Chapter 1

“Antion!”

Like a stone through still water, his own name snapped him out of the fog, and he swung around to face his punishment.

Thank the gods.

It was only his brother.

Had it been the commander…

Eklidos stepped into the pit, where Antion stood waiting, sword in hand, lost in thought.

“You gonna swing that thing or is this uh…something new?”

“What’s that?” Antion asked.

“Standing there like a fool.”

Elk’s blade flicked toward Antion’s gut, more invitation than anything. Antion gave a faint smile, but he couldn’t raise his blade.

“Just been thinking…”

Elk huffed.

“You’re always thinking. Don’t think it’ll do us any good now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”

He stepped back.

“What’s there to think about anyway?”

And he raised his sword.

“It’s only war.”

“You had your chance to leave with the rest last night. So if you’re here to fight…”

Elk suddenly sidestepped and shoved him hard, sending Antion stumbling.

“…then you better fight back!”

A flash of white.

That’s all that came for him, but Antion was ready.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

The blade remembered what he’d forgotten.

He lifted it just in time, deflecting his brother’s attack aside. Antion looked up with wild eyes, but Elk just smiled.

“There’s that warrior.”

The next strike came from the side, but Antion was quicker. He parried and spun around his brother’s blade, pressing his own against Elk’s neck, broad side scraping skin.

Elk just chuckled.

“There’s no twirling in war, Anty,” Elk grunted. “Surest way to get yourself killed…or worse…”

“Worse?”

Elk nodded.

“Me.”

Antion just shook his head.

“This isn’t a game, man.”

Elk stood still, unmoving.

“Right. Like you said…”

The shadow of his smile faded.

“It’s only war.”

Antion opened his mouth to respond, but what else could he say? His brother was right…in a way. They both knew.
This might be the last morning they’d ever share…

CLAAASH!

The clangs of their iron echoed through the training pit. Metal crashed against metal, armor rattled in motion, and for a brief moment, Antion could’ve forgotten the world entirely.

Everyone else, however, had turned their heads to look at them, and that set his face burning.

“You need to wise up,” Antion snapped, but Elk merely waved him off with his blade.

“No, you need to wise up, and find your inner warrior.”

“Oh yeah?” Antion fired back. “And when exactly did you become such a sage?”

Just a smirk.

“About the time you became a fool.”

Antion forced another nervous smile.

But he quickly replaced it with a sigh.

“Except I’m not, and neither are you…you really think we stand a chance today?”

It was Elk’s turn to fake a smile.

 

Soon enough, the soldiers were called to form ranks outside, joining the others already armed with spears and shields.

The moment Antion stepped beyond the tarped roof of the training pit, the full force of the angry sun struck him across the face.

Blinding.

Brutal.

As his eyes adjusted, the fort grounds came into view, choked with warriors clad in leather, cloaked in fear.

Not a single face dared breathe easy.
Then came the order: out of the stronghold, into the open streets.

Tall mud-brick apartments and public buildings loomed on either side, their flat, terraced roofs stacked three or four stories high, hiding the city beyond.
Only the palm trees rivaled their height, swaying lazily along the boulevards. Their green fronds waved farewell to the brave souls marching through the empty streets.
Ahead, the narrow road opened into a vast, abandoned marketplace. Stalls and shops stood still, untouched by civilian life.
And beyond it all, at last…Ar Fira Oasis came into view.
Within the city walls stretched six square miles of neighborhoods and public spaces. Grand temples and humble altars, lively parks and shaded squares, shops of every kind and family-run stalls.
All of it…empty.

All around their beautiful oasis, the desert pressed tight against the vibrant green. LIFE amidst endless sands of utter DEATH.

But within this small, defiant dot of life, Antion had lived the best life he could’ve hoped for…if only it hadn’t taken the threat of total annihilation to make him realize it.

Encircling the city stood towering walls, built to keep the desert’s worst at bay. Impenetrable, solid mortared stone and muscle…flawless beauty.

That is, if Antion had anything to say about it.

He’d helped raise them, after all; from flimsy sand barriers into to something strong and proud. It had taken years: bricks baked from lake mud, stones hauled from the nearby hills.

And when those hills gave up the last of their precious stone, they scoured the desert for more. And when the desert ran dry, they ran their coffers through to buy what little was left on the wider Ashwaran market.

He used to climb those ancient hills, swim in those vast lakes. He used to do so much more…back when freedom was still theirs.

But freedom carried its price.

And today, the desert had come to collect.

Up ahead, the Temple of Khenet loomed over the square, perched atop its low cliff. It once stood proud…but now looked like a tree stripped of fruit, leaves, and purpose.
It too had stayed behind to see them off, steadfast and silent. But those hallowed halls had nothing left to give.

“– Hey!”

The two soldiers ahead of Antion fell silent at once. Commander Raumose had appeared from nowhere.
He was the hard-eyed, no-nonsense type; the kind who seemed to enjoy handing out punishment for even the slightest misstep.
And today, he was entirely without mercy.

“Keep quiet! All of you!” Commander Raumose barked, trying to hold back the collapse of silence itself.
The Temple towered above them as they marched past, perched atop its broad hill like a massive stone insect; brooding walls, and thick, ancient pillars for legs.
Its walls, as tall as five men stacked head to foot, were painted deep ocean blue and cloud white. Each pillar beneath the flat roof gleamed with crimson, the sacred colors of the god who dwelled within.

On any other day, the Temple would have opened its doors to all, whether for prayer, festival, or sacred rite. On any other day, Antion wouldn’t have faced it with such fear in his chest, nor gazed upon her with such aching sorrow.

But here he was…and here she came.

She stepped from the Temple’s shadow, following close behind the High Priest. No one stood above him. No one but the Lord Himself.
Not even Commander Raumose, who led the city’s army, dared to challenge his authority.

Thank the gods for that.

Dressed in traditional ritual garb, they emerged bearing incense for peace and scepters for war. She alone carried nothing, nothing but her love for the city and its people.
Antion saw her immediately, but in a crowd of thousands, there was no chance she’d see him. Still, he gave her one last look, pouring everything he had into it, hoping she might feel something as it passed.
In his mind’s eye, he dropped to both knees, praying with all he had.

Lord of this world, if you can hear me now…please don’t let me die.

“MOVE!”

They continued west toward the city’s main gates; giant and brooding, their painted arches towering two dozen feet above the street.
Beyond them, the city’s largest marketplace stretched wide, the first sight for most arriving travelers. Now, every vendor stand, produce cart, and tent had been cleared to make way for soldiers.
Antion watched more of them gather, preparing to march beyond the walls. His group was the last to join.
As space opened ahead, Commander Raumose drove them faster. He marched like a man possessed, eager for death, his breakneck pace nearly sent the soldiers stumbling over one another.
Relentless, he bellowed:

“PICK UP THE PACE! THEY! ARE!! HERE!!!”

This is it.

Time to die.

As they marched through the wide-open gates toward their deaths, Antion took a strange comfort in having his brother beside him.
He glanced at Elk, who seemed lost in thought, shaking his head now and then, like he was rehearsing the end.

Was he searching for his inner warrior too?

“HALT!”

They stopped just beyond the gates. The massive doors creaked behind them…then slammed shut at their heels.
Their troop was the last to join the formations outside, falling in line with the regiments already assembled beyond the city walls.

The only other presence was the silence.

Not a whisper, not a wind. Not a beast, not a bug.

Just a rolling, absolute silence.

Like the world had stopped breathing.

But Antion knew better.

The verdant oasis stretched on for at least another half mile. A jungle of tall trees and thick brush choked their view…but Antion knew it was still out there.
The monstrous presence.
Just out of sight.

It merely waited for them.

“FORWARD!”

They marched nearly half an hour through tall grass and snagging brush, battling dust and searing heat to reach the edge of the oasis.
They called it the Great Green Drop-Off.

Where lush life ended, and the world turned cruel.
Green became brown.
Hope became heat.

It came without care.

It killed without cause.

It was the most inhospitable land in the world.

And there it was: The great Ashwaran Sand Sea.

The oasis spit them out into the endless expanse, where churning sands and hungry earth stretched before them, eager for blood.
The great green curtain had pulled back.
And the savage stage was revealed.

Silent chaos.
A landscape of spilling death.
Yet to those from Ar Fira, it was still home.
Familiar.
Etched into Antion’s memory from countless practice runs.

He’d likely stood on this very spot before, overlooking the same patch of living-dead desert…
And now, as then, he thought the same thing:
What a perfect place to die.

It screamed at him, in its deathly quiet way, that war had finally come for them all. Soon, the yellow sands would be painted red.

They stopped just short of the desert’s edge and spread into tight formations along the tree line. What began as five men thick and hundreds wide quickly swelled to twenty men deep.

Thousands strong.

When every man had found his place…that was it.
Now, they waited.

The silence stretched before them like the desert itself; vast, all-consuming, maddening. It was as if everything else had collapsed into stillness and dust.
And so they stood…waiting.

“– Look!”

“– Hey, who’s that!?”

Whispers started spreading like wildfire. By the time they reached Antion, he’d already spotted him: the lone rider on camelback, rising from the edge of the world.

Commander Raumose stepped forward to meet him.

“Who’s that?” someone muttered from the back.

He was the Lion.

The greatest living warrior in Ar Fira.

Fierce as his namesake, he had no rival throughout the lands, and the very sight of him drove a new, burning courage through the ranks.

Even Antion stood a little straighter when Commander Raumose placed the Lion at the front of the line.

Elk leaned in, doing his best to whisper:

“At least we’ll have him in front of us.”

“MEN! READY YOURSELVES!”

Everyone clutched their spears and shields tightly, frozen in place, not daring to shift an inch under the commanders’ watchful eyes.
Except, of course, for their whispering lips.

Positioned several rows back, Antion found the faintest sense of safety in numbers. Back here, they could still talk, just out of reach of Raumose’s hawk ears.

“Should we pray again?” Antion murmured.

Elk didn’t answer right away.

He just kept his eyes on the rolling wasteland.

“Maybe we should fish for our blessings from the Sand Sea.”

Did Antion hear that right?

“Come on, Elk, be serious.”

But his brother just stood there, silently soaking in the silent horror ahead. For a second, Antion forgot everything else.

Out here, in these sands, demons walked, free from holy sight. This was the Devil’s domain.

He was Sedjil, brother-god of Khenet.

Long ago, the great Empty birthed three brothers: Khenet, the creator of the world and all that was good; Karghur, the storm behind every fire, every flood…

Every war.

But the third…he was the one who created, and cursed, the Sand Sea. The one who dwelled beneath its shifting skin. The one who made great promises…

At the most terrible price.

“Elk…tell me you haven’t.”

His brother didn’t answer.

Just stared ahead, eyes full of wind and sand.

“Then let’s pray it wasn’t for nothing.”

They waited as the harsh sun beat down relentlessly. Thankfully, a few trees remained between the ranks, offering slivers of shade.

On Commander Raumose’s orders, only select trees and brush had been cleared, just enough to give their archers a clean shot, while keeping some shelter for the rest.

Antion, his face half-submerged in shadow, turned to his brother. Elk wore his own dark mask, untouched by the burning sun.

“So…you’re really not afraid then?”

“No, Anty…”

Elk finally looked at him.

The fear dripped off his lips like the sweat from their brows.

“…I’m scared to death.”

Just then, something changed in the air.
It was indescribable…but everyone felt it.
Something had stirred out in the desert, just beyond the dunes that swallowed the horizon.

Something was closing in.

Fast.

“AR FIRA!” Commander Raumose roared.

“AAAHHH!!” The soldiers bellowed back.

Eyes locked on the boiling horizon.

The sands danced with heat, eager for the fall.

But no one could truly know what was coming for them.
No one…except their commander.

“THEY’VE COME FOR OUR LANDS!”

– A trembling underfoot –

“THEY’VE COME FOR OUR LIVES!”

– The thunderous noise of a thousand wicked cries –

“THEY’VE COME FOR EVERYTHING!”

– And then…they saw them –

They surged forth like a tidal wave of flesh and fury, a storm of warriors heaving through their own lines, roaring with every step.
They were beasts.

