"What?!" Mirac exclaimed, his eyes widening as if struck by lightning.
The sandwich nearly slipped from his hand, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment.
"The Red Desert?" he repeated, his voice hoarse, cracked with disbelief and fear.
His green eyes, dilated from shock, fixed on Carmen, searching her almost desperately, as if pleading for a mistake, a misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, fragments of old geography lessons resurfaced in his mind—the stern words of Professor Warnock echoing like a warning: Ahmar, more commonly known as the Red Desert, a place that shows no mercy to the living.
This was no ordinary place, and Carmen's decisive tone served as a reminder not to underestimate what lay ahead.
The Red Desert, as described in many books, including "Chronicles of the Seven Journeys", was a vast expanse of scarlet sand, a sea of fine, dusty grains stretching endlessly from the slopes of the volcanic range cutting through the heart of the Kingdom of Ardorya to the eastern border, where the Strait of Salvation rose.
Its origin was shrouded in legend: some said the red hue was the petrified blood of ancient warriors fallen in a forgotten war; others claimed it was the result of volcanic ash mixed with wind and time.
Unfortunately, due to the hostile biome and extreme landscape, neither researchers nor archaeologists had ever managed to uncover the true history surrounding that place.
Yet, those who dared venture near its borders couldn't help but be mesmerized!
The desert's sand, a vivid red that seemed to pulse under the scorching sun, stretched for hundreds of kilometers, interrupted only by towering dunes that shifted like slow, silent waves, driven by relentless winds that howled day and night.
There were no rivers, no oases—only a ruthless aridity that drained every trace of life.
Daytime temperatures reached unbearable peaks, capable of baking a man's skin in hours, while at night, the cold descended like a blade, making sleep a mortal risk.
But it wasn't just the climate that made the Red Desert a place to avoid: it was the creatures that inhabited it!
Tales spoke of beasts born from shadow and sand, predators that moved silently beneath the surface, ready to emerge and drag their prey into the depths of the desert.
The survival rate in the Red Desert was practically zero!
Anyone foolish enough to venture among those dunes—merchants seeking forgotten routes, adventurers lured by promises of hidden treasures, or desperate fugitives like Mirac and Carmen—almost never returned.
"Wait, you're joking, right?" Mirac asked, his voice rapid and stumbling over syllables. "The Red Desert? That Red Desert?!"
A shiver ran down his spine, cold and sharp.
"Exactly," Carmen replied as she adjusted her backpack with quick, precise movements—her tone impassive, as if the destination she had just mentioned were not a synonym for a death sentence.
"I can't believe it…" Mirac muttered to himself, his voice dropping to an incredulous whisper.
He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the initial wave of dread and regain his composure.
"So… that's where your secret base is?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear his gaze away from Carmen.
At that question, Carmen paused for a moment, her fingers freezing on the strap of her black backpack, the silence stretching a beat too long.
Then, turning to him, she answered in her usual calm tone:
"That's right. That is the only place in the world where no one dares to set foot. And that makes it the safest spot for our secret organization."
Hearing that, Mirac felt the weight of his worries lighten slightly.
"I see…" he said, trying to rationalize the situation. 'Now that I think about it, there's no reason to panic. After all, Carmen's organization must have been there for years, right? If they're still alive, they've probably found a way to survive in that hellish place. And that means our destination must be a specific spot in the Red Desert—a safe haven where neither the extreme temperatures nor the magical beasts will be a problem!'
He took a deep breath, letting the cool morning air fill his lungs.
Then he exhaled slowly, as if releasing the last remnants of anxiety.
And as that moment of calm settled over him, Carmen broke the silence with a firm voice, adding:
"Before the Red Desert, though, we'll have to make a stop in Raerno."
"Raerno?" Mirac repeated, lifting his gaze toward her again, a spark of curiosity flashing in his eyes.
Thanks to his knowledge of geography, he knew that Raerno was a crucial city in the Kingdom of Ardorya.
Nestled in the heart of a fertile plain, it was a melting pot of mercenaries, adventurers, wealthy merchants draped in colorful silks, and—above all—Monster Hunters, many of whom were part of the so-called Guilds.
