The boat ride from Hargeon City had been long and uneventful, the silence of the open sea broken only by the soft lapping of water against the vessel and the occasional murmur of her crew. Zariya stood at the prow, her golden eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the coast of Desierto loomed like a ghost rising from the mist. The desert nation held a haunting beauty that had always intrigued her. It was ancient, desolate, and hiding secrets as old as the sands themselves.

As the ship drew nearer to the shore the heat began to creep into the air, a sharp change from the cool breeze that had accompanied their journey. The sprawling expanse of desert stretched out before her like a sleeping beast, each dune a ripple on the surface of a massive, golden ocean. Zariya inhaled deeply, taking in the dry, arid scent of the land. It was a place steeped in ancient power, a land that had been shaped by millennia of worship, bloodshed, and the whims of kings who claimed divine right. Power had always fascinated her, but in Desierto, it seemed more obtainable, almost as if she could reach out towards the sky and grab it.

Once the ship docked, Zariya and her crew hopped off, the dramatic heat of the desert hitting them like an ocean wave. Ban, Basil, Saber, and the rest of her chosen team adjusted quickly, their expressions unreadable but prepared. These were hardened folk, accustomed to difficult missions, and Desierto’s unforgiving environment didn’t seem to phase them. They moved in formation behind Zariya, their footsteps quiet but resolute as they made their way through the narrow streets of a coastal village, toward the grand palace where her cousin, Khalfani was supposed to be waiting.

The palace itself was a testament to Desiertan brilliance--shining white marble columns rose from the sand like pillars of a forgotten age, and intricate carvings adorned every surface. The Zharian gods watched from their statues with cold, judgmental eyes as the group approached, their presence stemming from the deep religious roots that ran through this land. The palace was more than just a seat of power--it was a symbol, a bridge between the divine and the mortal. And The Queen of the Underworld was not here as a tourist.

As they approached the towering gates, the air around them grew tense. The guards eyed her warily but made no move to stop her. They recognized the Onfroy name, even here. Zariya’s reputation had spread far beyond Fiore, and her ties to the Desiertan royalty only solidified her influence. Still, she could feel the weight of their scrutiny, which went to show that she was not entirely welcome in her mother’s homeland.

As they reached the entrance, a woman stepped forward from the shadows, her long, flowing robes swishing softly against the sandstone. Dendera. The Icebergan recognized her instantly. They had known each other as children, though their relationship had never been particularly warm. Dendera had always been the model servant, working closely with nobles and royals her entire life but there had been a certain distance between them, an unspoken tension that simmered just below the surface.

“Lady Zariya,” Dendera greeted her, her voice smooth, polished, like the stone underfoot. There was no warmth in her tone, just a formality that grated slightly against Zariya’s nerves. “Prince Khalfani will be ready to see you at sundown.”

Zariya studied her for a moment, noting the way Dendera’s dark eyes lingered on her, sharp and calculating. There was no need for pretense between them. Dendera didn’t like her, and Zariya had no intention of pretending otherwise. Still, Dendera’s role in the palace made her an invaluable source of information.

“Absolutely the fuck not. I can't wait until sundown,” Zariya replied coolly, her gaze shifting toward the palace doors. She had hoped to speak to Khalfani directly, to gauge his plans and intentions, but something in Dendera’s demeanor told her there was more to the situation.

“You’re not here just for a family reunion, are you?” Dendera asked, her lips curling into a slight, almost mocking smile. “Khalfani’s been plotting something. He sees your presence here as an opportunity--an opportunity to use you in return for his forces on your little expedition.”

Zariya’s expression remained impassive, but internally, she bristled at the suggestion. Khalfani was cunning, that much she knew, but the idea of being a pawn in his schemes irritated her. She had come here for a purpose, and she would not be sidetracked by her cousin’s games. Still, she wasn’t one to act rashly. Information was power, and Dendera clearly had plenty to offer.

“So instead of wasting my time with Khalfani’s pleasantries,” Zariya began, her tone cool, “why don’t we skip the theatrics and get down to business?”

Dendera raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through her features. “What is it you want?”

