05/05/81 ATE

  The morning air was thick with dust as Illuminus set out from the Sharp Spear Tribe’s settlement, the sun already high in the sky. His donkey, now carrying woollen jumpers instead of bulky yarn, trudged steadily alongside him, the weight of their supplies a constant reminder of the journey ahead. The envoy, chosen by the Sharp Spear Tribe, walked beside him in silence, a calming presence amid the tension. Peace was their goal, but the Flame Brotherhood’s reputation for brutality made it hard for him to believe diplomacy would succeed. As they pressed forward through the barren wasteland, Illuminus’ thoughts were consumed with Olaf, wondering if he was still alive, if he had suffered, or worse, if he had already been lost to the Brotherhood’s cruelty.

  The path grew rougher as the hours stretched on, the cracked earth giving way to jagged rocks and steep hills. Illuminus adjusted the straps on the donkey’s load, the harsh sun beating down relentlessly. The envoy, ever calm, kept pace without a word. Illuminus glanced at him, unable to keep the unease from his voice.

  "Do you really think they'll listen?" he asked, his voice rough from the heat. The envoy met his gaze with quiet conviction.

  "They may listen. We will offer peace, but we cannot control their response. Our role is to extend that peace, not to fight." Illuminus’ jaw tightened. The peace the envoy spoke of felt fragile—like a shield that would easily shatter in the face of violence. Yet, it was the only clear path forward. The rest of the day passed in a weary silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching on the dry earth. By evening, they made camp beneath a rocky outcrop, the wind stirring the dust around them. As the fire crackled, Illuminus sat in silence, his mind replaying the events that had led him here. He had doubts about the kind of reception The Flame Brotherhood would give them.

  07/05/81 ATE

  The final day of their journey feels like an eternity. As the hours stretch on, the landscape grows even more hostile. Jagged cliffs and deep ravines cut through the land, the terrain as dangerous as it is barren. The sun beats down relentlessly, and Illuminus feels the oppressive weight of the journey pressing on him. Each step feels heavier, the heat sapping his energy as they near their destination. The Flame Brotherhood’s camp comes into view. For all the fear they inspire, it looks much like the other tribal settlements—ramshackle and crude. Illuminus’ stomach tightens with anticipation. This is it. The moment of truth looms ahead.

  “We’re close now,” Illuminus says, the words barely escaping his dry lips. His gaze stays fixed on the camp as it draws nearer. The envoy walks beside him, his expression calm, unshaken by the sight of the Brotherhood’s stronghold.

  “Yes, indeed,” the envoy replies.

  Illuminus clenches his jaw, the weight of the envoy’s quiet resolve a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him. Peace is an ideal, but the Flame Brotherhood has no place for ideals. They are a force of destruction, and Illuminus can’t shake the feeling that words of peace won’t be enough. Still, this is the path he has chosen, and it will have to be enough.

  As they draw closer, Illuminus’ stomach churns. His eyes scan the camp, and what he sees makes his blood run cold. Slaves, a mix of men and women, are chained to wooden posts driven deep into the ground. Their skin bears the Brotherhood’s fiery brand, a jagged symbol burned into their chests—a grotesque badge of ownership. Some slump in the dirt, too exhausted to lift their heads, while others stare blankly into the distance, their spirits shattered.

  Illuminus clenches his fists, his heart hammering in his chest. His gaze sweeps over the enslaved, his eyes desperate to spot Olaf among the broken figures. But Olaf is missing from among them.

  “Keep calm,” the envoy murmured, his voice soft but firm. His eyes flicked toward Illuminus’ clenched fists, his expression unreadable. Illuminus forced himself to nod, though every fibre of his being screamed to reach for his handgun. They are here under the guise of diplomacy. It won’t do to start a fight—not yet.

  Two guards flank them as they enter the camp. Both are burly men clad in patchwork armour, their faces obscured by soot-stained masks.

