In the center of the largest continent, filled with blooming gardens, swamps, and vibrant life, lay a barren wasteland called Shi Wong.
A nearly dead region of the Earth Kingdom, rarely visited by anyone.
Traveling between settlements was almost impossible.
Finding water along the way was unthinkable.
Finding food that wouldn’t kill you or lay larvae in your corpse?
Even harder.
That didn’t mean there were no people at all.
Soldiers, mercenaries, and wanderers visited the settlements once or twice a month.
Traders practically lived in the local taverns, hauling in fruits and supplies.
In many establishments, you could order a refreshing cocktail made from juicy fruits.
I’d seen crowds of travelers since birth, so I noticed one detail.
Compared to them, the desert locals looked harsher.
More brutal.
Despite having some civilized comforts like good food and drinking straws, only the strong in spirit and body could survive here.
Daily heat and sandstorms were torture for most.
Staying in the safe, peaceful cities wasn’t an option.
Every adult traveled between settlements to trade, find work, and feed their families.
Every child was expected to do the same once they came of age at fourteen.
But…
Crunch.
“Phew…
ah…”
I pressed my bandaged feet against the hot sand and approached the city gates.
Sweat poured down my body in liters.
Breathing the scorching air was agonizing.
My lungs were tearing themselves apart.
Sand gritted between my teeth.
I’d done one extra lap today, stopping at the village exit.
Above me creaked the sign for our settlement: Misty Oasis.
Beyond the gates stretched endless wastelands.
Near the entrance, the grown-up boys were gathering for an expedition, ready to bring value to the village and battle the brutal conditions outside.
They all trained too.
But outdoors.
I’d never stepped beyond these walls in my entire life.
“Choose:”
1 — Turn around and go train (You’ll receive significant development).
2 — Go drink fermented juice (You’ll stay safe).
3 — Convince the kids of your professionalism (Try to start your own gang.
Training time decreases, but you’ll have allies watching your back).
4 — Start a fight, kids do that for fun (Put your strength into becoming the local “naked king.” Relationships with peers become strained).
It was a subtle hint that if I left in my current state, I’d die instantly.
Which is why I’d trained inside the Oasis all this time.
Or rather, I’d been forced to adapt to external conditions.
There was nowhere else to go anyway.
Without a sailboat and a couple of warriors, you could only wander around the settlement’s outskirts.
But that didn’t stop the local kids from mocking me.
“Dagot’s too scared to go out again!”
“I can already see how he’ll earn a living, never!”
Turning to face them, I made everyone clench their fists.
Some things never changed even in a new life.
The same punks who take any side-eye as an insult to their entire family, pets, and even friends.
God forbid you mention their parents in any context, a fight was unavoidable.
But they were right in their own way.
I’d never explored the area, never studied the dangerous animals outside.
I didn’t try to integrate into the common culture.
I only trained, just like everyone else.
In short, I was useless.
I accepted every insult with full awareness of its truth.
All I could do was retreat to my quiet spot, the sand-covered playground.
“Alright, what are we developing today?”
Leaning against the buried iron bars, I addressed the empty air with a defeated sigh.
To keep up with other kids, I had to train twice as hard.
A hundred push-ups, sit-ups, and squats.
Ten kilometers of running, that was just the morning warm-up.
Exhausting, but it was my only shot at a decent future.
To stop looking over my shoulder at every whisper.
To maybe start a family.
Either that, or drink fermented juice forever.
“Choose:”
1 — Develop Earth Magic.
2 — Sand Magic.
“…Seriously?”
A smile finally crept onto my face.
For the first time, I was given a choice about developing magic.
Sure, it was the only stroke of luck I’d had, but I was born an Earthbender.
Then again, “lucky” was a stretch.
It was probably the hardest magic to develop as an underdeveloped kid.
I had to grind physically first.
Running and lifting every day in the blistering heat on shifting sand.
All for this moment.
But…
“Where am I supposed to find earth in a desert?”
In this region, instead of the Earth Kingdom’s typical Earthbenders, there were their Sandbender counterparts.
