A New Beginning

Excerpt from the Statistical Yearbook "Oasis Communities: Security and Stability 380-381"

Crime in the Three Most Populous Oases Over the Past Year:

Most Common Offenses:

• Theft (38% of all reported cases)
• Illegal resource manipulation (water, energy) (21%)
• Assault (18%)

Number of Reported Incidents:

• Tacot Van Oasis: 94
• Oko Lahab Oasis: 312 (note: sharp increase of 15% compared to the previous year)
• Grim Nad Oasis: 42

Most Common Offenders:

• Migrant workers (51%)
• Underage residents (23%)
• Organized groups (18%)

Special Note:

Incidents related to the herding of hornbeasts in Oko Lahab Oasis account for up to 12% of all reported crimes. The primary cause is unauthorized entry into stables and enclosures.

Reng, Oasis Oko Lahab

It was well known that Loan Grun pulled all the strings in Oko Lahab. His word carried more weight than all the decisions of the local Council combined. Beneath the mask of an honorable citizen, however, lurked a man with strong ties to the black market and the local underworld.  

Reng had heard about him the moment he set foot in the oasis, but in the year he had been there, he had never met him in person. Honestly? He didn’t even want to. Loan wouldn’t waste his time on someone as insignificant as him. It was enough that he had found a way to Loan’s people, the ones who arranged the jobs that kept him and Borin alive. But one thing had become clear: working for Loan was the fastest way to make a name for yourself. 

Or to lose it forever.  

Reng and Borin were hoping for the first option. So when word spread through the oasis that Loan had offered a reward for tracking down the escaped hornbeasts, they didn’t hesitate. They weren’t the only ones. Anyone with a machine and enough nerve jumped at the chance. But Loan’s foreman, Asal, was an old-school man. He knew that for a job like this, he needed someone who knew what they were doing. These escaped hornbeasts were Loan’s most valuable breeding stock—worth enough to buy a house in one of the provincial oases—so it was clear they couldn’t risk hiring just any amateur.  

Fortunately, Reng and Borin had the best possible recommendation. They had come to Oko Lahab with Kalen, which meant they had managed to cross all of Raj with a herd of hornbeasts. And in this community, that meant something.  

The roundup lasted six days and nights. Eight men scoured the terrain, searching for the lost hornbeasts and gathering them back into a single herd. In the end, they managed to track down most of them, but a few still slipped away, and some were found dead. Still, Asal promised they would receive their reward. And when he invited them to an afternoon meeting, Reng and Borin knew it was about more than just money. Maybe, finally, they could rise above the rank of mere hired drifters.  

Loan’s private section of the oasis was the exact opposite of everything Reng had seen so far. Land full of greenery, winding paths leading across small bridges and ponds, their surface adorned with vibrant flowers. Insects buzzed around them, and beneath the water, swift creatures darted about. Their skin shimmered like gemstones as they leapt above the surface before diving back down like arrows.  

“By the whiptail, did you see that?” Borin pointed at the pond. “Are those really plutave?”  

Reng leaned cautiously over the water, trying to catch a glimpse of the sleek body that disappeared between the rocks.  

“Maybe,” he admitted with doubt.  

He had never seen a plutave before, only heard stories about them. And he couldn’t help himself—everything around him felt wrong. While Loan maintained his ponds to breed rare creatures, people nearby could barely afford the oasis’s overpriced water. And Reng knew exactly who controlled the valves in this place, and with them, the fate of its inhabitants.  

“Hey, you two! Stop gawking at the water and move it. Everyone’s waiting on you!” Asal barked, leading the group. “And you,” he nodded at Reng, “is that hat really necessary?”  

Reng smirked but reluctantly removed his hat, overcome by an unsettling feeling that maybe he had been too hasty in his ambitions. This place wasn’t for him... and never had been.  

Loan’s estate was saturated with pompous opulence. Every corner of the room was adorned with mounted trophies—predators frozen with open beaks and fangs jutting into the air. On the opposite wall hung an enormous portrait, impossible to overlook. Loan’s likeness gazed from the canvas with a superior expression, his features softened by the painter’s touch. And just in case anyone somehow failed to recognize the face, his name was emblazoned in gold lettering beneath it.  

Yet Loan himself was absent. The large table at the front of the room was nearly empty, save for a few pitchers of water and some glasses.  

Reng couldn’t say why, but the modest offering of water unsettled him more than the lavish trophies or the grand portrait.

“Where is he?” Borin stretched his face impatiently, glancing around.