They were fire.
But even their fury couldn’t drown out the voice that met them:

“SO LET’S GIVE THEM!

EVERYTHING!

WE’VE!!

GOT!!!”

The first wave of death came fast: a line of sleek chariots with thick, sand-cutting wheels and riders clad in shimmering silver armor.

They raced ahead of the main force, swift as wind, like they meant to slam into Ar Fira’s front line. Antion raised his shield higher as sunlight flared off the iron tips pointed straight at him.

At fifty yards, the chariots veered hard right, unleashing a dark storm. Razor-sharp arrows soared through the air, metal clanging against wooden shields in a deadly percussion.

Somehow, no one took a hit where it counted.
Not a single shaft even landed near Antion.

“LEFT!! ARCHERS!!”

On the commander’s signal, Antion heard the twang of bowstrings as their own arrows flew. Most shots fell short, but those chariots moved like lightning across the sands.

Then, another formation rushed forward, unleashing a torrent of darts that rattled off shields and buried themselves in sand and grass.

THUNK!

Antion peeked over the rim of his shield. An arrow had driven halfway through the thick acacia wood.
Across the rim, he met Elk’s gaze.

I almost…

Again, the commander gave the order, signaling the right-flank archers just as the second wave of chariots broke off in that direction.

This time, the shots struck true.
Several riders were hit clean, tumbling into the scorching sand, motionless.

A spark of hope flickered in Antion.

Maybe the Lord hadn’t forgotten them.

But then the chariot waves merged, forming a single, surging line…and charged directly at them.

Fifty yards became twenty-five.

The line split left and right.

No arrows this time.
Only javelins.

Straight into Ar Fira’s front line.

Several of the enemy’s missiles punched through shields, sinking into the soft flesh beneath. Bloody screams tore through the air, chilling Antion’s bones dry.

Amid the chaos, Commander Raumose bellowed:

“ARCHERS!! LOOSE!!”

Every bowstring snapped.

Arrows flying, cutting down several riders.

But each kill came at a cost.

The chariots had seen enough.
They turned and sped back toward their main force.

It’s not gonna be that easy…

All the while, the enemy infantry had been advancing,
crossing the desert floor, pushing past the first patches of dirt and grass, fiending for true Arfiran soil.

The battle had begun.

Their vast hordes slammed into the Arfiran line, shaking the earth beneath their feet. The men in front of Antion were shoved backward, crashing into him.
The row behind barely caught them, but the force still knocked the breath from Antion’s lungs.

Spears clashed. Shields cracked.
And through it all came the screams of the dying, raw and blood-soaked.

The front lines raised their shields high. Those behind thrust their lances forward, desperate to hold the enemy back.

Overhead, a relentless barrage of arrows crisscrossed the sky, so thick at times, they cast a shadow over the battlefield.

Almost like they were fighting in the shade.

Most arrows struck shields or buried themselves in the dirt…but some found flesh.

The heavy air.
The smell of blood.
The taste of fear.

It was madness.

Antion’s whole body shook, dread spilling into horror as the enemy surged forward.
Relentless.
Unstoppable.

The shield wall between the two armies began to buckle, slowly bending the Arfiran line inward. Even the Lion, invincible though he seemed, was being forced back, step by desperate step, as comrades fell around him.

He staggered, nearly crashing into Antion and Elk, dragging with him the stinging death of a thousand enemy spears.

Despite his ferocity, the numbers were too great.
The tide was turning.

Soon, he was fighting shoulder to shoulder with the brothers, his strength fading under the weight of the horde.

It was here that Antion finally saw them up close.

They were splattered with blood from head to foot, as if dipped in a pool of gore. Dried crimson cracked across their skin and armor like scorched rock.

Antion, Elk, the Lion, and the others locked shields and shoved, pushing the enemy back a few precious steps.

The Lion roared, rallying them.

Together, they lunged, spears driving into stunned bellies. Antion’s spear glanced off a raised shield, but the men around him struck true, hammering a dent across the enemy’s front line.

In the chaos, the Lion was suddenly trapped by his own spear, entangled in the press, nearly dragged into the howling mass of invaders.

Refusing to be pulled in, he let go and stumbled back into Antion and Elk, who caught him with their shields. But even with their support, the Lion dropped to one knee.

And in that fleeting moment of weakness, one daring invader broke ranks and drove a spear straight through the Lion’s gut.

Elk bellowed in fury, and rammed his own spear through the man who had felled their city’s greatest warrior.

Despite the wooden pike jutting from his torso, the Lion remained on his feet, grimly clutching his blood-soaked stomach. Behind them, comrades shouted, urging Antion and Elk to pull him to safety.

Instinct took over.

They hoisted his arms over their shoulders and began a perilous retreat, struggling to maintain the shield wall as they moved.

Trusting the ranks to part, Antion and Elk stumbled backward, dragging the Lion with them. But the constant shoving, the staggering bodies, the sheer weight; it all kept catching on them, draining the last of Antion’s strength.

I can’t keep this up!

A mighty dust cloud swirled around them, choking their throats and stinging their eyes. The voices and screams grew distorted, muffled, low-pitched, distant.

Overwhelmed, Antion closed his eyes and bowed his head into his chest, seeking the dark refuge within himself.

It almost worked.

The world almost forgot about him…

…and he almost forgot about the world.

“DROP HIM!!”

Antion’s eyes snapped open as the screams of thousands erupted once more. But then, distant horns cut through the chaos. A sound everyone recognized.

They let the Lion’s still-warm body fall to the dirt,
and turned.

Run.

The retreat was pure hell.

In a mad dash for the gates, they dodged trees and trampled brush, a panicked stampede surging toward the city.

Overhead, a relentless downpour of enemy arrows fell like an almighty storm, challenging even the gods’ wrath.

The unlucky ones who caught one in the back screamed the loudest…but it was the trampling that silenced them.

Fortunately, the tall trees and dense brush obscured their retreat, shielding them from the worst of the arrows.
But as Antion blindly sprinted for safety, branches whipped and slashed at his face, nearly taking an eye.

Suddenly, familiar faces and fierce arrows parted the brush as he ran past, steadfast defenders holding position against the tide of both enemy and ally.

All Antion had to do was stick to the pre-determined paths drilled into him.

Bows tensed.
Arrows flew.
And all sense of self-preservation vanished as the terrified masses tore through the ambush points scattered throughout the jungle oasis.

Antion could hear screams behind him, but he couldn’t tell who they belonged to anymore. He ran. Tripped…picked himself up. And ran again.
It was all he could do to escape the madness.

At last, the western gates loomed ahead; wide open. The Ashwaran army poured through like a desert deer on death’s door.

Above the walls, city archers stood ready, bows drawn, raining death into the sky. They fought to cover the retreat, but the enemy was close.
Wicked fangs.

Iron claws.

Right behind them.

Antion and Elk burst through the gates and didn’t stop running until their legs gave out. They collapsed on the far side of the marketplace, now eerily vast…

Or were there just so few of them left?

One by one, the survivors stumbled in behind them.
And when the last straggler was through…

The gates slammed shut.
Locked tight. From the inside.

Silence.

Commander Raumose emerged from the thinning crowd, somehow unscathed. He marched toward Antion and Elk, who were still gasping on all fours.
They scrambled to their feet.

But before Raumose could open his mouth to speak –
The earth shuddered.

And the sky screamed.
A sound like the world itself being torn apart ripped through the air. Antion turned to the main gates…

They weren’t shattered.

No…erased.

In their place: fire, ruin, smoke…

And the echo of something unnatural.
For a moment, the entire world went silent.

Even the wind stopped to listen.

Antion’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the burning wreckage. His wild heart was the only thing he heard above the plain of silence.

He and Elk started backing away…

But the wall behind them had other ideas.

There are no cowards in Ar Fira.

They turned to each other.
No words left.
Only what the moment demanded – the final fight.

From the smoldering wreckage of the west entrance, silence crept in like a curse…
Then came the invaders.

They poured into the city like a flood.
No rank.
No grace.
No mercy.
Only blood and fear, drowning the marketplace in terror.

Antion and Elk pushed off the wall, shields raised and spears poised, and charged the nearest invaders. They barreled through, knocking a few to the ground.

Antion drove his spear into a fallen man’s chest with a fierce thrust. The man screamed in shattered agony…a sound that would haunt Antion forever.

He looked for more, but his eyes kept drifting back to the body at his feet.
His vision blurred.
His lips went cold.
And amidst the roar of battle, all he could hear was his own breath, loud, hollow, echoing inside his skull.

One of them spotted Antion and charged.

The demon’s eyes were as wide, wild, craving the kill. He screamed as he swung, but Antion raised his shield and caught the blow, knocking the sword aside.
A hard shove sent the attacker stumbling back.

Antion lunged, driving his spear into the man’s chest.
The enemy dropped, sliding off the shaft and hitting the ground hard.

Antion looked down.
The man’s face twisted in agony, but his eyes…his eyes were full of something else.
Not rage.
Sadness.

Antion froze.

Then he heard Commander Raumose’s voice in his head, clear as the day he first heard it:

“Your job isn’t necessarily to kill the enemy. Your job is to incapacitate. If your opponent’s down and can’t get back up…MOVE ON.”

But he couldn’t…not when those tortured eyes stared back at him, begging for an end to the pain. Unable to bear them a second longer, Antion drove his spear down again, granting mercy in the only way he could.

Before he could even breathe, another enemy screamed and charged. Antion sank low, shield tight to his shoulder, bracing for impact.
At the last second, he rose, lifting his shield up and over, catapulting his assailant into the air. The man crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.

Antion didn’t hesitate.

He drove his spear down again.

Another life taken.

Suddenly, someone slammed into him from behind.

HARD.

They both crashed into the dust.
In a blind panic, Antion scrambled to his feet, stepping over the bloody heap squirming beside him. The man was soaked in red, doubled over and twitching.
Antion’s spear was gone. All he had left was his shield.
He gripped it with both hands.
Lifted it high.
And brought it down, iron edge first.

Once!

Twice!

Then he leapt away, frantically searching, for his spear, for his brother – anything but the horrifying ruin he’d just created.

Commander Raumose emerged from the chaos and seized Antion by the shoulder, dragging him away.
Antion ripped free.

Wasn’t this where he belonged!?
But his commander had other plans.

“Move It, Soldier!”

There was no time to find his spear, no time to look for Elk. Antion joined the fleeing survivors as they followed Raumose down the wide street.
At the end of the block, the commander slowed, turned, and faced them.

“Sir, what’s going on?” Antion asked, catching the dazed, blood-slick look on Raumose’s face.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Head for the civilian camp. Find the ah-Karg at the eastern gates. Tell them not to wait a moment longer.”

“Aye, sir!”

“And –”

Raumose handed Antion another spear.
It wasn’t standard-issue.
Blackwood, dark as midnight. Stronger than most.
Frayed along the furnish, and ancient.
Not an officer’s spear.

Something older.

“Take it,” the commander said. “And don’t you dare lose it. Now go!”

The commander shoved Antion and the rest toward the eastern gates before running back to the fight, which now threatened to swallow the entire city.

The others ran full speed toward their orders…

But Antion just stood there.

He could not move.

His back was to the battle…but his eyes on the skies.

The bright blue above stung his vision, but it was better than blinking and ending the moment too soon. So long as he stood perfectly still, eyes unwavering, he could stay here forever…

“Anty!”

He snapped back to reality and saw the bull of battle approaching from the chaos, soaked in blood and sweat.

Elk…his war-torn brother.

Like the invaders, Elk was drenched in gore. But his was still fresh, still dripping, sizzling on his skin and armor like boiling water.
Another shadow loomed behind him, just as grim, just as chilling…one of their commanders.

Arkhad.

All of them running to the same place.

“Gods! You okay?”

“Never better,” Elk panted.

Still a wiseass…

“Thank the Lord.”

“You can thank me later, soldier!” Commander Arkhad barked as he rushed by. “Let’s go!”

Antion snapped out of it.

Together now, they dashed toward the eastern gates on the far side of the city. Their armor clanked with every step, weapons rattling against their sides, ghostly echoes trailing behind them.

Under normal circumstances, crossing the streets of Ar Fira took ages; choked with foot traffic, merchant carts, and the noise of the living.