  “Willing visitors? That’s unusual. We’ll take you to Luthor.” One of the guards announced. The guards lead them to the largest structure in the camp, a crude longhouse made of scavenged metal sheets and timber. The interior is dimly lit, the air heavy with the stench of sweat and stale alcohol. Luthor, the tribal warlord, sits at the far end of the room on a makeshift throne of welded scrap metal. His hulking frame exudes raw power. His head is shaved, save for a single braided topknot, and his chest bears the same jagged flame brand as his slaves. His sharp green eyes glint with malice as he watches them enter.

  “What’s this?” Luthor growls, his voice laced with mockery. “Haven’t had visitors like you in a long while. What brings you to my camp?” The envoy steps forward, bowing slightly. His calm demeanour does not waver.

  “We come with an offer of peace, Luthor. The Flame Brotherhood’s actions have sown fear and hatred across the tribes. We ask that you cease your raids and leave these lands. There is a better way than this cycle of violence.” Luthor leans back, a cruel smile spreading across his scarred face.

  “Peace?” He chuckles, the sound deep and guttural. “You think you can walk into my camp, talk about peace, and I’ll just roll over? That’s not how the world works, friend.” His sharp gaze shifts to Illuminus, scrutinizing him. “You look lost,” Luthor sneered. “Like a pup chasing its master." Illuminus straightened.

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  "I’m looking for Olaf. Red hair. Pale skin. Where is he?".

  Luthor’s smile widens, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

  “Ah, Olaf. Big guy. Tough. Didn’t break as quickly as the others.” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “We sent him south. Sold him to a buyer who knows how to deal with stubborn ones.” Rage simmers beneath Illuminus’ calm exterior.

  “Why? What’s the point of enslaving people? Of branding them like animals?” Luthor shrugs, his expression cold.

  “Look around. The world ended a long time ago. Mercy won’t rebuild it. I take what I want because no one else is strong enough to stop me.” The envoy raises a hand to calm Illuminus, who is visibly bristling.

  “This is not the way,” the envoy says softly.

  “What would he know?” Luthor says mockingly, but his green eyes flick to one of the guards standing behind them. It’s subtle—a barely perceptible nod. Illuminus catches it at the last second.

  “Duck!” Illuminus shouts, dropping low just as one of the guards swings a club at his head. He hears the dull crack of a club striking flesh—when he looks up, the envoy lies crumpled on the ground, motionless. Illuminus rolled to the side, his movements fluid despite the adrenaline coursing through him. His handgun snapped up, the crack of the first shot shattering the tense quiet. The guard crumpled with a grunt, but before the echo had faded, another lunged at him, a rusty blade catching the dim light. Illuminus fired again, the second shot striking true and sending the man sprawling. The camp exploded into chaos. Illuminus heard Luthor’s bellow behind him and the pounding of footsteps as more guards rushed in. His hands shook as he gripped the handgun, ducking behind a table, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. He fires twice more, hitting one guard in the leg and another in the shoulder, before grabbing the envoy’s limp body by the arm and dragging him toward the exit. Illuminus bursts out of the longhouse into the open air, the camp in disarray as the gunfire draws attention. He spots his donkey tied near the edge of the camp and sprints toward it, his breath ragged and his heart pounding.

  “Stop him!” Luthor’s voice thunders from behind. A guard blocks his path, swinging a crude axe, but Illuminus sidesteps the blow and shoves the man aside. Reaching the donkey, he unties its lead and swings himself onto its back. The camp erupts into chaos behind him, with shouts and curses filling the air. Illuminus doesn’t look back. He kicks the donkey into a gallop, his mind racing as he flees the camp and disappears into the wasteland.

  08/05/81 ATE

  By dawn, the Flame Brotherhood’s camp is far behind him. Illuminus rides hard for the White Moon Tribe, the envoy is left behind, presumed dead. The air grows cooler as he nears their territory, the familiar rolling hills coming into view.