“Does it matter?” Asal shrugged. “Park your ass at the table and just wait. That’s how things work around here.”

Reng and Borin exchanged looks but obeyed. The other wranglers had already found their seats and pulled out a deck of cards. It was clear they were used to Loan’s ways. Borin sat with them, watching the game, while Reng remained standing.

His gaze drifted to the arched windows, which offered a view of the entire oasis. From this height, he could see rooftops dusted from a recent storm, the abandoned Beacon towering in the distance, and the water reservoirs marking a significant part of Loan’s wealth and influence at the far edge of the settlement. Further beyond, a flicker of light sparked on the horizon—the energy barriers crackling, shielding the oasis from whatever lurked outside. The entire scene felt like a clash of disparate worlds, and for the first time, Reng realized he might not want to be part of any of them after all.

The lazy afternoon stretched into evening before the doors finally burst open. Loan’s presence was like a tidal wave.

The first thing Reng noticed was that the portrait had been far too kind. The artist had gone out of their way to make Loan look like a charismatic leader. In reality, he was overweight, with a round head, disheveled hair, and protruding ears. His deep-set, beady eyes gave the unsettling impression that anyone who looked at him too long might drown in them. His tunic, embroidered with expensive patterns, draped over his body like an ill-fitted costume.

Loan’s entourage, however, showed no weakness. Two armed men flanked him on either side, hands resting on their weapons. It was obvious they weren’t just for show. Reng swallowed hard and cast a glance at Borin. Their eyes met. No words were needed—they both understood exactly what was coming.

Loan was going to cheat them.

“Problems, problems, nothing but problems!” Loan groaned theatrically as he dropped into his chair. “It took forever, but I had to get my herd sorted first. Wouldn’t want to overlook anything when it comes to payment.”

“Overlook?” Kirp, a tall, wiry herder with sharp features and piercing eyes, rumbled.

He was well-known in the room—not just for his ability to cut people down with words, but with his fists as well. His hands rested on the table, but Loan’s guards, who had moved into the corners of the room, were watching him closely. Kirp swept up the deck of cards they had been using to pass the time and narrowed his eyes until they were slits.

“We agreed on thirty when we brought the herd in.”

Loan turned to him with a crooked grin.

“We did.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping a notch. “Thirty thousand—if you found and returned the entire herd. That was the deal.”

“And that’s exactly what we did,” Borin cut in, too young and inexperienced to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Loan turned to him slowly. His gaze was cold, but there was an unmistakable flicker of irritation beneath the mask of composure. He scanned Borin from head to toe before his eyes slid over to Reng, who stood a little farther from the table.

“Who are these two?” Loan asked distrustfully.

“They’re with me,” Asal interjected quickly. His voice remained steady, but tension was unmistakable. “West boys. From Kalen. Good ones. They helped with the herd, and if you ask me, they should stay. Not just for a one-time job. Permanently.”

Loan snorted, his round face darkening. “From Kalen? From the west?” Every word dripped with disdain, each one more biting than the last. “Those country bumpkins don’t know the first thing about breeding. Their hornbeasts are half the weight of mine and twice as wild. One of their brutes nearly crushed two of my men the other day. And that was just moving it from one pen to another.”

Heat crept up Reng’s neck. Anger, sharp and searing, boiled in his gut. The sheer contempt in Loan’s voice as he dismissed Kalen’s work—without a shred of respect—made his stomach turn. The words burned on his tongue, but he knew that once he spoke them, there was no going back.

Still, he took a breath and said them anyway.

“Your hornbeasts wouldn’t survive half of what Kalen’s have.”

Loan’s nostrils flared ever so slightly in the prelude to something worse. Reng saw it. And yet, he kept going.

“They travel for dozens of days through brutal terrain. Starving. They’re used to fighting for survival. Yours nearly died over after six days outside a pen. Without the horns you cut off, they can’t even defend themselves against elners, let alone something worse.” His voice was calm, but the edge in it sharpened. “And your people? They never learn how to handle them properly, so don’t be surprised when accidents happen.”

Silence settled over the room. Reng could feel every gaze locked onto him. Asal furrowed his brows, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to warn him, but it was too late. Loan finally waved his hand lazily.

“What’s this yokel’s name?” he drawled, his eyes sweeping over Reng the way a trader appraises a hornbeast at the market.

“Reng,” he introduced himself before Asal could answer. “I was just brought along for the numbers.”

Loan sneered. “Reng. Nice name. Almost sounds like something you could carve on a gravestone.”