Now…nothing slowed them down.

All along the vast and winding roads, they watched a living city turn dead and hollow before their eyes.

Just yesterday, the last of their people held a final midday feast before heading out into the dunes.

One last celebration of their untouched lives.

Today?

Nobody.

Nothing.

Trash littered the streets and houses, abandoned in the panicked retreat toward the Sand Sea. Doors hung wide open, interiors exposed and vulnerable, like the city had been ripped open.

And yet…they’d had time.
Plenty of it.
They just hadn’t wanted to leave; not yet.

Not until they absolutely had to.

That same stubborn hope was why Ar Fira had raised the greatest army in a thousand years. It was why Antion and his brother had stayed to defend it.
This place was home.
Plain and simple.

He couldn’t blame them for waiting until the last possible moment to flee. He’d wanted the same; to stay, to fight, even to die, if it meant his family didn’t have to leave.

That was why he stayed.

And that was why, now…
He felt like such a coward.

He’d honestly thought his fate would end today.

That by now, he’d be dead.

Instead, he was running.

What did the gods have planned for him now?

And what about Elk?

What about…her?

Everything was a mess; least of all Elk, who looked like a murder victim too stubborn to realize he was dead.
Now that Antion had a clearer look, he saw the truth: his brother was miraculously unscathed. The blood he wore like a crimson cuirass belonged to someone else.
He noticed Antion watching him.

“Elk…” Antion wheezed, “…that’s a lot of blood…how many did you…?”

“I don’t know…I lost count after…nine? Ten?”

“You deserve…a promotion, at least.”

Just a few strides ahead, Commander Arkhad cocked his head to the side.

“They were weak,” he said without remorse. “Easy killing.”

Elk turned back to Antion, quieter now.

“How many…did you…?”

“– Wasn’t counting,” he said quickly.

“Well…how did it feel?”

What kind of question was that!?

Elk wasn’t just making conversation. He was probing, testing, looking for something behind Antion’s eyes.

“It was…”

Elk leaned in, waiting.

“Gods, Elk…we’re murderers. What does that mean for our souls?”

“What do you mean?” Elk shot back. “We fought with the gods today. They were with us!”

Antion just stared at him, drained.

“You fought with yours…I fought with mine. But you know what…?”

He almost couldn’t say it.

Didn’t want to believe it.

“…wouldn’t be surprised if they left us a long time ago.”

Elk’s breath hitched. He glanced away.
“Yeah…maybe…”
A long beat passed.

“We lost…”

From a distance, Antion spotted the eastern gates…and the legendary figures guarding them: the ah-Karg, Ar Fira’s elite warriors, sworn to the city itself.
They stood alongside regrouped soldiers, waiting for orders. As Antion opened his mouth to speak –
– Arkhad cut him off, already barking to reclaim control.

“Everyone, follow me,” he ordered, storming past toward the desert road.

But the ah-Karg didn’t budge.
Arkhad whipped around.

“Are you deaf!? I am your commander!”

The biggest among them, Stolimon, didn’t even flinch.

“Not ours.”

The two men stared each other down.

Before another fight could erupt, Antion stepped in.
“Commander Raumose sent us. Orders are to head out immediately.”
Stolimon gave a curt nod.
“Then what are we waiting for?”

The big man marched past a scowling Arkhad, his fellow warriors falling in behind. Together, they ushered Antion, Elk, and the rest out through the eastern gates just as another fire-burst tore through the far side of the city.
The ground shook.

Buildings trembled.

Nerves unraveled.

“What is that!?” shouted Saurab, his wide eyes strangled in disbelief.
Antion didn’t miss a beat.

“Dark magic,” he muttered.

What else could it be?

“They’re gonna bring the whole city down,” the warrior said.

But there was nothing they could do.

They had their orders.

Behind them, the Ar Fira Oasis, the only home Antion ever knew, was crumbling into ruin. They pressed on through the lush jungle, headed toward the Great Green Drop-Off.

And when they reached its edge…they just kept going.

They retreated into the eastern Ashwaran desert like the roving nomads they were now forced to become.

And that terrified Antion more than anything.

After countless hours trudging through the sweltering sands, the sun finally set, leaving Antion stunned at how much time had passed.

Darkness soon followed, cloaking the ruins of Ar Fira behind them…
But it couldn’t hide the shame.

His people had become desert rats overnight.

They took everything from…everything except his wretched life.

They made him kill.

They made him corrupt.

And he hated them for it.

 

 

Chapter 2

The fires shrank behind them over the long hours, until the dark skies and shifting sands swallowed Ar Fira whole, leaving nothing on that bleak horizon.

The enemy might not know their exact location yet, but it was only a matter of time. They’d take the city first, then follow the road from the eastern gates.

It wasn’t exactly a secret either.

Just a deep desert caravan highway.

They had to be far gone before the enemy found it.

The sandy road they followed was the Khalu, a lonely stretch that ended in Ar Fira, winding its way through the dunes of the great Ashwaran Sand Sea.

All the way to the Ulu River.

Hundreds of miles to the north,
And hundreds more beyond that?

…that was where they came from.

The Kunai was its sister highway in the west. While it boasted great cities along its salt river, the smaller Khalu knew only the few oases dotting the deep sands.

Both were ancient veins of the same ancient body, carved across the desert from the same source.

Khalu and Kunai.

East and West.

But Ar Fira was the last thing they had in common. From there, the roads parted; and between them, a thousand miles of howling wasteland.

Ar Fira was the final oasis heading south.

Any further…

Aru’ah Sha’ra.

The Land of Nothing.

Ar Fira was the last.

And they burned it.

He watched the truth from miles away.

Antion tried to steer his mind elsewhere, but the dark desert wore him down. They were forced to climb a vast dune – bleak, still, and silent – rising like a giant from the earth.

His ears still rang with the clash of blades, the thunder of thousands killing thousands, the screams of enemies and allies alike.

His hands still clutched phantom spears and shields, despite the real ones rattling uselessly behind his back.

Now and then, a shadowy figure charged at him from the black desert, but he ignored it. He focused on his feet, wrapped in leather sandals, smushing and sliding through the shifting sand.

Sometimes his whole foot sank into the cold, silent earth, and he caught himself wishing the desert demons would just swallow him up and be done with it.

No. Gotta keep going.

At the summit, he spotted faint lights in the distance, and his heart soared. The others saw them too; a few even cheered. But the ah-Karg remained cold.

They told everyone to shut up, hurry up, keep up.

They couldn’t know for sure…

But Antion knew.

Deep in his humming heart, he knew.

His mind raced through the faces he thought he’d never see again. But, one by one, they vanished…replaced by the image of her.

She alone smiled at him through the gloom of his mind.
He prayed, harder than ever, that the Temple had abandoned the city after their rituals…that she’d escaped while she still could.

Why would she have stayed?

For hours now, the sand had been crawling through everything he wore, but stopping to shake it loose demanded time they didn’t have.

Not that he would’ve stopped for anything.

Not when she was so close.

He would’ve crawled on his belly through a desert of broken glass just to see her again.

He kept his mind on that smile, and the tireless crinkles at the corners of her eyes every time she wore it.
Not the sand in his sandals.
Not the exhaustion in his bones.
Not the shame of defeat, or the guilt of surviving.

Just…her.

Bless the waters…and carry her back to me…

 

An hour later, they finally descended upon the city of exiles.
Those distant specks of light had become roaring fires, with people packed around them, passing dried food and jugs of drink hand to hand.
Antion broke off from the ah-Karg and slipped through the firelit crowd, searching for one face in particular.

“Excuse me, have you seen the holy ones?” he asked a family warming themselves beside their fire.

“No, I’m sorry,” the father replied.

“Thank you,” Antion said…but he didn’t mean it.

The fires barely lit the paths between them; darkness filled the camp like smoke. Not wanting to cause a panic, he dared not shout her name, but he needed something that could cut through.

He came up to another fireside group.

“Has anyone seen the holy ones?”

“Antion?”

He froze.

That voice…

“Diodra?”

“Anty! I knew it!”

She nearly leapt across the fire to wrap him in a crushing hug. Her husband, Menek, still sat beside the flames, exhausted, but smiling.

Diodra was the mother he never lost.

And Menek, the father he never had.

To him, they were family.

“Lord,” Diodra swore, pulling back.

She had finally seen him fully in the firelight…
And saw the demon he had become.

“Sit with us a bit, dear. Let me see those cuts.”

“I would but, I…I need to…”

He tried to keep the fear from bleeding into his voice, but he was too tired to hold it back anymore. His ragged breaths rattled his vision, and his heart pounded like it was trying to claw its way out.

He barely heard her next words.

“You’ll find her, son. Tell her we said hi, won’t you? Her and that troublemaker you call a brother.”

“Of course…”

But his voice was empty.

Just noise carried off on the still air.

“Oh, Anty…”

Suddenly, Diodra pulled him into another warm embrace, unbothered by the blood and grime.

She whispered in his ear:

“You were so brave today, Anty.”

And then it struck him, that inexplicable, inexhaustible weight he’d carried all day suddenly surged to the surface.
He almost let the levee break.

Right then, right there.
He wanted so badly to drown in her shoulder.

But what remained of his pride wouldn’t let him.

So they stood there, silent, not letting go until he was ready.

“Khenet loves you, child. Ar Fira loves you. She loves you. You’ll find her.”

Then she held him at arm’s length, studying his face in the firelight. She stared deep into his eyes…eyes that felt dry, hollow, scorched by everything he’d seen.

She must’ve seen something in them anyway, because she smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Go find her.”

All around the camps and fires, he searched and searched. With each passing moment, his heart sank deeper into guilt and dread. Hopelessness wasn’t far behind if he didn’t…

If he couldn’t…

Despite the howl in his stomach, despite the collapse tugging at his bones, he pressed on through countless faces and firelight.

Eventually, a shape formed in the dark.

It was Elk.

“Come on. The commander wants us.”

He led Antion to a fire set apart from the rest, surrounded by ah-Karg and scattered soldiers. At the far end, closest to the flames, sat Commander Raumose.

Disheveled. Wild-eyed.

Like a man who’d traveled too far in too little time.

Antion and Elk stood at attention.

“Sit.”

The soldiers shifted aside, wordless, making space for the two brothers to sit cross-legged by the fire. Chunks of meat and flatbread lay waiting on warm stones, paired with mugs of bitter, dark brew.

Antion expected some kind of punishment for going off on his own before reporting in.

Instead…

“Eat.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Commander Arkhad brooded off to the side, the firelight casting deep shadows that mirrored the anger on his face.

Antion knew that look. He wore it himself.

Commander Raumose was unusually quiet, whether out of respect for the silence, or because there was no need to bark orders at broken men.

Only after the last man had eaten did he speak.

“You made Ar Fira proud today. Made the gods proud.”

Antion had never heard the man speak so soft.

“Back home, you’d be heroes. You fought like true warriors. And I know you would’ve died like them too, backs against the wall, for our people…for our city…”

He paused…just a breath too long.

“That’s why you’re still here. We need every hand in the fight ahead. We didn’t come all this way just to scurry into holes like rats.”

Commander Raumose shifted in his seat.

“We’re here to lead our people to new pastures. And maybe next time…we won’t fail them.”

Commander Raumose stood up.

His hands rested at his sides, chin held high.

This was not a man ready to accept defeat.

The commander had always been this way, unyielding as stone. Maybe that was why he’d been so tough on them all these years. But right now, he stood as a lone pillar of strength in a sea of wretched darkness.

“I need everyone to listen. To follow. To fight. To remain loyal. Not just to me, but to the people behind us. Our friends. Our family.”

No one said a word.

“I will lead us through this dark night and into another day. But in the end, they are the ones who will make it happen. They are the ones we fought and died for, not the city.”

Not a word rose among the ranks.

“So until we find those pastures…”

Raumose slowly sank back in his seat.

“I alone will be your commander. My authority, and mine alone. From this moment on, we are no longer soldiers of Ar Fira…but warriors of ah-Karg.”

That caused a stir among the fire-lit faces.

What the hell?

Did Commander Raumose really just induct them all into the ah-Karg, the elite, selective warrior cult of Ashwari’s most skilled and accomplished?