“If you're comfortable with going behind the back of your Prince, A map of the area,” Zariya said, her voice steady. “And the supplies I need for the journey. You’ve been working with nobles your whole life, so I’m sure you can pull a few strings.”

Dendera’s eyes flickered with interest. "He won't know, as long as you don't tell him." She could sense the determination in Zariya’s words, the unshakable resolve that had carried her this far. “You’re serious about this,” Dendera remarked, more to herself than to Zariya.

Zariya gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I’m not here for games, Dendera. I have something to accomplish, and I need the right tools to get it done. Are you going to help me or not?”

Dendera seemed to weigh her options for a moment before responding. “Very well. I’ll get you what you need--a map, supplies, and even a guide to help you navigate the desert. But understand this: I’m doing this out of practicality, not out of any sense of loyalty to you. I'd like you to go on your journey, and leave immediately. You've always been nothing but trouble. Khalfani may think he can use you, but I’m not so easily swayed.”

Zariya allowed a small smirk to curl at the edges of her lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Deal.” She didn't quite care about seeing Khalfani anyway.

Without another word, Dendera gestured for Zariya to follow her. They moved through the palace with quiet precision, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floors. The halls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes from Desierto’s long and tumultuous history--wars fought in the name of the gods, the rise and fall of kings, the ever-present hand of divine power guiding the nation’s fate. It was a history Zariya knew well, but it felt distant, like a story told from another lifetime.

Eventually, they arrived at a chamber tucked away from the main hall, where Dendera procured a large map and laid it out across a marble table. The parchment was old, its edges worn and frayed, but the details were clear. Rivers and creeks winded their way through the northern mountains, the coastal villages clinging to life along the edges of the sea, and the vast expanse of desert that dominated the center of the country.

“This map covers the majority of Desierto,” Dendera explained, her finger tracing along the various routes. “You’ll want to avoid the northern regions, too many bandits and marauders. Stick to the south, where the rivers are. It’s your best chance of finding water and supplies along the way.”

Zariya nodded, her eyes scanning the map intently. The desert was treacherous, but it wasn’t the environment that worried her--it was the unknown dangers lurking within. The legends surrounding the Blood Chalice were shrouded in mystery, and Zariya knew better than to underestimate what might stand in her way.

“I’ll arrange for a guide to meet you at the southern gate,” Dendera added, stepping back from the table. “He’s one of the best in the region and knows the desert better than anyone. If anyone can get you where you need to go, it’s him.”

Zariya straightened, satisfied with the preparations. “Good.”

Dendera regarded her for a moment, a strange glint in her eyes. “You’re really going through with this, aren’t you? After all these years, you’re still chasing power.”

Zariya’s gaze hardened, though her voice remained calm. “Power isn’t something you chase, Dendera. It’s something you take.”

Dendera didn’t respond immediately, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the tension between them seemed to thicken, an invisible current of old grudges and unspoken truths. But then she turned her back to Zariya, and moved toward the door.

“I’ll have the supplies ready by in thirty minutes,” she said over her shoulder. “Try not to get yourself killed out there. It would be a shame to lose someone with so much… potential.”

Zariya watched her go, her mind already turning to the next phase of the plan. Khalfani could wait. Her cousin’s schemes were of little concern to her now. Her focus was on the Blood Chalice, on the power that lay hidden in the depths of the desert.

By the time Zariya returned to her crew, the sun had been at it's peak, ready to to dip below the horizon in around six more hours. The air had cooled slightly, though the heat of the day still clung to the stone walls like an oppressive memory. Her team was ready, their expressions stoic and prepared. Basil stood near the entrance, his broad frame leaning casually against a column, while Saber paced nearby, her fiery hair catching the rays of the sun.

“We’ve got a guide,” Zariya announced, her voice firm as she approached. “And the supplies we need. We leave in thirty.”

The crew nodded in silent agreement, their loyalty to her unspoken but understood. They knew the dangers that lay ahead, but they trusted her. They trusted her judgment, her strength, an her leadership. And in return, she trusted them to carry out their roles without question.