His lips curled into a broad grin, one that held little sincerity.

“You know what I like about you western bumpkins? You’re straightforward. Plainspoken. And often have just about enough brains to fit in a pocket.”

He laughed, and his guards immediately followed suit. The sound was hollow, but Loan clearly enjoyed the way tension in the room thickened.

“For that little stunt, you’ll get…” he hesitated for a moment, as if considering. “Half of what the others get. And you know what, Asal? Make sure he reports to the stables in the morning. I see potential in him—the kind that flourishes best while shoveling shit.”

Reng inhaled sharply, ready to speak, but Loan raised a finger.

“No, no. You’ve said your piece. And we all understand how much my methods trouble you. So I’m giving you an opportunity. You’ll be close to my hornbeasts. You can teach me some of that western wisdom you’re so eager to shove under my nose.”

His smile stiffened, his eyes hardened.

“And if you question my decisions again, I’ll make sure they carve that hat you keep clutching onto your headstone too. Are we clear?”

Reng remained silent. Asal watched him with an expression that was equal parts disappointment and resignation.

Satisfied, Loan stretched, then turned to the rest of the group.

“The herd isn’t whole,” he declared, his tone turning harder, icier. “And the ones that made it back are in such a state that fixing them will take weeks and cost me a fortune. On top of that, I lost animals that can’t be replaced. This—” he lifted a bundle of credit chits and let them slip between his fingers with deliberate meaning, “—obviously had to reflect on your payment.”

Asal straightened, his gaze locking onto Loan with a hard, unwavering intensity. His face was motionless, but the tension in his clenched fists and tight-lipped expression simmered like a pot about to boil over.

“Loan,” he said slowly, his voice deep, “this isn’t fair.”

Loan let out a sharp, barking laugh before his face twisted into a smug sneer.

“Fair? Asal, don’t start with that bullshit. Haven’t you figured it out yet? Life isn’t fair to anyone, not even me! I’m the one losing here. Some bastard let my herd loose. So tell me, what the fuck is fair, huh?”

“The boys did their job,” Asal shot back, his tone dry as dust, his eyes never leaving Loan’s face. “They worked their asses off to bring that herd back, Loan. You can’t deny that.”

Loan leaned in, his face catching the light from the lamp above the empty table. His eyes gleamed sharp as a razor’s edge.

“And they’ll get paid. Everyone gets what they deserve. Minus what’s still missing.” His voice dropped, turning cold as stone. “Now tell me, Asal—do you really want to start this argument? Because if you do, it’s going to be an unpleasant surprise for both of us.”

He straightened and spread his arms, as if he already had the final word in his grasp.

“Because I have made my decision. And I don’t intend to change it.”

Silence fell over the room, thick enough to cut with a knife. Asal’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flicking between Loan and the men at the table. They sat frozen, eyes downcast, as if any movement might set off an avalanche.

At last, Asal exhaled heavily through his nose, the weight of it pressing down on him. And he surrendered.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. Each word dropped from him like a stone. His voice was heavy, weary, but beneath it lay an unspoken bitterness.

Loan took a deep breath, as if resetting himself back into his theatrical composure. “Here’s sixteen thousand. Take it or leave it. But I guarantee you—if you choose to argue, you’ll walk away empty-handed. And if anyone dares to start debating with me again—” his gaze pinned Reng in place, “—they’ll end up shoveling shit. Just like this mouthy kid.”

Then Loan reached into the stack of credit chits, pulled out a handful, and deliberately shoved them into his pocket. “This is his half. To remind him that this isn’t the West.”

Reng felt the anger rising in his veins, but he swallowed it down. His eyes swept across the room, searching for any sign of support. No one moved. Heads remained bowed, eyes fixed on the table. Even the hot-blooded Kirp stayed silent.

Loan pushed himself to his feet, letting his gaze linger on Reng before sweeping over the rest of the room. “It’s been an honor doing business with you, gentlemen.”

When the doors slammed shut behind him, Asal reached for the payment and began dividing it evenly. He hesitated when he got to Reng, his hand trembling slightly, as if debating whether to give him a piece of his mind for his insolence. In the end, he pressed the chits into Reng’s palm.

“You acted like a damn fool, you stupid brat,” he growled. “I thought you had at least some sense in that thick skull of yours. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut, and you’d have been part of the team. But now?” He sneered. “Now you can use that half-payment to buy yourself the common sense you clearly lost somewhere along the way.”