No one even knew who led them. But if Antion had to bet, he’d go all in on the steadfast man before them.

His declaration hit Arkhad like a tremor.
The man was shaking with rage, his face anything but agreeable. And for good reason:
He was no longer an officer in charge.
Now he was just like the rest of them: equal.
And still outranked by Raumose.

The ah-Karg worshipped Karghur, the Hyena-Headed Lord of War, brother-god to both Khenet and Sedjil. He was the force that sparked the flame, the wind behind the storm.

The madness that rode with every man to war.

The Lords of Light and War were bound in alliance, on earth as it was in the heavens. Karghur’s followers defended the worshippers of Khenet, so that peace might reign in the lands above and below.

And yet…despite their sacred bond, the warriors of Karghur did not journey to the same afterlife as Khenet’s faithful.
They would not serve their gods in the same halls, but dwell instead in separate realms.

Worlds apart, beyond all reach.

And that meant Antion would never see his love again.

In this life, or the next.

Elk, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled.

“Thank you, sir! I always knew I –”

“– Save it,” the commander hissed. “If you think you’ve earned this, think again. I need everybody on the same team for this to work, and I can’t lead two groups by myself.”

Elk shrank back in his seat. It wasn’t the welcome he wanted, but it was an invitation nonetheless.

First the Golden God, then the Desert Dweller, and now the Hyena-Headed. Antion silently prayed for Elk’s strained soul…and his own for good measure.

The commander scoffed after a moment.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make true warriors out of you yet.”

With that, the commander dismissed everyone. But as soon as Antion and Elk stood to leave, he motioned for them, and only them, to sit back down.

His eyes never left the crackling fire.

Former Commander Arkhad scowled as he walked off with the others, though he hardly looked out of place among the remnants of a freshly defeated army.

Just before the darkness swallowed him…

He shot Antion the quickest of glances.

Commander Raumose, either oblivious or indifferent, leaned back in his seat, absently spinning his shield in the sand.

Tiny dunes and valleys rose and fell beneath the curve of its metal lip; there and gone in the blink of an eye.

“The city was lost,” he finally said, forcing them to sit up a little straighter. “The gates were destroyed. The walls, the houses, the markets…the temples…”

Antion’s heart missed a beat, lodging itself inside his throat.

…the temples…

“It’s all gone…”

The commander stared straight at Antion now.

Dark eyes reflecting dark days ahead.

“But we’re not,” he said, no more the usual bravado that kept their commander up. “And now we have a choice to make. We can bury ourselves in the sand too…”

Suddenly, the commander drove his shield into the shield, where it stayed, upright and defiant.

“Or we can keep going. Keep fighting.”

No.

Antion wasn’t burying himself just yet…and he wasn’t burying her either. Whatever the commander thought he saw down in the city…Antion just knew that she wouldn’t have stayed behind while Ar Fira was torn to pieces.

No, she couldn’t be far at all.

 

“My scouts came back from the north just last week. The enemy’s split their forces in two. The first, well…we’ve already met.”

Understatement of the century.

“The second is camped just outside Auxua, preparing to lay siege. But I don’t know what they’re waiting for if they can just…”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

Auxua: the crown of the Ulu River Valley.

…only hundreds of miles to the north.

It was the last great city to the east, and its walls were said to be mightier than even Ar Fira’s…not that it mattered to an enemy who could simply knock them down.

“Our people need to reach the river and get well clear before the city falls, before we find ourselves pinched between two merging armies. That’s why you two are joining the next scout team.”

Scout team?

“You’ll pass through Simbuu and Medun along the way,” the commander continued, giving them no room to argue. “Talk to the locals. Find out what they know, what’s happening further up the highway. Anything and everything.”

Antion and Elk shared a brief, uneasy glance.

“With any luck, we’ll reach the river before the enemy sweeps through the entire valley. With any more luck…maybe we’ll find a new home.”

“So, our destination is east, sir?” Elk asked.

“Good luck, soldiers,” the commander bid them, ignoring the question. “You leave tonight.”

 

Nearly a hundred miles separated them from their first stop: the fabled Simbuu Oasis, known for its calm, glistening lakes and the small town nestled among them.
Antion had never been.

He’d always had enough oasis back home.
But now, at last, he had a chance to see the far corners of Ashwari, for the first time in his life. Twisted, though, the reason.

“You ready, man?” Elk mustered, despite their exhaustion.

“I guess,” Antion exhaled.

They had no time to rest their aching bones by the fires, to search for loved ones lost among the crowds, or even to shake the sand from their clothes.

They were given a travel pack with only the bare essentials: a few portions of food and water, a cloth shelter for shade, and a thick tan cloak made of desert deer pelt to ward off the freezing nights.

It wasn’t much. But apparently, neither was a hundred miles…for the ah-Karg.

To Antion, it sounded miserable.
But he did as he was told.

Their mission would take them across an endless expanse of desert and rocky hills. Miles upon miles of scorching waste. Of desolate nothing.

It was a seven-day journey to Simbuu.

They were given only five.

The quicker they moved, the quicker Antion could get back to her; hoping, without knowing for sure, that she was still somewhere in camp.

They walked away from the exiled, heading north, while the chill of night still clung to the land in heavy sheets.

At least he had his brother with him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Then again, he’d never spent more than a single night in the unforgiving Sand Sea, where wild demons and sand-soaked horrors were said to lay waste.

But something worse lurked beyond those dunes.
Something more real than ghost stories.

Urgesh…

That was their name.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

He stared up at the high canyon cliffs.
…and they stared back.
Beneath a starless sky, without a trace of moonlight, he watched as Nothing gathered on the distant rocks above.
He’d never really thought about death…until it stared him down from above.

The entrenched dark…

The final snap…

The cold ocean floor…

 

Antion awoke.

It wasn’t sudden, but at some point, he realized he was just lying there with his eyes closed. The dream may have ended, but the darkness lingered.

In his dream, he had been drowning on land, surrounded on all sides by a formless shadow he couldn’t see.

It didn’t feel so different from the waking world now.

Last night, while walking the high dunes and sandy floors, it felt like they were being watched from every direction. He figured it was just desert animals, come to watch the humans crossing their territory.

Most were nocturnal, sleeping through the day.

And some, perhaps, haven’t slept in ages…

Antion’s thoughts drifted toward Simbuu Oasis. Tiny compared to back home, but no less meaningful; life clinging to the lifeless, deep in the Sand Sea.
A small town was said to sit on the shores of its lake, halfway between Ar Fira and the Medun Valley. It even had a temple, or so he’d heard, meant to heal both the pious and the wandering.

For a moment, it sounded like a home away from home.

Ar Fira was far behind now, separated by miles of blazing sand and all the ages since. The desert’s bleak emptiness pressed down on him…though he’d never admit it in front of the others.
The ah-Karg were tough. Brutally so. They kept a relentless pace, each carrying more than Antion and Elk combined, and not one of them complained.
Well-disciplined was putting it lightly.
Had the commander trained them?
Or were they just born like that?

The sun beat down from all sides, scorching their worn leather until it seared skin. Light bounced off the sands like it was trying to blind them.
And they never flinched.
Saurab. Emenes. Khewen. Daqmet. Stolimon.
Those were their names.

Saurab and Khewen, whom Antion and Elk actually knew before, had been born in Ar Fira too. Emenes and Daqmet came from different corners of Ashwari.

All four had once served in the city guard, but the ah-Karg took them in when their skill for combat was recognized.

Only Stolimon hailed from farther lands, having sailed east from Kresia across the West Sea. He was, in every sense, larger than life, towering over the others by at least a head, with arms as thick as his accent.

What little the Kresian spoke, Antion could barely understand. He knew a few western words and phrases, but they were wasted on Stolimon’s ears.

He’d hoped to ask the man about his travels one day.
But today was not that day.

Since they’d left camp, Stolimon hadn’t so much as looked at him or Elk. Not a single word.

What would he have to do to impress this titan?

For most of the day, they walked in silence, stopping only at the height of the sun’s midday wrath. Onward, and often upward, in mindless, forward motion.

Nothing happened.

No one approached.
No animals. No spirits.
Just the cliffs rising beside them. Still, Antion could’ve sworn he caught a face or two in a cave high up on those rocky walls.

Hours later, they made camp at the foot of a lone sand dune. It hid them from the road, but gave them a clear view of it.
They lit no fires. Said nothing.
It was the chilling night that had the last word.

They ate their dried scraps and sipped warm water beneath the high moon. It was enormous tonight, far bigger than Antion remembered it ever being back home.
And yet, that same moon still looked down on Ar Fira.
He wondered what it saw now.
Was there even anything left to see?

Soon enough, he closed his eyes on a world that had long since closed its own on him.

 

“I miss the days when we had nothing to do, and we’d walk between the trees, and stop to smell the flowers, and rejoice in our love a thousand times.”

“– Ha! Wow. You’re insane, we never did any of that.”

“Well, it’s never late, heru. I love you. A thousand times!”

“– Lamb, please. Everyone’s looking. You want them to think I’m crazy too?”
“Well I’m gonna keep saying it until you say it back.”

“– Anty, you’re so lucky I love you this much already…”

“I LOVE YOU!”

“– Ha ha ha…I LOVE YOU!!”

 

Dream no more, and what for.

Antion jolted awake from a sharp kick to the leg.

His heart kicked up a fury, but his body refused to follow.
He was still beyond exhausted.

“Your turn,” Stolimon grumbled, already turning in.

Antion groaned, heaved himself up, and trudged to the crest of their dune refuge. Elk and Emenes were already there, half-sitting, half-sinking into the sand.

Emenes wasn’t like the rest of the ah-Karg. He was more open. Friendlier. Just a few years older than Antion and Elk, he’d been born to a merchant family up north, somewhere in the Ulu River Valley.
Eventually, they settled in Ar Fira.
Emenes joined the city guard soon after.
As a child, Emenes had seen much of Ashwari, from the shores of the West Sea to the edge of Anthrybis’ old borders.
Now, with nothing to do but wait, he passed the time telling them stories from the old kingdom.

“Thousands of years ago, before the dynasties collapsed, Anthrybis ruled all of Ashwari. That much you know,” he said with a wink. “They sent their armies north to Yerua, west to Hurad. Maybe you knew that too.”

Antion and Elk shrugged.

“Well,” Emenes went on, gaze steady, “did you know there was another war in these lands, long ago? And it looked a lot like this one. The field armies of Ashwari, fighting the forces of Urgesh.”

They came from the far north, beyond the Ulu Valley, across the Soma Sea, within the wider realm of Dagia.

A place not unlike Ashwari, they said.

Deserts, river valleys, just as vast.
They marched a thousand miles to get here…

“I didn’t know that,” Antion admitted.

“And just like now, they conquered the entire Ulu Valley. Took every major city. Babu, Deru, Masayiq, Auxua. The scroll goes on…”

On past some of the greatest cities in the land.

“Anyway, I remember this one merchant in Deru, when I was younger. He was selling old coins from that time. One side had the Urgesh emperor’s face. And the other, the whole of his empire.”

Elk was hanging on to every word.

But Antion couldn’t believe a single one.

How had he never heard of this?

“They once ruled all the known lands, from Khirrat to Aradu, from the Ulu Valley to Ikhoni’s Coast. Even some Kresian islands.”

Elk jumped in.

“Wait, you expect me to believe me Urgesh conquered Ashwari and Kresia?”

Emenes chuckled.

“Yeah, well, they don’t teach you that in the temples.”

“Come on,” Antion said, narrowing his eyes, “that never happened.”

“Oh no?”

Emenes reached into his pocket and pulled out an old coin, its shine long gone. He flicked it into the air, landing in Elk’s lap with a soft clink.
Elk picked it up, turning it over in the moonlight.

“You gotta be…”

He tossed it over to Antion.

On the front, an ageless, proud king gazed off to the side: crowned, bearded, eternal. Strange symbols circled the bust: a cross, a bowl, three lines, and something that looked like a shield.

On the other side, a crude world lingered in the past. At its center, a long, narrow line marked the West Sea, with Ashwari to the east, Kresia to the west, and Urgesh rising in the north.