"Why there?" Mirac asked, his voice tinged with interest as he adjusted his cloak.
"Well, as you can imagine, we need the right equipment to face the Red Desert, and Raerno's central market is perfect for that," Carmen explained, her practical tone betraying her confidence. "Plus, it's the only city where we can enter without too much trouble."
Indeed, unlike most cities in the Kingdom of Ardorya, Raerno had no guards at its gates checking identification papers.
The inhabitants—all seasoned mercenaries, hunters, or adventurers—had no fear of intruders, trusting in their ability to handle any potential threat within.
Moreover, Raerno thrived thanks to trade and the constant flow of visitors: imposing strict, constant checks would have discouraged merchants and aspiring adventurers, stifling its economy.
Thus, for all these reasons, the guards at the gates merely collected a stay-and-entry tax, increased by 20% compared to the norm, without asking for names or documents.
Those who paid this fee received a temporary stay permit, a document that guaranteed free access for three days from the last check, with no additional costs if they left and re-entered within that period.
This worked more or less in Mirac and Carmen's favor, since he didn't have his own documents with him, and they couldn't afford to have anyone discover his true identity.
But there was still one fundamental problem: the entry fee!
"Hmm… I see," Mirac said, reflecting on Carmen's words. "But am I wrong, or don't we have a single coin on us? How are we going to buy what we need? Or pay the entry fee?"
His gaze fixed on her, waiting for an answer.
Carmen smiled, her eyes sparkling with an idea as she adjusted her rectangular glasses with a quick motion.
"It's very simple: we won't pay it!" she confessed, her voice firm. "We'll sneak into the city by climbing over the walls, like we did last night, or through the sewer tunnels if necessary. In any case, we'll definitely find a way to get in. After that, we'll take part in a hunting or gathering mission from the Mercenaries and Hunters Association to earn the money we need for the equipment."
Mirac raised an eyebrow, his mind racing as he processed Carmen's plan.
'Wow! So we have a long road ahead of us! This is certainly not what I expected when I decided to follow you…' he thought, letting out a soft sigh, almost resigned, as if he were giving in to that inevitable plan.
In fact, he was almost regretting his decision!
But before he could voice his doubts, ask for details about the journey or the dangers ahead, the red-haired woman cut him off with a tone that brooked no argument:
"Anyway, enough talk for now." Her voice was firm, almost an order. "Think about eating instead. You're still weak, and you need to eat to fully recover."
And right at that moment, as Carmen mentioned the need to eat, Mirac felt a sharp pang of hunger grip his stomach: the sandwich in his hand suddenly seemed more appealing than any unanswered question.
Therefore, Mirac didn't press further, accepting that the details would be revealed in due time.
Without wasting another moment, he took the first bite of the sandwich, feeling the crisp bread yield under his teeth.
His stomach growled in response, a low, grateful sound that seemed to thank him for the improvised meal.
As he chewed the dry bread, the rustic flavor filled his mouth, followed by the dried meat, which had a smoky, bold aftertaste.
He ate slowly, trying to focus on the present moment, but one question kept buzzing in his head:
'Will I be strong enough to face what lies ahead?'
* * *
After finishing his meal, Mirac absently wiped his hand on his pants and stood up, still stiff from the exhaustion of the previous days.
He ran his hand through his tousled hair, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. But the pale light of dawn and the cool morning air seemed to finally awaken his senses.
Without a word about what he was about to do, Mirac approached the fire pit and crouched to touch the now-extinguished embers.
'Multiply by zero…' he whispered mentally.
With that, he used his "Cancellation" ability to make every last ember disappear.
And it wasn't even a difficult or particularly exhausting task: in fact, the calculations required to manifest the effects of his magic had turned out to be quite simple to solve, given the small size of the embers.
As Mirac worked, Carmen stood aside, watching the small remnants of burnt wood vanish one by one under the touch of his mysterious powers.
'How strange…' thought the red-haired woman, noting how quickly the boy proceeded. 'Compared to the door of his cell, the embers seem to require much less time to be erased. Could it be the material of the object that affects the time needed for the manifestation of his magic? Or perhaps it depends on the size of the object being manipulated?'
