After the Forest Settlent Battle in the past.
The desert wind howled as Sett and Isra stepped out of the A-tier Tomb, the pyramid's obsidian silhouette shimring briefly before it sank back into the sand, leaving no trace of its existence.
The Tomb Heart—a pulsing orb of black and gold—rested in Sett's pouch, a bittersweet prize that weighed on him, making his mood sour.
If he had won that challenge, he would have been in a completely different world now.
But… perhaps, Grandma's lessons were worth failing for.
Each of her words, the way she showed him his faults, the way she dominated the Tomb. The lessons about environntal awareness. Everything had truly embedded itself into Sett due to how emotionally charged the Tomb had been.
The sun dipped low, painting the dunes in shades of amber and dusk, the air thick with dust and the lingering heat of the day.
Sett's beast-skin robes hung in tatters, stained with blood and gri from the Tomb's trials. The coarse hide chafed against his skin, ripped at the seams from his reckless fighting, a stark contrast to the polished prince he'd been before.
The aftermath of his failure clung to him—his impulsive slaughter in the settlent, Isra's sharp rebuke, the overwhelming presence of the Guardian he'd been powerless against. He'd given the Heart, been told that he would soon be ready to beco Tier 5, but it felt like a hollow victory, overshadowed by his shortcomings.
Due to his own high expectations for himself, Sett never enjoyed his victories. Always seeing them as a natural byproduct of who he was.
Isra walked beside him, her white silk gown—which she had retrieved—untouched by the chaos, though her golden eyes held a quiet mix of emotions.
Sett had rarely seen her lash out at him, and it seed to have soured her mood a bit as well.
"Are you still angry at ?" He tried his luck.
"Yes. I am. But not really, either."
They didn't speak again as they approached their earlier camp, just outside the Tomb's now-vanished entrance.
The cals snorted softly, tethered to a weathered post near their tents, undisturbed by the pyramid's collapse. Sett's gaze fell on a leather bundle half-buried in the sand beside his tent—his old gear, shed before entering the Tomb. He crouched, brushing away the grit to reveal his crimson tunic and lightweight armor, still intact.
"Better than this ss," he muttered, tugging off the ruined beast skins.
"Gonna wash up," he said, glancing at Isra.
She nodded, untying the cals with that calm, effortless grace of hers.
He grabbed a waterskin and headed for the small oasis, a short walk from camp. The water glimred under the fading light, frad by scraggly palms and tufts of green that looked almost defiant against the sand.
Sett kicked off his boots, the cool earth a relief under his feet, and crouched by the edge. He splashed water over his face first, letting it drip down his chin, washing away the gri and the faint coppery tang of blood.
His hands scrubbed at his arms next, the cold biting just enough to wake him up. He caught his reflection in the rippling surface—golden eyes staring back, tired but sharp, frad by damp hair sticking to his forehead.
He changed quickly, slipping into the familiar fabric and buckling the armor over his chest. It wasn't as ostentatious as his ceremonial garb, but it felt right—clean, purposeful. Isra watched him, her expression unreadable.
"Let's go. Don't mind the weird vibes, usually, it is normal for people to be in a gloomy mood after Tomb Raiding."
They mounted in silence and rode toward Khetar, a bigger oasis town nestled a short distance away. The journey was quiet, the rhythmic plodding of hooves and the whisper of sand filling the space between them.
"Grandma, I love you," Sett suddenly said.
"I love you, too, my child."
"Hm."
Sett's mind churned—replaying his missteps, the Guardian's fall at Isra's hands, the weight of her expectations.
She'd pulled him through, given him a display of her power, and she had taught him valuable lessons.
Sett had realized his flaws completely.
He was worried about not eting expectations, and thus, he was sabotaging his own chances. That had co instinctively in the Tomb, so it hadn't been the first ti either. And now that he knew his flaws, he could consciously change them.
"Maybe, Sett, what you need to do is to try not to et others' expectations."
Sett smiled. "If it were that easy, I would have done it long ago. I am Sett, the prince of Ehyut, if I fail to et up to expectations, I will be a nobody and I won't like being alive anymore."
Isra smiled. "Perhaps, then you should try surpassing the you of today, and repeat that every day. Instead of eting expectation, make it a habit to be better than the you of yesterday, the more better you can be, that good it is."
Sett thought about the words deeply.
Soon, they reached their destination.
Khetar rose from the horizon, its mud-brick walls and swaying palms a welco sight. The streets buzzed with evening life—traders haggling, the scent of spiced bread wafting through the air.
They handed their cals to a stable boy, bought so clothes, and went to the oasis to really wash up. n and won had different sections, so Sett didn't have the chance to enjoy any good sights.
Once fresh, he and Isra entered the town's only inn, a squat building with a faded sign creaking in the breeze.
The interior was dim, slling of roasted at and stale ale, and the innkeeper—a wiry man with a sun-creased face—glanced up from the counter.
"Rough day?" he asked, eyeing Sett's tired face.
"Sothing like that," Isra replied, sliding a few coins across the wood. "We need a room."
The innkeeper scratched his beard, looking at Sett with a contemplative face. Then, he looked back at Isra. "Got one room left. Just one bed, though. Take it or leave it."
Isra nodded. "We'll take it."
Sett's lips curved into a faint smile, subdued but unmistakable.
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