The most distinguishing landmark on Novennéa is the land bridge. Branton leans over the edge of the cliff, watching countless waves pummel into the jagged rocks. The wind picks up as the sun drops down to the horizon.

He'll reach his shelter in time before phase sets in. He just needs to continue his trek across the colossal strip of land.

Branton discovered the land bridge on the second dial of the Knyghts Voyage. It towered from the depths of the ocean to the lowest layer of cloud cover. On both ends of the bridge are two continents divided by the raging sea. Sections of grass and trees sprout all over the bridge. It's as if a piece of land was torn off and made traveling by water more convenient. The only downside to using the land bridge is when high tides come in, making access more difficult by cutting off the incline.

He tested the bridge for dials. It was far to travel between continents, especially with restricted time. Once he reached the other side of the bridge, half of the dial was already gone. Feeling that he's wasted too much energy and was unprepared, he turns back and crosses the bridge again.

The continent he crashed on has nothing but fields of tall grass and wheat, long stretches of beaches and tall trees far north. The land he was trying to reach is different; instead of trees and clearings, a range of mountains stretches left and right, rising to the sky.

As Branton crosses the bridge, he raises his hand to all the trees he passes and grazes his fingers against the wood. The trees are gigantic compared to the ones on Myalón. They're full of nourishment with no sign of decay. The leaves and branches bloom skyward and dance with the wind.

It's been five dials since he landed on Novennéa. Five dials since the Psyke neytive launched their assault against the candidates. Five dials since he's been given silence and clarity.

The Psyke neytives thought they were smart enough to sabotage the stratus vessels, but it benefitted him in the end. The out of control fire that turned the vessel into a giant fireball startled him, but it didn't concern him. Burst of flames simply slip past him and consume everything around him. He grabbed his pack and ejected himself out before the ship exploded. He took a deep breath and summoned Scorch Flight to fly to safety.

The stratus vessel he was on crashed just behind him, into a grove where several rooted trees were incinerated and ripped in half.

Having gone through an explosion made him think of the others. Did the abrimaries survive their landing? Are they still stuck on Auroris? He had been hoping to run into them after the first phase, but no one showed up.

Branton looks to the west and sees the sun touch the horizon.

He speeds up his pace to beat the rising tide, before it cuts off the bridge. It didn't worry him that much. He could use Scorch Flight, but he didn't want to waste any more vena than he needed. The fire still had to be made.

His shelter was made with broken branches, overgrown leaves and large boulders lying around. It wasn't much, but it felt better than sleeping in a burnt hunk of metal.

Right when the tide floods the bridge and beach, he makes it in time to watch the sunset. He walks alongside the water, feeling the sand crunch under his shoes.

After the first dial, Branton found the beach and thought it was the most beautiful place he's ever seen. The sea breeze hit his face and it didn't feel like the clumsy water attack from Lynette.

It felt comforting.

So far, Novennéa has exceeded his expectations in every possible way imaginable. The grass and trees, the clouds and sky, the sand and sea, everything felt mystifying.

Branton would do anything to have his brothers stand next to him now, to share this experience. Flint would probably ignore the scenery and complain about something miniscule. Heath would jump with every bit of excitement. He can see him running into the water and kicking the waves. The image of his brother smiling would outweigh all the horrible moments they had to endure.

The one thing he wishes for is that he can return the smile. Even the slightest smirk would satisfy him. For now, he'll have to settle for the lingering hope of a future.

The sun is halfway gone and the sky gradually darkens. The churning waves rush into his ears, but something else follows with it. He can hear the faint sound of footsteps pressing against the sand, closing in on him.

Branton turns around and the footsteps stop.

It's the Ra-Dimar neytive.

He stands still and silent, with a layer of linen covering his arms, neck and face. His sandy brown hair flows with the breeze. He's staring at Branton the same way he looked at him on Auroris.

It's cold and threatening.

He never got the chance to interact with the Ra-Dimar, like he did with the abrimaries. He was hoping it was Lynette, Trevet or Samire. Maybe they could've all got on one stratus vessel if it wasn't for the Psyke neytives.

He tried his best to make a good impression with the Ra-Dimar and to get his name, but the sand neytive must have a personal vendetta against him. He couldn't blame him for it. Most of the neytives on Myalón are holding a grudge against the Inphernos trybe.

A chill runs up his spine at the thought that he will be attacked, but his face hides it. He keeps his stance straight and attempts to speak out. "Ra-Dimar. Can we talk before you attack me?"

The wind around them dies out. The Ra-Dimar's glare doesn't change, but he doesn't make the first move. That's a hopeful sign.

"I understand that you might resent the Inphernos trybe and its neytives," Branton resists the urge to raise his hands up. If the Ra-Dimar sees that, he will think he's summoning his fire trigger. "What happened all those revolutions ago was not justified. I know you are upset, but getting revenge won't give you anything."

Branton regrets saying those words the moment he heard it. He knows how other neytives feel about the Trybal War and he shouldn't assume what others are feeling.

He can hear something snap in the Ra-Dimar neytive. The sand beneath him begins to circle around his feet, struggling to be lifted.

It isn't until Branton takes a closer look that he realizes there's something wrong.

The Ra-Dimar neytive looks severely dehydrated. He's trying really hard to keep his balance and focus on Branton. Dark circles form under his cloudy eyes and his breathing is short and raspy. The last sign is the twitching movements in his right hand.

Branton knows this all too well.

These are the effects of vena.

The sun disappears and they are both left under a sky full of bright stars.

Branton pleads with a flat tone as a last attempt. "You are not well. Please think this over before you..."

He sees something coming. It flies at Branton, aiming for his neck. He's quick to avoid the attack and it hits the ground.

Branton summons a small amount of fire in his hand and throws it in between them.

The light shows the Ra-Dimar neytive in a sluggish fighting stance. Clusters of sand lift into the air, hardening and molding into discs.

The sand neytive is ignoring him. He's blinded by his own rage and lost in his own delirium.

Branton feared this would happen at the start of the Knyghts Voyage. He could handle the neytives from his isle, but he has to deal with other neytives on another planet. Compared to the other abilities on Myalón, fire is hardly a match for him. He doesn't want to burn others with his trigger, but the sand neytive isn't giving him much of a choice.

He reaches for the fire between them while the Ra-Dimar molds more sand.