Reng lowered his head. He regretted it—not because of Loan, but because of Asal. The old herder reminded him too much of Noel. It seemed Reng was destined to be a disappointment to old mens.

But in the end, he clenched a fist and thumped it against his chest in a silent gesture of respect. For trying. For giving them a chance.

Asal squinted at him, clearly taken aback. But after a moment, he gave him a slight nod.

Behind him, Borin’s deep voice rumbled. “You just pissed off the biggest boss in the oasis. Not everyone can pull that off.”

Reng turned his head. Borin was frowning, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“We had our first real job, and I screwed it up,” Reng admitted.

But Borin only grinned.

“Screw it, you just told the truth. You know what? I’m buying you a drink. And a proper dinner.”

Reng nodded tiredly. Yeah. He definitely needed a drink.

Maybe two.

***

It wasn’t their first night at the same table, with a glass of anak in front of them and long-winded talks about plans and the future.

The tavern was more of a run-down dive, filled with cheap booze and walls stained by years of smoke and spilled alcohol. The only thing remotely cozy about the place was the barmaid—a young girl everyone knew to be the daughter of the tavern’s proud owner. One look at the man’s broad frame and half-crazed expression was enough to tell you that if anyone so much as touched her—physically or verbally—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. Even Borin, usually quick with a loose tongue, treated her with surprising respect.

“Screw it,” Borin grumbled, downing his first shot and spilling a handful of credit chits onto the table—his share of today’s payment. “I fucking knew that bastard was a piece of shit, but I didn’t realize just how fucking good he was at screwing people over.”

“Forget it. You’ve got enough to cover your biggest debts,” Reng refused to join in the complaining and raised his glass, hoping to steer Borin’s thoughts elsewhere.

“Sure, but I can’t forget it,” Borin shot back, waving for a refill. “Unlike you, I won’t be scrubbing someone’s damn stables tomorrow. I’ll be out there like a damn idiot, hunting for a new job. Hungry, because once I pay off my debts, I won’t have a single aren left.”

“I’m not going,” Reng admitted awkwardly, staring into the reflection in his glass.

“The hell you’re not,” Borin spat, shoving another shot across the table while knocking back his own in one gulp. “You’re gonna get your ass up and go. You might still be able to turn this around for us. The bastard liked you. Sure, he was about to pop a vein when you shot the truth in his face, but you entertained him. Maybe he’s sick of all those bootlickers nodding along to everything he says.”

Reng sighed, but when he looked up at Borin, he saw something more than just anger. Fear, buried deep beneath layers of well-practiced nonchalance.

“You could’ve backed me up,” he muttered. “If you’d had the guts to stand up to him, maybe he wouldn’t have screwed us over so easily.”

“He would’ve screwed us over either way.”

The voice behind them made them both turn in surprise.

Kirp stood there, his gaze hard, just as pissed off as Borin’s—but with a distinct layer of contempt. He didn’t wait for an invitation, simply pulled out a chair and waved for another round of drinks.

“He does it all the time,” Kirp said, knocking back a shot of anak and raising his empty glass to order another. His expression was bitter, his eyes shifting between Reng and Borin as if searching for allies. “The moment I made the mistake of taking my first job from him, I knew what kind of bastard he was. Promises you the damn moon and then fucks you over.”

At the last word, he slammed his glass down on the table.

“But always just enough that it doesn’t feel that bad of a deal. So, like an idiot, you take another job. And another. And another. And before you know it, it’s a cycle.”

Reng frowned, staring at Kirp. “Then why the hell do you all put up with it?”

The alcohol was seeping into his head, and with it came a familiar sense of injustice—one he thought he’d buried. Before Kirp walked in, he’d almost let it go. But now? Now the anger was back. Sharp. Burning.

“And what would you suggest?” Kirp snorted, dragging another shot toward himself. “Didn’t today teach you anything?”

He knocked the drink back with a grimace.

“Besides, he does pay well. Better than most, actually. He just likes to mess with us. It’s practically a tradition. Sees us pissed off and it makes his day.” Kirp let out a dry laugh. “And if that ever stopped working? He’s got those two monsters with guns watching his back.”

Reng thought of Loan’s guards. They weren’t just for show. He had probably used them before. With those two at his side, it was easy to sit across from eight men and laugh in their faces.

Fucking Loan Grun.

"And what do we do about it?"

Borin leaned on the table, scratching his head. His voice was sour, like he was hoping Kirp would just hand him an easy solution.