Beside it, another slender line ran parallel: the Soma Sea, separating most of Ashwari from the lands of Urgesh. Yet the north remained bridged by the narrow strip of Terkos, and to Kresia by a broader one in the west: Hurad, the Land of Mountains.

“How long did it them take to drive Urgesh out?” Antion asked, tossing the coin back, almost afraid to catch the answer.

“I think…maybe a hundred years?”

Well then…

“…let’s hope not…”

They sat in silence for a moment before Antion broke it.

“Hey, Emenes. Was Raumose your leader in the ah-Karg this whole time?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Emenes chuckled, “if by ‘whole time’ you mean ‘as long as I’ve been here’.”

“Heh, yeah. I always wondered who it was.”

“From what I heard,” Emenes said, smirking, “if you want the spot, you have to kill the one in charge.”

 

Day two.

Still no less desert than yesterday, which had already been enough to last a thousand lifetimes.

Desert and nothing.

Nothing but desert.

Sand, hot air, puddles of sweat…and still more sand.

It became mind-numbing long before it became mind-maddening. But come it did…and here it stayed.

Once Antion got past the heat, the worst part was the boredom. There was nothing to distract the mind out here in the middle of…

– Wait!

He froze.

A river shimmered in the distance. It stretched wide, almost glowing, like a whispered path drawn too high, too far, too wrong.

Was that Simbuu?
No…Simbuu didn’t have a river.

And last Antion checked, rivers didn’t float. Then again, the demons in these wastes were known to trick and confuse wandering souls…

Lunch consisted of hardened bread chunks and salted fish. The water complimented the fish, but the bread sank like stones in his gut.

It would be hours before that feeling passed, but at least it kept the mirages at bay…a little. They began to dance again at the edges of his vision, listless shapes and silent shadows drifting in the distance.

Sometimes, when he looked, they vanished.

Sometimes they stared right back.

An hour ago, he saw a woman tending a garden that wasn’t there. And more than once now, the same blood-red scarf twirled carelessly in the wind, just at the edge of his sight.

Most took shapes he couldn’t name.

Eventually, he learned to ignore them.

Like the day before, they walked far, stopped rarely, and said almost nothing. Antion figured words were wasted under the sun.
They’d carry more weight at night.

Elk must have sensed that too.
So they waited.

 

By day’s end, as the sun sank low and the moon peeked over distant dunes, they settled beside a cluster of rocks jutting from the sand.
A long, brooding slab protruded from the formation, forming a natural shelter, a crude roof over their heads.

More than that, it gave Antion the slightest peace of mind.

Khewen suggested starting a fire to warm their food, and no one objected. After a light meal of crisp fish and flame-softened rolls, they resumed the same shifts as the night before.

Antion and Elk drifted to sleep while the others kept watch.

 

In his dream, they walked a long and winding shore. The sea to their left made up the very heavens on the horizon, its still waters flickering with flame, revealing sights no mortal eye was meant to see.

They walked, hand in hand, until they reached two mighty gates set against the earth. They shimmered in coats of pure white, streaked with brilliant reds and blues, and too many other decadent shades to name.

They stood surrounded by towering walls: thick, proud, and ancient. Walls that dared to graze the dangling feet of the gods above.

Inside was a city so beautiful, she wept in disbelief.

But he told her it was real. All of it was real.

And all of it was for her.

They were welcomed into the city of flags.

The city of canals.

The city of hanging gardens and warm colors, where every soul was perfect; from the tips of their spotless feet to the crowns of their heads.

The people spoke a language they already knew by heart. Each word carried parcels of wisdom, fragments of insight into the magic that breathed life into this wondrous place.

It was here they belonged.

It was their new home…

 

Stolimon kicked Antion awake again.

“Your turn.”

“Yeah, I got it…my turn…”

The fire had long since sputtered out, but Elk and Emenes still sat beside it, warming themselves with the embers of early morning conversation.

“So, you’ve been to Kresia before?” Elk asked as Antion drew close enough to listen.

“A couple times, sure,” Emenes nodded. “It’s pretty far, though. Fastest way is by boat, of course, but we had a carriage.”

He traced the route with his voice.

“First, you pass through Yerua, then follow the West Sea’s north coast until it hits the west coast.”

Emenes paused, likely caught in memories of old highways.

“At that point, you’re in Shenu. Still weeks away. Then you go as far south as you can. And when you can’t go any farther south without swimming…”

He swept his hands across the horizon.

“…you’ve reached the Far Shores. Ikhoni’s Coast. And just beyond that, mainland Kresia herself, separated only by a hundred miles of sea…and ten times as many islands.”

“How dangerous is the journey?” Antion asked.

“At times? Very,” Emenes said. “Even back then, outlaws and highwaymen stalked the roads. We traveled with other groups whenever we could. But from what I heard, it was still far safer than going by sea.”

“Why’s that?”

Emenes shook his head slowly, as if recalling something awful. Whether it was drama or trauma, he took a breath before speaking.

“There be monsters in those waters.”

Antion and Elk exchanged a glance.

“It’s true,” Emenes said. “I’ve met plenty of folk who believe in them, and more who claim they’ve seen one, drowning in their fury beneath the waves.”

Just as it was on land now.

“That’s why if you ever take a ride on someone’s ship across the West Sea, you’ll notice they always hug the coast. No one’s gonna risk drifting too far out from shore…not unless they’re hunting for them.”

He chuckled to himself.

“And some do.”

Elk leaned over and nudged Antion with his knuckles.
“Can you believe this guy?” he said, smirking.

They all laughed…but Antion kept thinking about those sea monsters for the rest of the morning. Was Emenes serious? Or was it just some old joke, passed down like a curse, known only to the jokester in their midst?

Every time Antion pressed for a straight answer, Emenes just shrugged and laughed.

“At least we don’t have to fight those monsters.”

 

The din of battle drowned out all else.

An empty marketplace echoed with the screams of unseen soldiers, dying somewhere just out of sight. The fog of war had thickened so fully, he couldn’t even see what lay five feet ahead.

All around him, massive shapes moved through the fog with the slow, shuddering grace of earthquakes. Each one shook him to the bitter depths of soul and sanity.

They were above him.

Behind him.

Beneath him.
Everywhere, all at once.

Suddenly, something stabbed him from behind.
He spun, shield raised…
But no one was there.

Another strike, hot and sharp.
Again, nothing.

Again and again, his invisible tormentors lanced him from the fog, retreating before he could fight back.

Then, without warning, his feet were swept out from under him. He was falling – through the aether, through nothing.

He looked up…but the marketplace was gone.
Something else had taken its place.

Something bright.

Something hot.

It swept him up in a blinding light.
Dragging him toward somewhere terrible…

 

Antion awoke; this time, on his own.

No kick to the shin.
No hovering figure to end his slumber.
But the exhaustion still pressed down on him like a second sky. It wasn’t the desert that woke him.
It was something else.

Perhaps it was the blazing sun, that relentless ball of fire beating down on his raw, exposed skin.

Antion shot up, scanning the others. All of them were still asleep, blissfully unaware they’d just slept through breakfast.

Now it was his turn to start kicking bodies awake.

“Hey! Wake up!”

They’d all slept through the night and well into late morning. Even the ones who were supposed to be watching the road.
Even Antion.

Everyone cursed.
They knew they’d messed up.
But at this point, they were too bone-weary to dwell on it.

They ate in silence, scarfing down a hasty meal, and trudged back into the wasteland, eager to leave that depressing morning behind.

The day was hot, as always.

The only difference from yesterday was the later start. They’d be walking through most of the evening, and into the cold night, to make up for lost time.

Saurab said they might still reach Simbuu Oasis the day after, just before sunset. And when they did, they could finally jump into the lake and wash the cursed sand from every crack and crevice.

Antion very much looked forward to that.

 

Long after the last light had burned out, they made their evening meal while the first watch took post.
As Antion closed his eyes, all was quiet…

“Antion!”

A low voice stirred him, but the sharp kick was more than enough. Stolimon loomed over him again…but something was off.

“Sshh,” the big man warned. “Come on.”

Antion followed him to the ridge of the dune where they were camped. From there, they looked out over the Khalu below.

All was dark.

All was still.

But in the north…faintly…a light trailed along the highway, shimmering and bobbing like a wick caught in the wind.

“Hostile?” Elk asked under his breath.

“Don’t know,” Daqmet whispered back. “But it’d be real bold to announce yourself like that.”

“Could be a caravan,” Saurab guessed. “Maybe they don’t know what happened on our end. Should we talk to them?”

“Could be worth it,” someone muttered. “But how do we avoid spooking them?”

Emenes had another idea.

“No avoiding that. Just look where we are. We wait until they pass, then follow behind for a closer look.”

They watched as the small light crept across the cool landscape; brave, slow, and steady. Like a lone spirit wandering the world beyond.

Slowly but surely, the light grew as it approached, dragging a larger shape behind. The outline gave it away soon enough: a wagon, creaking and weary, rolling down the road below.
Merchants or civilians, no doubt.

Oblivious to the doom that loomed to the south.

As the light passed beneath their sandy perch, the warriors gathered their weapons and descended the dune. Like serpents in the grass, they crept forward, stealing two feet for every one the strangers gained.

Before long, voices drifted back to them.

A northern accent.
Ulu River Valley, by the sound of it.

“…three days, no more.”

“Don’t forget…we can’t risk…”

“Can’t they…?”

Not Urgesh.

Not bandits.

Stolimon nudged Saurab and Khewen. They moved up on either flank, bows drawn, trained on the wagon coming too close.

“STOP!”

The strangers yanked their reins.

The horses reared, neighing, pawing the air.

“Who’s there!? What’s –!”

“– WHO ARE YOU?” Stolimon barked.

“We’re just a family!” the man cried. “On our way to Ar Fira!”

The giant stepped closer.

“Why?”

The man stammered as his wife clutched his arm.

“We came from Auxua…but it’s too dangerous now. We tried Medun but…Medun’s just too slow.”

“Apparently so’s the news,” Elk grumbled.

Stolimon shot him a glare, then turned back to the travelers, lit only by the soft flicker of their lamp.

“There is no Ar Fira,” he said, quieter now.

Just one breath…caught on a single eternity.

“What are you talking about?”

The stranger looked around at the dark faces circling him.

“They destroyed it,” Antion uttered; nearly whispered.

“But…” the stranger hesitated, “why would they destroy it?”

The warriors stepped closer, drawn in by every word.

“Why not?”

“They’ve never done that before. Not in the Valley,” the traveler insisted. “Sure, they’ve knocked down enough walls to dam the West Sea…”

Another breath.
Then Ar Fira wasn’t the first to fall to their new weapon.

“…but those who fled to Auxua said their army left the houses alone. The courts, the temples…”

Did Antion catch that right?

Back at camp, Commander Raumose said the Temple back home had fallen along with the rest of Ar Fira.

Well…he didn’t exactly say that.

“And how would you know that, stranger?”

“Didn’t see it ourselves. But we saw the fortress fall. Heard the rest from those running the other way.”

The man shifted behind his reins.

“After that, we started hopping the oases south. But like I said, Medun was too small.”

He paused, voice dipping into something darker.

“Still, better than living under Ashagyur’s heel.”

Everyone’s ear perked up.

“Who?”

The man took a breath.

Deep.

As if…remembering.

Reliving.

“Their general. Field marshal. Demon in disguise,” the stranger said, casting off whatever vision gripped him, “whatever he is, his name reached us long before his army did. The exiles all whisper his name.”

The warriors exchanged glances.

“We need to know, is the road to Auxua safe?”

“Yes.”

That one word breathed relief back into them.

“For now,” the man added. “Last I saw, they were still gathering to attack the fortress outside the city. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Thank you, stranger,” Emenes said with finality. “I suggest you link up with the rest of our people. Should only be a few days behind. They’ll keep you and yours fed.”

“How many of you are there?” the man asked, hesitating.

“Less than a thousand…but that includes a hundred warriors.”

“A thousand? I heard Ar Fira had at least twenty times that. Didn’t everyone evacuate?”

“Most did, before the battle,” Antion muttered.

And some never left…

They let the wagon pass and returned to camp.