Carmen, however, didn't voice any of these questions aloud. She kept them to herself, preferring to observe in silence.
When Mirac finished his task with quick, precise movements, Carmen grabbed a handful of dirt and scattered it over the pit, covering it completely until it disappeared—along with the now-buried ashes.
Then, Carmen nodded in approval.
"Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Let's go now."
Mirac adjusted his cloak over his shoulders, ready to move on.
Then, without looking back, the two set off, heading deeper into the heart of the forest.
* * *
The sun was slowly rising above the tree line, tinting the sky blue, as Mirac and Carmen ventured deeper into the forest.
The ground beneath their feet was a carpet of dry leaves and broken twigs, crunching with every step.
The trees, tall and dense, formed a green canopy that let only thin rays of light filter through, casting shifting shadows on the undergrowth.
The air was cool, infused with the scent of moss and resin, and the occasional chirping of a bird broke the forest's silence.
The two walked for hours, their steps rhythmic and their breaths steady, exchanging few words, lost in their own thoughts.
After a long stretch enveloped by the forest's embrace, the woods suddenly opened up, revealing a small plain.
The tall grass swayed, moved by a light breeze, and in the distance, the two were able to make out some cultivated fields and a few scattered houses, a sign that someone lived there—likely the farmers who inhabited those remote lands.
The distance, however, was too great for any interaction, and neither Mirac nor Carmen seemed inclined to deviate from their path.
Mirac, though, occasionally paused, scanning the horizon with a thoughtful gaze, while Carmen marched forward with determination, her backpack swaying rhythmically on her left shoulder.
He followed her in silence, the weight of the journey beginning to press on his tired legs.
Soon after, the plain gave way to the forest again, and the two found themselves swallowed by the thick trees, the undergrowth reclaiming their steps with its green, silent shadows.
* * *
By noon, when the sun was high and hunger began to gnaw at them, they stopped near a lazy stream trickling between rocks.
The water gurgled softly, almost hypnotic, reflecting fragments of sky on the moss-covered stones.
Carmen set her backpack down with a decisive motion, the worn leather emitting a faint creak under the weight of their supplies.
She crouched by the bank, her dark eyes scanning the ground with a predator's focus.
Mirac watched her curiously until she motioned for him to stay quiet with a quick hand gesture.
Every now and then, she tilted her head, as if listening to something Mirac couldn't hear.
He watched her in silence, intrigued by her intense and sudden concentration, holding his breath so as not to disturb the moment.
Then, with a speed that seemed to defy time, Carmen drew the dagger from her belt, the blade glinting for an instant under the sun.
With a single fluid motion, she hurled it towards a bush a few meters away.
The air filled with a sudden rustle: a brown flash, quick and desperate, darted out of the vegetation, but it was too late.
The blade had already found its mark with a dull thud.
On the grass, among patches of flattened blades, lay a hare—motionless—its fur still glossy under the daylight.
"Nice shot," Mirac complimented her, impressed, as he eyed the lifeless hare. Then, furrowing his brow slightly, he added: "But… how did you know it was there?"
Carmen merely smiled as she strode over to retrieve her prey.
"I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye while we were approaching the stream," she replied, her voice calm and steady.
She held the dagger with familiarity, as if it were an extension of her body, and wiped it clean with a swift motion on the grass before putting it back in its place.
In no time, they got to work preparing lunch.
First of all, they needed to light a fire to cook the hare meat.
So, Carmen gathered dry branches scattered around, helped by Mirac, who carefully piled them up—his movements still a bit unsure compared to her efficiency.
With a flint and a few expert strikes, Carmen sparked a flame that soon grew into a lively fire.
As the fire crackled cheerfully, she skinned the hare with surgical precision, her hands steady and sure as they worked the carcass without hesitation.
Then she skewered the meat on an improvised spit—a straight, sturdy branch she'd found among the vegetation and cleaned with stream water—and positioned it over the flames.
