The crimson world of Midnight, formed from the ashen remains of a now-dead world. Since the dawn of civilization as it was known, the ever-expansive desert stretched onward beyond sight. A lone black star hung overhead, gazing upon humanity with an apathetic uninterest.

Many cities were founded over the years, a unification of manpower by the weak to rise and become strong. Since before most could remember, these cities ruled as the one remaining beacon of joy and civilization. For even within these walls where most cannot afford a single meal, it was still a luxury.

Within Midnight, nothing ever came in, and nothing ever left—with one exception—storms. An event that was known by most to cast out not only scrap but also heavy steel and metal. The widespread theory was that the storms spat out everything unwanted, everything tossed aside by the other worlds.

Midnight truly was the one place left for undesirables.

All sorts of unknowns had appeared from within these storms over the millennia, cast through with wild uncertainty. Only to arrive at the same place as always, crashing down into the desert surface.

They had a method of dealing with these storms.

Upon their arrival, a cities' administrative command would send out a select ensemble from all of the major clans that held any form of influence. This influence gathered through all sorts of means, whether it be bribing, threatening, or plotting.

The weaker clans would have their scavengers selected as a means of weakening them, forcing them to risk their lives and damage their standing. Stronger clans were prepared for this, however, and rarely lost their scavengers through such methods. They would work alongside the midnight centipedes and other official operations that were ruled by the Territorial Lords' representatives.

Each storm was welcomed by a swarm of attention, as no one, not even the Lords themselves knew exactly what sort of valuable loot would be uncovered.

Sometimes they'd find nothing of value, ranging from plates of metal to scrap. These sorts of things would be left for lower clans to bargain and war over. True treasures were more so weapons, technology, and Mir-enchanted trinkets. Whenever any of those things popped up, you could be certain a Lord would notice.

Within one such city, where a new batch of potential treasures had been detected—Direfell.

"Get a move on, we're heading out soon!" A lowly peon shouted out, smashing his iron bar down onto the table that sat before him. The man's face covered in both dirt and sweat as his beet-red eyes glared around the work field.

He stood higher than anyone else in the area, as he wore the symbol of Direfell's selective committee. As he watched with impatience as the many clan scavengers rushed around. He turned back around and began going back over his previous orders once more.

"Remember, I know you're all new to this so I'll remind you once more—I'm in charge." His eyes shot between each of them. We're going to go clean up a storm that was reported yesterday, we'll be leading these good for nothing scavvies out. Your job isn't to keep them alive nor is it to help yourselves to the loot. It's to keep the peace, nothing else."

The soldiers he faced all nodded their heads, obviously tired of this man reminding them how to do their jobs.

"Also remember, we've got some guests with us so you all be on your best behavior. They might be recruits where they're from, but there's a world of difference between you and them."

As he spoke, the soldiers' attention all drew away from their superior officer and toward the three figures that stood to the side, out of range. These figures seemed beyond their reach. A special operations unit hand-selected by the Black Spire itself.

To those three, everyone else must've looked like mere insects. At least, that was what those soldiers' all assumed.

…

"Droh, you've made sure to remember your things, right?" A voice asked, to the annoyance of the smallest figure.

"Yes, I've got everything." He gestured towards a small pack of supplies that sat slightly behind him, untouched since he placed it down. "What's gotten you so worried Deus, think something is going to go wrong?"

"Nothing," Deus replied, his face showing more dirt than normal as his expression carried with it an air of concern. "This is our first major assignment since our recruitment… I've had a few small lessons but nothing like this. The last time I left the city… well… you know what happened."

"You two, you ready?" A third voice called out toward them, drawing their attention.

"Yeah, we've got everything we need. When are we heading out?" Droh replied with a question.

"Soon, once the last clan scavenger is ready and onboard. We should head over now too before we're left behind."

Deus nodded in agreement as he gestured toward the other two, "Come on, Droh grab your things. Natan, you got everything you need?"

In response, the third man, Natan, answered. "It's all right here." He gestured toward his pack. "I'm still a bit nervous, too. This is our first assignment since our training. I've heard good things about you Deus, but I've still got to prove myself to the higher-ups."

Natan paused for a moment as the younger man pondered aloud, "It's wrong to ask for something exciting to happen, isn't it? If we're attacked, I can show off my shooting skills and bring home some credit for my clan."

"I'd rather have everything go smooth, personally." Deus chided back.

"Of course you would. You don't need to get anyone's attention, you're already receiving private lessons from some of the highest-ranking commanders we've got. I heard you even spoke with Captain Roch…"

"Well…" Deus murmured out quietly, not sure where to take the conversation. It had been approximately four months since Deus and Droh had originally been recruited. Spending most of their days within the inner Spire, learning from a select group hand-chosen by Roch.

Most of Deus' fellow recruits didn't know of his arrangement, believing him to be a mere offspring of some higher up or an anonymously selected member of an unseen clan.

Either way, Deus and Droh used this to their advantage and did everything they could to blend in and earn their place. It had been four months before Deus could even manage to convince his mentors to send him on this assignment, and it was only approved due to it's low-concern for danger.

They'd never admit it, for fear of painting a target on Deus's back, but they held him in high regard. Not because of his feats, mind you, but because of the interest drawn on him by both Master Androma and Captain Roch. Anyone worthy of their attention was someone the Spire also held in high attention.

"See, you're fine! You don't need to prove yourself, you already have all the attention you need. I still need to prove myself, though. My clan invested a fortune in my recruitment… if I fail, well… I can't fail."

As they spoke, a thunderous horn sounded, signaling the last warning before the Ararat's departure. As the horn roared, countless clan members and scavengers began making way toward the boarding section. Deus and crew as well.

The Ararat was one of Direfell's selected ships used for scavenging. It had few guns, but a large section of open room to store everyone's findings.

The rules were simple; Direfell officials had the first selection over the overall resources and treasures found and unearthed. If any clan attempted to hide something, they would find themselves expunged of any future rights and their scavengers would be instantly executed on the spot.

This rule seemed wicked but was fairer than most. Direfell paid handsomely for anything of value and tended to pass on most things that couldn't pose a threat to them in the future. This allowed the clans to bargain with each other, allowing the prices to inflate over the years.

Even though metal was commonplace within the inner city, outside the city walls out in the wild desert, metal was as valuable as gold.

Metal represented safety and structure, as it was the only major material that could be used for construction that wasn't instantly swallowed by the sand. Without an abundance of metal, any structures built would only last a few months at the latest, forcing anyone without these supplies to keep on the move.

Those low on their luck had even resorted to theft and murder, when necessary. All over a few plates of metal. That was the sort of thugs to which this horrific world of Midnight had lowered its inhabitants into becoming.

As everyone boarded the Ararat, a final horn sounded throughout the city walls, signaling the departure of the scavenger vessel.

With one solid push, the ship began its acceleration as it slowly rose above the desert sand, sailing atop.

Like the Nijaden, the Ararat was a sailing vessel. It was designed alongside utilizing both its gas engine and a robust set of wind sails, used to roam over top of the sand as if pushing through some unseen ocean.

The design was fascinatingly built, especially since Midnight had no major bodies of water anywhere to be seen across its surface. How the idea for a sailboat-like design had ever been constructed was beyond most.

Deus never took much consideration into this sort of affair, leaving most fascinations to the smaller, more energetic Droh to ponder about. Droh had never seen a large body of water, but that never stopped him from drawing a clear and crisp image in his mind.