Magic was used both by honest citizens who transported workers between cities on sailboats and by the local bandits.
According to the locals, the methods were also different.
You didn’t need to be solid like a rock.
You had to flow like water.
Combining power and fluidity, sand became a deadly and unique substance.
But there were downsides too.
To lift and control every single grain of sand at high speed, to create tornadoes and attack desert creatures, required extraordinary control.
“I’m ready to train sand magic.”
A feeling of excitement stirred in my chest.
Hoping it wasn’t a blood clot, I stared into the air.
“Choose…”
1 — Grind until morning, bloody hands and all (Progress accelerated due to mental state).
2 — Train for one hour, then join a gang of sand thugs out of pride (Progress accelerated due to going dark side).
Tension hung in the air.
There was always an easier path.
Joining a gang meant an easy life.
Good food, no hard labor.
It sounded great, which is why most benders chose it.
But all I had to do was picture one image: the shadow I’d once reached out to.
“You’re kidding?
Even in my old world, I always refused offers like that.”
I chose the first option.
“Then start pounding the sand with your hands.”
Anubis was merciless.
“Well…
at least I can look forward to a tasty snack at home.”
Remembering the sweet, juicy fruits that kept me going through normal training, I knelt down.
I wrapped the bandages tighter around my hands and took a deep breath as I stepped onto the road of suffering.
To understand sand, you had to offer it your blood.
My first day’s movements were just human movements.
The sand struck my hands, rose into the air, and retaliated by flying into my eyes.
Within minutes, I was sitting blindfolded, trying to better feel the feedback from every touch.
By morning, I had to change the bloodied bandages, rest, and then do it all over again.
Gradually, my hands grew accustomed to the grains of sand beneath them.
Under the quiet clinking of tableware, dinner was laid out on the dining table.
Fruits and dried scorpion meat, a typical poor family meal.
As I held my fork with slightly trembling, bandaged hands, my father, Tassad, narrated the day’s events with a sour face.
“Damn assistant fell under the sail.
A sand tornado threw the idiot, and he lost control.
The boat ran over him and broke his arm.
I’m tired of it.
Can’t steer?
Don’t join the caravan.”
Always serious, deeply tanned, he roughly cracked open a scorpion shell and sucked out the meat.
“How awful,” his wife, already wrinkled, a beautiful representative of the desert people, covered her mouth.
Despite her understandable reaction, Tassad still shot her a heavy look.
This man was a harsh Sandbender.
His attitude, his demeanor, everything reminded me of myself.
But he was genuinely harsh with everyone and generally kept his distance.
I only remembered two times when he’d shown anyone sympathy: right after my birth, when he held me in his arms, and a few years ago, when he called me to watch him punch sand.
A training method I’d copied from him.
I don’t know if it was fatherly love or just showing off, but the sight of the cutting sand and the waves rippling like water had burned into my memory.
Most of the time, they were distant.
I wasn’t an impressive son.
I had nothing to brag about.
No friends.
But I always caught my father’s rough gaze, just like now, as he told his story and tore into the former worker with layers of condemnation.
My mother just tried to ignore it.
I envy that.
With my behavior, I’d never have a wife.
But still, credit where it’s due, he wasn’t a filthy bandit.
“Can’t make the next trip either.
Shame.
It paid one-and-a-half times more.”
His eyes dropped to my bandaged hands.
And at that moment…
“Choose:”
1 — Offer to help your father.
Casually mention you’d be better than his last assistant (Opportunity to leave the city with a protector.
Your relationship improves).
2 — Stay silent (Likely no fruit on the table for the next week, just dried scorpions).
3 — Offer to help your mother at the bar (You’ll get one fruit a week.
Your relationship with her improves).
Oh no…
eating meat that tastes like sand, without a sweet, rich side dish?
My gaze went blank.
This was one of those moments when even Anubis couldn’t help me.
It was a choice between a rock and a hard place.
My heart was pounding.
I exhaled quietly and met my father’s eyes.
“…You know, I’m sure it’s not that hard.
You just have to maintain the sand tornado, right?
Easy.”
Silence filled the room.