The air filled with the rich aroma of roasting meat, a wild, savory scent mingling with the light smoke of burning wood.
The crackling fire provided a reassuring backdrop, and Mirac, sitting nearby, felt his stomach growl again, this time with famished anticipation.
When the hare was perfectly cooked, they sat on two flat stones by the stream, smoothed by the flowing water and still warm from the midday sun, eating in a companionable silence that needed no words.
The meat was tender and flavorful, even without seasoning, and Mirac savored every bite, grateful for the hot meal.
When they finished, Carmen doused the fire with a splash of water from the stream, and Mirac used his Cancellation ability to erase the remaining embers, just as he had that morning.
Meanwhile, Carmen approached the stream and took a leather waterskin from her backpack to fill it with water.
As she carefully submerged it, she explained that it was a Magical Artifact, a precious tool for travelers: around its rim and etched inside the leather pouch were Water Magic Runes, subtle symbols that glowed faintly upon contact with liquid—an ancient enchantment capable of purifying even the murkiest water.
Thus, they had no need to fear contamination when drinking from it.
Finally, after filling the waterskin with the stream's fresh water, they resumed their journey with a determined stride.
* * *
The afternoon passed without incident, with Mirac and Carmen maintaining a steady pace along their path.
Occasionally, however, when the trail grew uncertain or the terrain hid its landmarks, Carmen paused for a moment.
With a quick motion, she pulled a worn map from her backpack, its folds softened by frequent use, and studied it with keen eyes, tracing imaginary lines with her fingertip.
But most of the time, she folded the map almost immediately, lifting her gaze to the sky: she followed the sun's position with the confidence of an experienced traveler.
Mirac watched her, impressed, noticing how she rarely hesitated, her stride always confident even without a visible guide.
In truth, Mirac felt a bit disappointed that he couldn't contribute to the journey, despite his many geography lessons and his knowledge of navigation.
After all, what was the point of it all if he couldn't actually put it into practice?
However, in the end, he decided to let it go, considering it a matter of little importance.
* * *
At some point—when Mirac's "Immaterial Clock" ability marked 7:19 PM—the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of red and purple, while fatigue weighed heavier on their bodies.
As the light faded completely, Carmen decided it was time to make camp.
"Let's stop here. We've walked enough for today," she said, her voice firm but tinged with weariness.
They found shelter in a small clearing among the trees, a secluded corner protected by a large fallen trunk, its twisted roots emerging from the ground like gnarled hands.
In no time, they made a fire with the same efficiency as the previous night: Mirac went off to gather dry wood, the branches cracking under his feet, while Carmen prepared the spot where they would light the fire, carefully arranging the area and leaving Mirac the task of preparing the bedding with soft leaves, just as he had done the day before.
Returning with a bundle of dry branches in hand, Mirac neatly arranged them in the center of the area Carmen had prepared, stacking them with precision to ensure good ventilation.
Then, with a swift motion, the red-haired woman took a fire steel and a small, thin branch from her pocket.
She scraped the fire steel against the stone, creating sparks that danced in the cool evening air.
After a few attempts, the thin branch caught fire with a flickering flame, which Mirac carefully fed, gently blowing on it until the fire spread to the thinner twigs, crackling and casting a warm glow on their faces.
For dinner, they took out the leftover hare they had eaten at lunch: now cold, but still juicy, with that wild flavor that had slightly softened while retaining its distinctive essence.
Afterward, Carmen rummaged through the backpack and took out the bread, but when she pulled it out, she realized there was only a piece left.
With a quick, decisive motion, she handed it to Mirac.
"Here," she said, her voice firm and devoid of hesitation.
Mirac accepted it but frowned.
"What about you?" he asked, looking at her with a hint of concern.
"You need it more than I do," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact, as if stating an obvious truth.
Hesitant, Mirac took the bread with his right hand—his only hand—weighing it briefly as he thought.
Mirac knew insisting or suggesting they split the bread would be pointless: by now, he'd learned how unyielding Carmen could be once she'd made a decision.
It was at that very moment, then, that he decided to play his hidden card, revealing a secret he'd kept until now, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his breath calming as he focused.