Antion pulled Elk aside while the others settled back in. Out of earshot, he finally gave voice to his concern.

“Do you think the commander lied? About what happened back home? The Temple?”

“Why would he do that?” Elk asked, furrowing his brow. “I think you’re just exhausted.”

“Come on, man, listen to me!” Antion hissed, straining to keep his voice down. “He looked right at me when he said that, and it’s not exactly a secret she’s a priestess. Then he puts me on this scout team for no reason.”

Elk stared at him with heavy eyes.

“He wants me to think she’s dead…”

“Okay, first off, you’re overthinking,” Elk said, ticking off his fingers. “Second, you’re sleep-deprived. And third…”

He yawned wide enough to split his jaw.

“…so am I.”

Antion grabbed his arm.

“Don’t mention this to the others. Especially Emenes. Don’t forget…he’s ah-Karg too.”

 

They pushed deeper into the desert, skirting steep terrain and passing lesser-known lakes; small, lonely basins that offered nothing but silence.

Signs we’re on the right track, Saurab reminded them.

Twelve hours of hard marching compressed a full day’s journey. But for Antion, it wasn’t the promise of cool water or fire-cooked food that kept his legs moving.
It was the thought of new faces.

He’d been traveling with the same six men for nearly a week. That streak would end today.

Up ahead, another lake glimmered beside the road, larger than the puny ponds they’d passed since leaving home.

“That’s it,” Khewen remarked. “That’s Simbuu.”

Dozens of huts clung to the far side of the lake, nestled along the thin green belt at the water’s edge. Smaller than home, but it looked like the village got by just fine.

“See that?”

Antion squinted into the fading light.

The sun was at their backs now.

Above the mud-brick homes, a structure rose; taller, heavier, made of something else.
Stone, by the look of it.

A temple.

“You know what they call it?” Emenes asked. “The Temple of a Million Years of Silence.”

“Well, if that ain’t a name…”

As the sun dipped behind them, the village ahead sank into shadow, but not into darkness. Bright lights and splashes of color flickered in defiance, pushing back against the night.

Then again, anything felt cheerful after days of nothing but brown, beige, and burning white heat.

They camped just outside the village and shed their bulk.

As they drew closer to Simbuu, waist-high grass waved from the water’s edge, while tall palms simply watched.

Unblinking.
Three rows of quaint houses flanked narrow, winding streets, with hidden crop fields tucked behind them.

“You remember ah…what’s-his-name?” Emenes asked, snapping his fingers. “From last time?”

Daqmet chuckled.

“The town drunk? The one who spilled all our drinks and nearly got us kicked out? Nah…can’t say I do.”

“Oh, I think he’s more sober than we are,” Emenes smirked. “Probably knows more about what’s ahead too.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Daqmet said. “Guy who spends that much time at the bar’s bound to hear something. Where was that again?”

“No idea.”

“Me neither.”

“Forget it,” Stolimon grunted, brushing past. “Place’s not that big. We’ll hear him before we see him.”

They reached the town center, where merchant stalls stood half-shuttered in the dusk. The few still open just pointed them toward the taverns.
Stolimon and Emenes led the way down the main stretch to the far end of town. As they paused at a fork in the road, unsure which path to take, a voice rose from somewhere to the right.

“– Sounds too good to be true, but I guess if it’s coming from you!” someone laughed.

Emenes turned, grinning.

“Oh yeah. That’s our man.”

They stopped outside a tavern, where a thoroughly tanked man threw his words instead of speaking them.
His name, Antion soon learned, was Vestheus. He wobbled in his chair, leaning hard on the man beside him.

“So what! You knew the risk! Don’t go giving the healers a hard time just ‘cause you decided to play in the pigsty!”

“Will you keep it down!?” Vestheus’ friend hissed, eyeing Antion and the rest crowding in.

“Ah, don’t mind Ves here,” Emenes said, clapping the drunk on the shoulder.

“And who’s this who’s got whose hands on…whose shoulders?” Vestheus slurred into his beer, burping sideways.

Emenes spun the drinker around, giving Antion a better look. Well, not much better.

Bright bald head, bushy beard, and red-stained eyes; the true markings of a man in love with his own mug.

“Friend, don’t you recognize us?” Khewen asked.

For a moment, Vestheus seemed to look genuinely into their eyes…before his expression melted into pure shock.

“Ah, my friends…I Haven’t The Slightest Clue Who The Hell You Are!”

Vestheus spun around on his wooden stool, acting like an amused child, if that child had the beard of a forty-year-old rough-rider.

“My friend. I need to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Vestheus replied, suddenly thoughtful; as if he wasn’t hammered out of his mind.

“What happening up north?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s happened…yet.”

They all exhaled in collective relief.

“And if something does happen…” Vestheus added with a wink, “…we’ll take the good times to Ar Fira!”

No one corrected him. Not tonight.
They paid with the coin the commander had set aside, ordered their meals, and settled in around the drunk sage.

Antion couldn’t remember the last time he truly relaxed. Yet here he was, surrounded by battle-worn warriors who just wanted to kick back, same as him.
Even Elk seemed to be enjoying himself.
He hadn’t quite been the same since they left home.
Maybe it was the journey. Maybe the destination.
Either way, they’d earned a night off.

“You guys wanna play a game?” Emenes asked around the table. “Let’s get the biggest drinks they got. Last one to finish theirs has to chug the next round.”

“That’s dumb,” Khewen laughed. “I’m not chugging every drink.”

“Then don’t lose.”

“You cocky bastard…you’re on!”

Emenes shot a wink at Antion and Elk, who looked at each other and chuckled.

“Excuse me!” he called to the owner. “A round of your biggest mugs over here!”

“Eight bucketheads, coming up,” the man frowned, clearly having overheard the challenge.

Antion, Elk, Emenes, and Vestheus sat on one side of the table; the others filled the opposite. The owner soon returned with their drinks. More like miniature buckets, each brimming with a deep brown brew that smelled of honey and cinnamon.

In other words: delicious.

“Everyone ready? GO!”

Antion shot the mug up to his mouth. It tasted sweet, but still went down rough, scorching and refreshing all at once.

Deeper than it looked from the outside, he had to break for air halfway through. He glanced around.

Everyone else was doing the same.

Then they saw Stolimon, already done, burping and grinning to himself. That did it. Everyone burst out laughing.

Antion pressed on, desperate not to finish last.

The thought of doing this all over again?
Unbearable.
It was going to be a close one.

 

Eventually, Stolimon, Daqmet, Khewen, and Saurab wandered off for parts unknown, leaving Antion, Elk, and Emenes behind with Vestheus, who was already nodding off in his seat.

“I know we didn’t exactly bring the right…tools,” Emenes muttered, blinking slow. “But you any good with food, Anty? Because I’d kill for something fresh.”

The question came out of nowhere.

But Elk answered first.

“Believe it or not, but my brother makes a mean chicken and rice,” he grinned, clapping Antion on the shoulder…perhaps a little too hard. “But it’s his sauces that pull you in. That’s the secret.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait…you’re brothers?” Emenes blinked. “How did I not know that?”

Antion and Elk just smiled like drunken fools.

“Well, not by blood,” Antion said, “but we’ve known each other since…well, since my parents died.”

“And I never had any to begin with,” Elk added, a little quieter.

“So we started hanging out,” Antion shrugged. “Been brothers ever since.”

Emenes leaned back, nodding slowly.

“Greatest success story never told,” he raised along with his drink.

“Got that right,” Elk shot back. “So, what about your family? They back with the rest?”

“Nah. Mom and dad died about five years back, right about the time the first rumors started. You know, war…”

They knew.

“And my older brothers left for Kresia a looong time ago. So…it’s just me.”

“And here we are,” Antion sighed into his buckethead. “Three orphans, striking it out on our own.”

The dark liquid twisted his reflection, but he saw the truth underneath: Disheveled face, unkempt hair, shadowed eyes.

“Make that four!”

Vestheus suddenly sprang to life, raising four fingers from his slump, his head still buried in his arms.

Emenes smirked.

“You talking to us or the owner?”

“…why not both?”

 

 

Chapter 4

“FUUUCK!!”

A breath and a scream tore Antion from dreamless sleep. He jolted awake to find Vestheus writhing in the sand like some mad snake for no apparent reason.

Elk and Emenes shot up too. Seeing the contortionist of agony, they rushed to pull the screaming man into a sitting position.

“What’s wrong!?” Elk demanded, searching for the cause.

Through clenched teeth, Vestheus spat out: “SCORPION!”

Elk looped the howling man under one arm and nodded for Antion to grab the other. Together, they hauled him down from whatever random dune they’d collapsed on the night before.
Antion couldn’t even remember how they got there. Everything was a head-pounding blur.

And the screaming wasn’t helping.

“We’ll take him to the temple!”

They raced through Simbuu’s streets, practically dragging Vestheus as he stumbled and wailed. Emenes had already sprinted ahead, and by the time they hobbled up the weathered slope, he’d returned with a healer at his side.

“Oh my…what happened this time?” the old woman gasped, clearly recognizing the wretched heap before her.

Vestheus rambled about dreaming he’d been buried alive in cool sand, only to wake to a fiery sting on his leg. He insisted they prepare his funeral immediately…

Right after notifying his wife.

Hold on, this fool is married!?

Calm and collected, the woman ushered them inside, wasting no time showing them where to lay the “dying” man.
The temperature dropped ten degrees as they stepped inside, crossing the cool stone floor to an unused table in the far corner.

Yet the temple held a strange warmth, as if the gods had blessed it just this morning. Every surface was cut to perfect measure, each slab aligned with a precision Antion hadn’t seen since the Temple back home.

They laid Vestheus on his flat casket, where he writhed and groaned in exaggerated misery.

Antion felt bad for the guy, but what more could they do?

Just then, a shivering hand beckoned him closer.

“Antion…friend…would you find my wife, Tefriti? Our house is near where we met last night. Look for a red door with a blue-flower wreath, but…

Antion leaned closer.

“…don’t tell her where I was…”

A pained grin crept across Vestheus’ face.

Antion couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.

“You got it, friend.”

As they exited the temple, Emenes spoke up.

“I’m gonna find the others, so they don’t think we left without them.”

“Alright, see you at camp.”

The brothers stood alone.

From that high hill, they looked out across the tiny oasis town. It looked different in the daylight, no longer some dark labyrinth.

And hardly any shade.

The light bounced off the rooftops, stabbing their eyes.

And just beyond them…the desert stared.

Inviting them back.

Antion and Elk did their best to retrace their steps, but it had been darker then. And they were definitely drunker.

Still, they managed to find the bar just as the owner was cleaning up after last night’s depravity.

“Oh no,” the man groaned. “Not you two.”

The brothers exchanged a look but pressed on, explaining that Vestheus was laid up on his “deathbed” and waiting for his wife.

The owner snorted.

“Haven’t heard that one before. Their place is just around back…for all the good it does me.”

“Thanks, and…sorry about last night,” Antion muttered, flipping him a silver coin as they slipped out.

They snaked around the barhouse and onto another street lined with huts and shuttered shops. Villagers were already up and moving, but most merchant stands stayed closed.

“I’m starting to think they weren’t all just closed for the night,” Antion noted suspiciously.

Elk looked around the street.

“What, you think the merchants know something the locals don’t?”

“The caravans get around more,” Antion pointed out. “Would it be too crazy to assume something’s up?”

“Eh, why not?” Elk shrugged. “Whole world’s already gone mad.”

But they weren’t here to solve the world’s problems.

They were here for a simple red door.

And blue flowers.

They scanned the street, checking every door with such a bold description. Sure enough, Antion spotted a stairway tucked behind one of the buildings.

It led up to a second story home draped in greenery, with a striking red door, and a single charming wreath.

Blue flowers.

“Just around the back my ass,” Elk grumbled as they climbed the steps.

They knocked once.

The door flew open before their knuckles left the wood.

A woman stood there, cloaked in storm and fury, nearly ripping it off its hinges. But her rage melted the moment she saw strangers standing in her husband’s place.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re not open until midday. If you’re here for my husband, he should be back any –”

“– Actually, we’re here because of him. He’s at the temple now –”

“– OH MY GODS WHAT HAPPENED!?”

