.

  “…Tch.”

  The dune beneath him gave way in an instant. Rell dropped, sand swallowing him like a hungry mouth.

  Cursed quicksand.

  Not natural. He felt it. The pull wasn’t physics—it was hunger. Magic threaded into the grains, a slow spiral tugging at his limbs, dragging down even as his muscles bulged in resistance.

  By the time his waist hit the surface, it was already too late to walk out.

  “Not… now.”

  He flared aura through his arms—icy wind sparked. The sand hissed as frost crystalized on the top layer, but it only slowed the descent.

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  “Won’t… end… here.”

  He thrust his hand forward, trying to grab anything—nothing.

  The sand swallowed it whole.

  Buried.

  Pulled.

  His heartbeat slowed.

  The pressure wrapped around his chest like stone bands. Each breath tighter. His body screamed to resist.

  But the cursed magic didn’t care.

  It wasn’t just sand anymore.

  It was intent.

  It wanted to break him. Pull his soul below. Bury his will.

  He sank to his chest. Arms trapped. Breath trembling.

  He closed his eyes.

  Then stilled.

  Inside his chest, beneath the relic-bound glyphs and frostline spirit, something deeper stirred.

  Not just magic.

  Not just force.

  Soul Grip.

  He’d first heard the term from Ko Mala during a late-night training spar, back when the lion didn’t expect him to listen. A move only spirit-blessed hybrids could attempt: reaching inward, bypassing body and brain—letting the soul take hold of the world.

  It wasn’t about muscles.

  It was about refusal.

  You don’t pull because you’re strong.

  You pull because your soul won’t stay buried.

  Eyes still shut, Rell exhaled.

  He reached inward.

  “Move…”

  His voice was low. Broken.

  But it echoed through the cursed pit.

  “Me… not done yet…”

  He clenched his fingers under the sand.

  The grains shifted.

  The cursed pull faltered—just for a breath.

  Then—

  He gripped the sand.

  And pulled.

  Not just himself—but the magic.

  The entire pit shuddered as if the desert itself was being dragged against its will. A shockwave of frost and force erupted from beneath the surface, splitting the dune in two.

  With a primal roar, Rell exploded upward, ripping free of the quicksand in a burst of cracked crystal and whirling grit. His body arced through the air—landed hard—knees first, coughing sand and blood.

  His arms trembled.

  But he was free.

  The quicksand pit collapsed in on itself—shrieking. Literally. The cursed magic had a voice. A whisper. It hissed like a dying beast as it folded inward and vanished, leaving behind only scorched black sand and a faint stench of sulfur.

  Rell collapsed on his back, chest rising like a bellows.

  “…Still here.”

  Wind rolled past.

  He stood after a moment, brushing off flakes of curse-burned sand. A new crack had split his left vambrace—he’d need that reforged soon. His cloak was shredded. His frost aura sizzled faintly against the heat.

  Then—

  A scream.

  Feminine. Faint.

  Distant, but clear.

  Rell blinked.

  “Neyxa.”

  He ran.

  —

  Time Passed: 5.5 hours since the storm.

  Location: Outer Dune Ravine

  Neyxa was on one knee, blades melted and cracked, her tattoos still glowing from overuse. Around her: crystallized sand, a shattered scorpion husk, and scorch marks in a circle around her fallen body.

  She wobbled.

  Collapsed.

  Rell arrived just as she started to fall completely. His arms caught her mid-collapse, sand shifting beneath his boots.

  “Got… you.”

  Her eyes fluttered.

  “‘Bout time…”

  She passed out.

  He held her close.

  “…We move soon.”

  And then, carrying her with both arms like glass, he walked forward.

  The cursed sand crunched beneath his feet—but didn’t sink.

  It didn’t dare.