Kirp smirked slowly. At first glance, it was just a smirk—but then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object, setting it down between them.

Reng leaned in closer.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously, his gaze flicking to Kirp.

Kirp leaned back, crossing his legs, clearly enjoying the suspense he had created.

"A key," he stated simply.

"I can see that. A key to what?" Reng’s voice tightened.

"The stables," Kirp answered with such casual certainty that it almost made it seem like carrying stable keys in your pocket was the most normal thing in the world.

Silence stretched between them.

Borin ordered another round, though he looked just as surprised. Reng took his glass but had no intention of drinking it.

"What are you planning?" he asked at last.

He already knew the best thing to do was stand up and walk away. But something in Kirp’s expression kept him glued to his seat. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of the way he had laid that key on the table.

Kirp leaned in, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear.

"When he walked in for that meeting today, he said he had to count the herd and check their condition, just to know exactly what was missing."

"And?" Borin wasn’t following, and Reng wasn’t far behind.

"It means that the hornbeasts are standing in the stable right now, waiting for you to clean it tomorrow," Kirp continued, his grin widening. "And I thought—why wait until tomorrow? Why not clean it tonight? Get rid of the beasts now."

Reng’s face went rigid. He had expected many things from Kirp, but this? This was too much.

"You’re planning to steal them?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. His eyes flicked to Borin, who already had that familiar drunken gleam in his eye—the one that never meant anything good.

Kirp snorted. "I’m crazy, but not that crazy. We don’t need to steal them. We just open the stables, let them loose, and this time, we’re simply not there when they try to round them up again."

Reng scoffed, but the longer he thought about it, the more perfect it seemed.

"I hope you realize where they’ll end up," he said, amusement creeping into his tone.

Kirp’s smirk turned wicked. "Oh, I know exactly where."

He lifted his hand again, signaling for another round.

"And you know what?" he added, tilting his head. "It’ll be worth it."

That night, the rounds kept coming.

With every shot of anak, their plan felt more and more like pure genius, even though somewhere in the back of Reng’s mind, a small voice warned him—this would not go unnoticed. The key was simple: Don’t get caught. And that shouldn’t be a problem. The herd was locked up in the middle of the oasis, no one watching it more than necessary.

By the time they were thrown out of the bar, it was well past midnight.

Reng’s world swayed under his feet, but the fresh air jolted him awake just enough to follow through with their plan.

The stables sat on the far side of Loan’s estate, near the cattle markets—a massive structure filled with resting hornbeasts. Their warm bodies sent clouds of mist into the cold night air. The scent of straw, sweat, and manure was almost intoxicating.

Kirp pulled out the chip and unlocked the stable doors in one smooth motion.

They slipped inside.

Massive heads lifted. Snorting and the nervous shuffle of hooves echoed through the barn. Reng scanned the drowsy beasts, hesitating for a moment. Did he really want to do this? Wasn’t this just a stupid, reckless game?

"What are you waiting for?" Kirp hissed.

Borin was already in the back, unbolting the first enclosures.

Reng inhaled deeply.

Then he pulled out his whip and cracked it above his head.

The sharp snap rang through the stable like a thunderclap, and the hornbeasts jolted awake in a panic. Too late for second thoughts.

Another lash echoed from Borin’s side.

A drawn-out creak sounded as the gates swung open.

Kirp waved to them, signaling it was time. He bolted outside to unlock the outer pens.

Reng felt a rush of adrenaline and nerves as he cracked his whip again.

The herd moved.

Massive bodies surged forward.The hornbeasts, spurred by the lashing whips, charged straight toward Loan’s estate. Suddenly, shouting erupted.

The guards had noticed what was happening, and their lights began cutting through the darkness.

“Move! Now!” Kirp barked.

The three of them bolted, the thunder of horned beasts and frantic yells filling the once-quiet night. The first gunshot shattered the air.

Reng vaulted over a fence, yanking Kirp along with him, while Borin had already disappeared into the distance. They tore through the narrow streets of the oasis, their hurried footsteps echoing off the walls.

They didn’t stop until several blocks away, breathless—but victorious.

“By the whiptail, Loan’s gonna shit himself,” Borin wheezed between bursts of laughter.

Reng leaned against a wall, wiping the sweat from his face, breathless but grinning. “I can’t wait till he finds them in his precious fucking ponds.”

Laughter wracked his body until tears pricked his eyes.

Then, with giddy satisfaction, the three of them slapped hands together in triumph.

A perfect ending to an otherwise shitty day.