He slightly increased the pressure of his fingers on the bread, and in the stillness of his thoughts, he whispered mentally:
'Multiply by three…'
A few seconds later, under Carmen's astonished gaze, the piece of bread trembled slightly, as if stirred by an invisible force.
Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, it split: first into two, then into three identical pieces, perfect in their simplicity.
Carmen widened her eyes, a look of pure astonishment briefly cracking her mask of impassibility.
"What?! H-How… How did you do that?!" she stammered, her voice betraying a curiosity she couldn't contain.
Mirac handed her one of the three pieces with a faint smile, resisting the urge to gloat at her reaction.
"Here, this one's for you," he said, offering it with a casual gesture.
Then he took a second piece for himself and, with a quick nod, extended the third to Carmen, its crisp edge crumbling slightly in his hands.
"This one's for tomorrow," Mirac explained, brushing crumbs off his cloak. "You can wrap it in the white cloth and put it back in the backpack. That way, I'll clone it again for breakfast, and we won't have to worry about finding more food at dawn."
Carmen stared at him for a few seconds, the first piece of bread still held between her fingers, as if she weren't entirely sure it was real.
Then, she took the third piece with a slow, almost reverent motion and did as Mirac suggested.
"Wait… So, this is one of your abilities?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with a new light as she wrapped the bread in the white cloth she pulled from her backpack and carefully put it away.
"Exactly," Mirac confirmed, trying to sound nonchalant as he broke off a corner of his bread and brought it to his mouth. "The entity I'm in Syntony with has granted me three powers: Cancellation, Cloning, and Cutting. Basically, I can manipulate the objects I touch, but always following the rule that some objects take more time than others to be manipulated or altered."
What Mirac had just said was a lie.
Or rather, a half-truth.
His true Syntony was with Math—a secret he wasn't ready to share with her yet.
At least, not now.
Perhaps he'd tell her later, when he officially became a member of her secret organization.
But for now, that explanation was more than enough.
Carmen lowered her gaze to the bread in her hand, studying it carefully before taking a bite.
"Interesting…" she said finally, her voice returning to its usual calm and controlled tone.
But in her dark eyes, a spark of wonder still flickered, and Mirac knew that, no matter how she tried to hide it, she was genuinely impressed.
Still, Carmen chose not to ask if he had other powers.
She was convinced that, over time, he would reveal them on his own, one after the other, when he felt ready—just like he had just done with the Cloning ability.
* * *
They ate the bread and dried hare meat in silence, while the crackling of the fire filled the air with its irregular song.
Mirac stared at the embers, the reddish glow reflecting in his green eyes, as the question burning in his throat finally found the courage to escape.
"Carmen… Last night, you said you were a Chaotic, right?"
Carmen, who was biting a piece of bread with hare meat, stiffened.
The bite caught in her throat for a moment, and Mirac saw a flash of tension cross her face.
But then she nodded, slowly, as if she'd known this conversation was inevitable.
"Exactly…" she said at last, after swallowing with visible effort.
Her voice was hoarse, almost strangled, from the bread or perhaps something deeper.
Mirac inhaled, feeling the weight of that confirmation.
It wasn't a surprise anymore, but hearing her say it again left him with a strange feeling—a mix of curiosity and unease.
They were both marked, in one way or another, bound to something that made them different, perhaps even wrong in the eyes of the world.
"You don't have to tell me what you're in Syntony with," Mirac continued, choosing his words carefully. "But… can I at least know what your powers are?"
It was a question that had buzzed in his head since they'd set out, perhaps even since Carmen had revealed the truth to him.
But at that question, the red-haired woman tensed even more.
Her gaze drifted away, lost among the shadows of the surrounding trees, as if searching for an escape—not in the forest, but in her own thoughts.
But then, with a sigh that seemed to rip the air from her lungs, she replied in a low voice:
"I don't feel like talking about it."
"Why?" Mirac insisted, his curiosity cracking his voice.
"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO!" Carmen snapped, her tone suddenly rising.
Mirac flinched, taken aback by Carmen's sudden outburst.