She ran back inside before she got her answer.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic…! Where will he end up next…!?”

was all they could hear from the doorway as they waited.

She returned with a renewed outlook for her husband, amplified in her next words: “Take me to my husband…please.”

They agreed to escort her.

They struggled to keep up with the quick-footed woman as she raced across town, like she knew the way by heart.
But only because she’d lived here long enough…right?
By the time they reached the Temple of a Million Years, Tefriti was nearly in tears, muttering about all the times Vestheus had made her drag him home from here, cursing his name the whole way.

“Ves, you son of a bitch!” she half-whispered, half-screamed as they entered the otherwise quiet, holy space.

She stormed to his bedside, frantically checking him for wounds. Vestheus kept apologizing, his voice weak and muffled, likely thanks to whatever the healers gave him.

“You look well enough to come home now.”

“But I was stung by a big, fat scorpion! I need to rest!”

“Good,” she snapped. “Then you can rest at home. I just wanted to make sure you were okay…”

She hissed through her teeth.

“…before I kill you for running off with complete strangers! And then you send them to our home!? You’re lucky these boys are such nice people!”

Antion and Elk exchanged a look of mutual awkwardness as her verbal assault continued.

“Have you even thanked them yet? Of course not.”

The old fool threw on a wounded look.

“I invited them to dinner. Tell her!”

Tefriti turned her wild gaze on them.

“Of course,” Antion stammered. “And he said we could bring our friend too, if…”

She never blinked.

“…if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” she said through a strained smile. “You know the house now. Come by a half hour before sunset.”

“Thank you, musa,” Antion bowed as they backed away.

Still smiling at the brothers, Tefriti began wringing her hands in her husband’s shirt. Vestheus could only lie there, horrified, silently pleading for rescue from those severe clutches.

“See you tonight!”

 

After leaving Vestheus to his fate, they found Emenes with the others at camp just outside town. With the day off, they spent it soaking in the quiet comforts of Simbuu.
They rinsed off by the lake, washing the past week from their aching bones along its cool, blue shores. Later, they climbed the cliffs beyond town to take in the view: a lush green ring surrounded by endless brown.
An hour later, they bought lunch and found a place to sit, watching kids play ball in the dusty street as they ate. Eventually, Emenes wandered off to find the others, leaving the brothers alone.

They talked about home, and how much this place reminded them of it. They relaxed as best they could, but all this space and quiet gave Antion too much time to think.

Elk must’ve sensed it too.

He clapped a hand on Antion’s shoulder.

“What’s on your mind, brother?”

“…really?” Antion huffed, casting his gaze aside. “I don’t know, man. What isn’t?”

He tried to hold it in.

He really did.

Tried to stay composed like he had since his first night without a home. But those desperate tears returned…and this time, he couldn’t stop them.

Elk’s eyes widened.

“Anty?”

“…I just miss her so much…”

Elk breathed her name aloud.

Giving her absence a name of its own.

“And now I’ve sinned…” Antion muttered. “I’ve killed…all for a god I never swore to.”

Elk just sat there, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t you get it?” Antion went on. “I can never be with her in the next life.”

“But…that was war –”

“– That was wrong!” Antion snapped. “How can you just forget what happened?”

Elk leaned back and exhaled.

His voice came slow. Heavy.

“…you think I forgot? I think about it all day…I see it every night…I haven’t forgotten a thing…”

His brother closed his eyes and sat in silence.

When he opened them again, they settled on Antion.

“But we’ve been given a second chance here. You. Me. Everyone. We can’t waste ours.”

“Yeah,” Antion sighed out, slowly sinking into the sand.

But Elk wasn’t giving up just yet.

“If you want…we can go west. Just us.”

Antion’s watery eyes settled back on Elk.

“Just us?”

His brother simply shrugged.

“We’ll keep playing soldier until we reach the river. We’ll wait for her…then make a break for it. Over the hills and far away.”

Antion looked over.

“You really mean that?”

Elk just winked.

“You know I do.”

A painful laugh.

But a real one, nonetheless.

“Where would we even go?”

“That’s the best part,” Elk said, eyes bright. “Wherever we want. A private paradise island in Kresia, maybe. Or some other oasis far from the world. Who knows what’s out there.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Antion chuckled. “You had me at paradise. But how the hell do we get past Urgesh? They’ve got the whole river west of Auxua.”

Elk just shrugged.

“Then we’ll go around it. Deep desert by day, sneak into towns at night. We won’t stop ‘til we hit the coast…and then we just keep going.”

“Well…that does sound perfect about now.”

“For once,” Elk grinned.

The smile on his face was as wide as the Ulu was long. “You’re right,” Antion said. “It really does.”

Elk kept smiling as he turned to the sinking sun, now slipping toward the hungry horizon.

“Let’s go fetch our friend. It’s almost dinner time.”

 

They reached the red door just as dusk swallowed the oasis. Antion knocked, and before long, a recovered Vestheus swung it open.

His face lit up.

“Friends, friends! Come in, come in!”

A cheery “Well, hello there!” rang from deeper inside as the man of the house shook their arms with renewed vigor.

“Antion. Elk.”

He looked at Emenes.

“…friend. Good to see you again.”

Vestheus led them deeper into their humble abode, where every surface overflowed with odds and ends.
Tables were cluttered with potions and bottled mixes. A massive net stretched across the ceiling, holding barrels and bags.
The bed had been shoved against the wall to make room for more seats around the table. One corner brimmed with pots and pans; the other glowed with smoky candles and burning incense.
And in the center of the room stood a woman.

Smiling.

…as if she hadn’t been breathing fire that same morning.

“Have a seat,” Tefriti said, waving toward the table.

Plates of steaming, mouth-watering food were already waiting: fish and flatbread, onions boiled soft, and garlic diced fine.
Plus, the best local brew south of the Ulu.

After days of desert fires and salted preserves.

Countless nights shivering over cold bread.

This was…

For Antion, this was everything.
After the meal, Tefriti moved to gather the dishes, but Emenes silently motioned for the others to follow his lead.

He began clearing the table.

“Such gentlemen,” Tefriti cooed.

They rinsed their dishes in the wash bucket and set them aside to dry. All the while, Vestheus watched from the table, still nursing his scorpion sting like a battle wound.

Tefriti quickly grew fond of the three, offering more snacks and drinks as the evening wore on.

“Careful, musa, we don’t want your husband getting jealous,” Emenes teased as she poured him another mug.

“Hey, you want her? You can have her,” Vestheus called over.

“Some husband you are,” she shot back. “And then who’d be left to beat you for running off with strangers?”

“Oh, honey…my sweet heru…”

Vestheus forgot his sting and leaned across the table; staring, unblinking, at his dear wife.

“You know I love you with all my heart. I’m sorry I scared you like that.”

He paused…just long enough to smile the world away.

“But you know I do the work of the gods. And I never know where that will take me.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“I know if I go to the bar, I’ll get drunk. And I’ll take risks. but I do it to serve my masters. So that I may provide for you, my loving wife.”

Tefriti’s face softened with sincere affection for her man.
They were clearly in love, mismatched as they seemed.

Tefriti, the calm and responsible one. Her husband…

Anything but.

And yet, Antion envied them now more than ever.
Because they still had each other.

“I know you praise their glory every day,” she said softly, “and a wife could not ask for more…but I will always grow lonely in your absence.”

They spoke like no one else was in the room.
And it made Antion’s heart ache all the more.

“And how do you serve the gods, exactly?” Emenes interrupted, snapping everyone back to the present.

Vestheus turned his gaze toward the ah-Karg.

“I receive guidance and forecasts from above. In turn, I provide magical services for the people of this land.”

“And who do you worship?”

“I have no time for conventional worship and rituals,” the man said, almost deflecting.

But then he added:

“I commune with Khenet, Karghur, and Sedjil, the blessed family. They were always there with me. Guiding me.”

“How?” Antion asked.

Vestheus leaned back.

“Well…in my younger days, I built boats. Then I guarded the roads along the west coast for a time. And until a few years ago, I carried messages from court to court.”

“To the kings?” Elk perked up.

He chuckled.

“Ha. No.”

“All for the gods?”

Vestheus nodded.

“The will of the gods is woven into every part of our lives. Most can’t interpret it, but I hear what they say about us. I read what’s to come. And as I’ve grown older…”

Vestheus turned to Tefriti, eyes full of warmth.

“…they’ve rewarded me with a beautiful wife and home. I still serve the gods, just as I serve her. In this house, in this life.”

“That’s beautiful, man,” Emenes said with a slow nod…and a tear in his eye?

“So how were you serving the gods last night?” Elk smirked, barely keeping a straight face.

“Ha.”

There was that laugh again.

“I have you three here, don’t I?”

Antion sat up a little straighter.

Huh?

And that smile…

“Not long ago, I received a prophecy from the Golden One, Lord of Lords. He said I would find three warriors, each devoted to a different brother of the divine family. That I would help them on their way.”

The room fell still.

“You, Emenes, are clearly a warrior of the house of ah-Karg. Aren’t you?”

Emenes didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You all are,” Vestheus continued. “But the two of you…”

He turned to Antion and Elk.

“Your hearts aren’t really in it, are they?”

They sat still as stone, caught in the same spell of their host’s transformation from cheerful drunk to wise madman.

“I see you, Elk. You belong in the wild, don’t you? Be it city or desert…you need to be free to live the life you desire.”

Elk gave the slightest nod.

But Antion caught it.

“That is exactly why the desert dweller roams down here, and not up there with his family. He only desires to be free too.”

And finally, he turned to Antion.

“And you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“Yes, what about you…Antion of Ar Fira?”

He did his best to mask the nervous horror growing inside.

“I think you may just be the most interesting one yet. You worship neither Karghur nor Sedjil, but another. The Lord of lords if I’m not mistaken.”
“Most of my people do. What’s so special about me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Vestheus admitted, “but, knowing the Golden One, I’d wager he has something very special in mind for you.”

Last night, Vestheus hadn’t even remembered Emenes from their last visit. So how did this man – this town drunk, this conjurer of scorpions, this fool – know all this about them?

Had they drunkenly revealed their true identities last night amidst the endless refills? Worse…had they said anything about their mission? About the fate of their home?

Antion caught Emenes in the corner of his eye, quietly listening, but clearly disturbed. Like him, Emenes probably never thought their cover could be blown so quickly…or so easily.

Antion didn’t know what to think.

The gods worked in mysterious ways…but so did madmen.

And there were plenty of those.

Still, something felt different about Vestheus.

He spoke modestly. Admitted what he didn’t know.
Most so-called prophets never did that.

And he seemed harmless enough…

“So, where are you all headed?” their host finally asked.

“Back home,” Emenes said before Antion could answer. “Probably for good this time.”

“So it’s true, then?” Tefriti asked, biting her lip. “The northerners are about to attack Ar Fira?”
“All I know is we’ve been ordered back,” Emenes replied, his tone unreadable.

“I remember when ‘northerners’ just meant someone from the valley,” Tefriti said, forcing a smile.

“Well,” Vestheus muttered, “I guess you’re heading out after this.”

“Guess so.”

“Then we’ll waste no time. We can leave tomorrow.”

The Arfirans exchanged a look.

“Thank you for your food and hospitality,” Emenes said, “but we can’t bring anyone else with us.”

“Emenes…” Antion started, “why don’t we just tell them? They’ve been good to us. They deserve to know.”

Vestheus narrowed his eyes.

“What are you getting at, friends?”

Emenes looked ready to argue, but then glanced at Antion, then Elk, who only shrugged. Realizing he was outnumbered, Emenes exhaled through his nose and gave in.

“Look…we just came from Ar Fira. The northerners…the city…it’s already gone. And it won’t be long before they come this way.”

“And you weren’t going to tell us!?” Vestheus snapped, his voice low, but tight with anger.

“Well, now you know,” Emenes coldly put it. “And now we’re even. Thanks for dinner.”

Vestheus and Tefriti locked eyes…then bolted from their chairs, scrambling across the room. They stuffed baskets and bags with food, water, clothes; whatever they could grab.
Emenes jumped to his feet.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing!?”