  10/05/81 ATE

  The rolling hills of the White Moon Tribe come into view as the rising sun bathes the land in a pale gold. Illuminus feels the tension in his chest loosen slightly, though his body aches from days of riding and the events at the Flame Brotherhood’s camp still weigh heavily on his mind. The air here is cooler, the breeze carrying the faint scent of wool and earth—a welcome reprieve from the acrid stench of the wasteland. Guiding his donkey, its load of woollen jumpers swaying slightly with each step, Illuminus approaches the settlement. The cluster of stone buildings with thatched roofs sprawls peacefully across the hills, their simplicity masking the quiet strength of the people who call this place home. Shepherds wander among their flocks, the faint whistles and bleats of sheep drifting in the wind.

  Tyler is the first to spot him, standing near a low stone wall with his staff in hand. His wiry frame straightens as Illuminus draws closer.

  “Well, look who’s back,” Tyler calls, his tone equal parts surprise and curiosity. “You look like hell, mate.” Illuminus dismounts, patting the donkey’s flank as it shifts under the weight of its cargo.

  “Feel like it too,” Illuminus replies dryly, his voice hoarse from days of dust and heat. He doesn’t waste time. “Where can I find Kukul? I need to talk to him.” Tyler gestures toward the longhouse, his sharp features softening slightly.

  “He’ll be in there.” Illuminus nods, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint smile.

  Illuminus walks into the longhouse of chief Kukul. “You are back. I assume my advice wasn’t wasted on you then?” Kukul says, giving faint praise to Illuminus. Illuminus makes a reply

  “I don’t know why you’ve made a deal with the Flame Brotherhood, they are such an evil, dishonourable people”. His words immediately sour the mood.

  “I have said my part already, please leave this longhouse. We have nothing more to discuss.” Not deciding to push things further Illuminus left.

  Illuminus leads his donkey to the market.

  “Back so soon?” a trader says, his eyes scanning the loaded donkey.

  “I’ve got woollen jumpers,” Illuminus replies, untying one of the sacks. He pulls a jumper out, the thick, tightly knit fabric sturdy and well-crafted. “Straight from the Sharp Spear Tribe. These will keep your shepherds warm in the worst of winters.” The trader examines the jumper, running his hands over the material with an appraising eye.

  “Good quality,” he admits, nodding slightly. “What are you looking for in exchange?” Illuminus replies,

  “Money of course, but also other things. I need five scimitars and five crossbows along with bolts. I’m also looking to expand so I’ll buy another donkey, and we’ll stack your wool upon them.” The trader’s eyes widen at the request but then looking over the pile of woollen jumpers relaxes a bit. The trader then speaks

  “You have brought us a bounty here with these jumpers, let’s get things in order”.

  After the trading was concluded and the donkeys had been loaded up, Illuminus approached Tyler who was tending some sheep. Illuminus spoke to Tyler

  “Well, I’m back. I’ve got two donkeys now. Two donkeys need two people, right?” Tyler immediately laughs at Illuminus’ flimsy excuse to recruit him.

  “What a lame excuse to use to recruit me. Just ask me to tag along, man. I’d love to get out of here and see the world.” With that, Tyler was now part of the caravan. Before departing, Tyler purchased some leather armour and a big club to be ready for the dangers of the wasteland. With that both Illuminus and Tyler left for the Scorpion Sting Tribe in the west.

  11/05/81 ATE

  The fire crackles softly as night falls over the wasteland, its glow casting long shadows across the rocky terrain. Tyler tosses his leather armour to the ground with a heavy thud. His tunic being damp from the day’s sweat is lifted off. He stretches his arms above his head, groaning as the tension eases from his shoulders. His chest rises and falls with the motion, his muscles glowing in the firelight.

  “You know what Tyler? You are a ball of positive energy. Everyone in the wasteland, myself included, is always so grim and dour.” Illuminus says.

  “What’s the point in being miserable? I understand that Olaf is missing, and you are on this quest to find him. But being miserable isn’t going to help you find him.” Tyler will say

  Illuminus didn’t reply any further but pondered on what was said. Tyler was right and Illuminus made a good choice in recruiting him.