His body recoiled slightly, as if those words had physical force, and for a moment, his eyes searched hers, uncertain.
The silence that followed was thick, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire popping between them and the wind blowing stronger, making the leaves above their heads rustle.
Carmen slowly lowered her eyes to the bread she was holding in her hands, her fingers tightening just enough as if she wanted to break it in two.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh…" Carmen broke the silence, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "It's just that… for me, my Syntony has always been a curse. A condemnation that has forever ruined my life. Kind of like what happens to all the Chaotics in this world, after all…"
She paused, trying to gather her thoughts, and cast a furtive glance at Mirac, as if trying to suggest something without saying it outright.
Then, turning her eyes back to the fire crackling in front of them, she continued speaking:
"Anyway, to answer your earlier question… The powers I have aren't like yours, the ones that can manipulate objects, make them disappear, and influence what's around you. It's not something you'll need to worry about if we ever have to fight together. Other than that, there's not much else to say…"
Her voice was a sharp knife, laden with a pain Mirac recognized instantly.
It was the same tone he would've used years ago, if someone had asked him about his Syntony with Math: a mix of bitterness, shame, and resignation, all wrapped in a constantly suppressed anger.
Mirac would have liked to dig deeper, but something in Carmen's eyes stopped him.
It wasn't just reluctance: it was raw suffering, a shadow carving into her face and darkening her gaze.
So, instead of pressing further, he simply nodded.
"I see…" he murmured, even though it wasn't entirely true. "Forgive me for pressing earlier. I didn't know you felt that way."
"Don't worry, it's fine…" Carmen replied, forcing a smile.
Without adding anything else, Mirac lay down on the bed of dry leaves, pulling his cloak up to his chin.
But as he prepared to sleep, he couldn't help but take one last glance at her, wrapped in her cloak, her shoulders hunched as though carrying an invisible weight.
Maybe one day, Mirac thought, Carmen would stop seeing her powers as a curse, a burden that crushed her.
And maybe, at that point, she would open up to him and finally tell him what tormented her.
But for now, Mirac couldn't help her in any way—unable to offer the support she needed.
And that, deep down, saddened him, despite the still-open wound between them.
'Tsz!' Mirac exclaimed inwardly.
In the afternoon, as they walked, the two had agreed on how to divide the watch shifts for that night and all the ones to come: they decided that Carmen would keep watch during the first half, with the dagger resting beside her and her gaze fixed on the shadows of the forest. Then, at an unspecified hour, she would wake him with a light touch, passing him the responsibility to watch until dawn.
With that in mind, Mirac hurried to close his eyes, determined to snatch as much rest as possible before his turn.
Soon, silence fell completely between them, thick like the mist that began to crawl between the trees, but not hostile.
After all, Carmen wasn't angry with him.
On the contrary, she was very grateful for that respite, for the fact that he hadn't insisted.
As he closed his eyes, Mirac's thoughts began to swirl like leaves in the wind:
'So she also hates her Syntony, huh?'
Yet, strangely, as he reflected on himself, he realized something had indeed changed in him.
Carmen was there, so close yet so far, trapped in a pain he recognized all too well.
And if, at one time, he had been a prisoner of the same hatred toward his own Syntony, now he felt that knot inside of him was beginning to loosen.
'Well, I mean… If I really think about it, I don't think that's the case for me anymore…' he murmured to himself, almost surprised by the clarity of the thought. 'When I realized that my life would never go back to the way it was, I decided to lean on everything that could support me, that could help me live it to the fullest. And I'm not just talking about Carmen, and her promises of a better future… but also you, Math! You and the strange powers that, I don't know why, you've given me.'
Those silent words in his mind felt like a confession, a new pact with a part of himself he'd always rejected.
Soon, exhaustion began to envelop Mirac as sleep claimed him insistently, dragging him away from his thoughts.
His breathing grew steadier as he surrendered to the warmth of his cloak, letting the night cradle him like a gentle lullaby.
But before he sank completely into sleep, one last thought crossed his mind:
'Maybe one day I'll find out why you chose me for all of this. But until then, let's try to get along, dear Math…'