“Like I said, we’re coming with you,” Vestheus growled, still turned away, “whether you like it or not.”

“That is not happening!” Emenes snapped. “Our people haven’t even arrived yet!”

“Then we’ll await you in Medun.”

Emenes paled, his wide eyes betraying just how shaken he was.

“You don’t understand, you can’t leave!”

“Why the hell not!?” Vestheus roared, hurling his bag to the floor. “You want us to sit here and wait to die!?”

Emenes tried to explain.

“If you leave like this, the rest of the village will panic. And if everyone leaves, there won’t be any food left when our people arrive.”

The couple finally looked up from their hasty packing.

“It’s another hundred miles to Medun…it would be their deaths.”

They exchanged a look; one of those silent, married looks that says everything. Tefriti slumped back into her seat, defeated. Vestheus began to pace.

“I see…no, the gods demand that I stay. But my wife…she has to go.”

Tefriti’s eyes widened. On the verge of tears, she snapped: “I won’t leave you. You can throw me out of this house a hundred times over and I still wouldn’t go.”

Vestheus dropped his bag.

He just looked at her. Watched her nearly drown in her own tears. Then he walked over, took her into his arms, and kissed her deep.

And then, he whispered:

“And just like that…we have found our purpose again.”

 

 

Chapter 5

After dinner, Antion, Elk, and Emenes sauntered back to camp with full bellies and a cautious hope that the couple wouldn’t spook the village by fleeing to Medun.
The sun had long since vanished, leaving the land dark and still. When they arrived, the other ah-Karg were gone, likely off getting food of their own.
Emenes lingered for a while, then headed back down into the village, leaving the two brothers to unwind alone.
That night, Antion had all the time in the world.
And nothing to do but think.
He thought about the day: his breakfast, his lunch, and especially dinner. He thought of the world beyond, and what it might be like to spend the rest of his days here in Simbuu, quiet and peaceful as it was.

He thought about the battle, about the men he’d killed; the ones whose blood now stained his very soul. He thought about Urgesh, about their General Ashagyur.

Or rather, how little he truly knew.

And of course, he thought of her.

Always.

He thought about Elk’s escape plan.

Would she come west too, even after dedicating her life to this land? Could they still worship in peace anywhere else?

Would she turn her back on their home?

And what about himself?

Could he do the same?

Gods, what did she ever see in me?

Sometimes, Antion wondered if he worshipped her more than the gods themselves. They may have given him life…but she had given him love.
She gave him purpose.
The smile on his face.

And the longing in his heart.

She had always been there for him.
So how could he not be there for her now?

“Anty!”

He turned.

Elk was watching him with a worried look.

“Did you hear me?”

“…what?”

“You’re out of it again, man. What’s going on?”

Antion exhaled and sank back into the balled-up traveler’s cloak beneath his head. He wanted to say exactly what was on his mind, but he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

“I’ve had this feeling all week…like she’s not okay…”

Even the lowly winds gave pause.

“…what if she didn’t make it?”

He blinked hard, fighting back the tears. Tried to hide them. But Elk had already noticed.

“Come on, Anty, she’s back there with the rest,” his brother said, trying to assure him. “And when the three of us reach the Ulu…”

He flashed that wide, dumb grin.

“We will sail for better shores.”

Antion finally smiled.

“I know.”

“Hell, maybe I’ll even find a woman,” Elk laughed. “Give this ragged wagon of ours four wheels.”

Almost sounded like a real family.

For the first time in a long time.

“Ah, my brother, life’s already looking up. So should you.”

“Thanks, man,” Antion said. “You know…you might be right.”

“Damn right. Now let’s get a drink.”

 

They found Vestheus and Tefriti deep in drunken flirtation when they stepped into the bar. The other ah-Karg barely looked up, lost in their own world at another table.

“Ah, you just missed it,” Emenes grinned as they sat. “Our very own scorpion whisperer got sloshed and started reciting poetry to those ladies in the back. Didn’t miss a word. Kept going. Kept rhyming. Honestly blew our minds.”

“He was drunk, but she was pissed,” Khewen added over his mug.

“But then,” Emenes went on, “he whips around, drops to one knee, and gives the last verse to her. She cried. Then he cried. Hell, even I cried.”

He jerked his thumb toward the couple, now sitting side by side, wrapped in as much love and appreciation as two people could hold.

Antion couldn’t bear to look at them.

Not with that familiar ache swelling in his chest.

“Come on, man, lighten up,” Emenes said, raising his cup. “If we all die tomorrow, might as well live it up tonight!”

“I’m fine, really,” Antion muttered.

But his words just rang hollow.

Elk noticed too. He lifted his drink and drew Emenes’ attention away with a toast:

“To us! To the brew! May the road bring many more!”

It was either drink himself numb or keep watching the couple devour each other. Neither option was appealing, but Antion knocked back his swill anyway, trying to drown the thoughts clawing from the inside.

Emenes babbled in the background as the air grew warm; uncomfortably warm, despite the cool night outside.
No one seemed to notice.
Except Antion.

He glanced around the bar.
The whole village was crammed into this one room. Talking. Breathing. Coughing. Sweating.
It was getting hot, too hot to draw a full breath. His chest burned, and the harder he blinked, the more the tears threatened to spill.

“You know what?” Antion stood up, unable to take another second. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

Every head turned. Even Vestheus and Tefriti.
All those eyes.
Accusing.

“I, uh…not feeling great.”

Silence.

“Well, you know where the temple is,” Vestheus chimed, far too cheerfully.

His hearty laugh broke the tension, and others joined in with well-wishes. Antion forced a faint smile, then slipped out as quickly as he could.

The moment he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him like a hammer. And now, without the noise of friends or lovers…

He let the tears fall.

No more fighting.

The dam he’d built inside finally crumbled, with no one there to see.

His breath came shallow, like sucking air through clenched lips. His body heaved and shuddered as he reached for something – anything – to keep him upright.

When the tears blurred his vision, he collapsed against the tavern wall…just on the other side from his brother, probably having the time of his life without him.

And yet, his mind lingered on her.

And the fact that he was homeless.
Aimless.
Purposeless.

I miss you, heru…

In the quiet night that cradled Simbuu Oasis, Antion shambled back to their camp on the edge of town.
He saw no one.

Heard nothing.

Felt no presence around him anymore.

When he finally reached the campsite, Antion dropped onto his cloak. And there, alone in the wasteland, he broke down completely…knowing no one would hear.

He curled up, head in the sand, and rocked to the rhythm of his wailing heart.

He thought of nothing else.

She’s gone…and I’ll never see her again…

……

“Anty?”

Elk stepped out from the dark.

Antion nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Gods, Elk!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Elk stammered. “I saw you leaving and…

Antion said nothing, just wiped at his face.

But Elk didn’t wait. He sat down beside him.
Shook his head. Exhaled once. Twice.

Like he couldn’t find the words this time.

Now you know how I feel, Antion thought.

And yet…he was silently grateful for Elk’s presence.

They sat like that for a while, neither wanting to break the sacred stillness between them.
Just silence and starlight.

The moon hung low and round.

“Anty.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, man.”

Elk offered a warm smile.
It was enough.

“A month from now, this’ll all feel like a bad dream.”

 

6 days ago

 

Early morning light pierced the north temple wall, slipping through a fist-sized hole in the foot-thick stone at just the right moment.
It bathed the sanctuary in golden radiance; fitting for the house of the Golden One. And His most devoted servants moved within, carrying out His will as they did every day.

Among them stood a woman.

She had served the Temple for many years, cleansing its halls, preparing rituals, helping her city.

Her home.
There was nothing else she’d rather do. And, if she were being honest, nothing else she was particularly good at.

But when she served the Temple…she was happy.

She was paid well to assist the priests and priestesses in all things. Some now held lesser titles than her, but she treated them all as equals, just as they did her.

She served the Lord with all her heart.
And yet…her heart belonged to another.
And he was in mortal danger.

They could’ve run long ago.
But she stayed to serve the Temple.

And he, his army.

She promised they’d leave before the city fell.

And he promised he’d return a hero.

Two broken promises.

The Sekhemat, the High Priest, and the remaining holy ones gathered for their final ritual of the day:
The Rite of Spacewalking.

A sacred crossing…from this world to another.

It was time.

The High Priest lifted his voice in chant:
“Seh ah-Khenet, Gi ah-hensi…”

The last of the Lord’s devoted formed a wide circle around him. Five golden sashes were carried in on a board of deep ebony; each one commemorating a moment when the Lord of Light first shaped the world.

Before all things, the world was drowned in darkness. Chaos in purest form.

There was no light, no warmth.

Just darkness.

Nothing.

And then…Khenet came into being.

In the first moment, the world was void, drowned in cold and ash and silence. There was no sun, no warmth, no breath.
Only the dark.

And then He stirred.

From the silt of the Ulu River, the river that always was and always will, He shaped the land. He raised the mountains, carved the valleys, softened the hills, and scattered sand to the edges of the world.

In the second moment, He cast the darkness outward, far beyond the stars. From the water and air of the earth, He lifted the heavens.
The droplets He flung became stars.

The space between them held the breath of life.

In the third moment, He grew lonely. So He shaped others like Himself, drawn from heaven, earth, and the Ulu.

Two became His brothers: Karghur and Sedjil.
The third became His wife. Her name was Tariyet.
Together, they lorded over all creation, and from their union came many children, the next generation of gods.

In the fourth moment, Khenet watched His children wander across a still-empty universe. And He knew He was not yet finished.

With a dagger gifted by Karghur, He pierced the black veil that surrounded all things, and opened a hole beyond space and time.

There, beyond the veil, he spent an eternity in silence, deciding what would complete His creation…a creation that had already consumed much of His own essence.

But He had grown to love it.
And He did not want an aimless, purposeless universe.
So He gave it one.

In the fifth and final moment, Khenet returned.
And from the Ulu once more, He gathered sediment and clay. With it, He fashioned all the living beings of the world.

He made the animals and the trees.
The plants and the stones.
The invisible spirits and sprites.
And at last, He created the first tribe of man.

But He gave them something nothing else had.

He gave them death.
And in doing so, He gave them time.
And when He gave them time, He gave them purpose.
And when He gave them purpose, He made them a promise.

And that promise…was a chance.

A chance at what?
A chance at where?

No one knew for certain.
But one of Khenet’s wisest teachings was this:
Worlds exist within worlds.

The holy ones stepped forward, each bearing a sacred object, and laid them at the feet of the High Priest, arranged in ritual order:

First, a jar of earth – sacred silt from the Ulu.
Second, a jar of aether – the breath between sky and stars.
Third, a royal wedding crown – the symbol of divine union.
Fourth, an ancient dagger – the blade that pierced the veil.
Last, a cloth wrapping – said to hold the flesh of the world.

The High Priest fell to his knees and raised his arms.

 

“We seek your blessing to enter your realm.

To gaze upon your wonders.

And to receive your favor in the form of victory over those who would defile your house and bring your people to suffer.

Hear our prayers,
Lord of Heaven and Earth.
Grant your lowly servants the right to reach the stars…
and walk the space between all things.”

 

Without waiting for an answer, the High Priest lay down beside the five moments and breathed deep.
Slow. Steady.

She knelt at his side and heard the faintest prayer upon his lips. A priest stepped forward with a steaming bronze bowl, placing it near the High Priest’s head.

She leaned in, letting the sweet, sharp vapor wash over her face. Then she wafted it gently across him, watching as he drew in the fumes.
She pulled the vapor past her own lips.

It only took one breath.

The High Priest closed his eyes.
She closed hers…
And willed her inner eye open.

All was dark.
No shapes. No form.
All was silent.

Then…a light appeared in the distance.
It grew, in size, in brilliance.

At the center of her mind’s eye, she saw the High Priest’s arwah drifting in the void. He could not see or feel the next world beyond.
Still tethered to the body below.

But she was different.

She leaned down and whispered into his mortal ear, guiding him from cold chaos toward the Lord’s celestial shores.

Ahead, a set of towering gates awaited, carved from sacred wood, grown in a place far from home.

“The gates are open,” she whispered. “They call us closer.”

They were entering the realm of the Golden One, a place where  hidden paths and secret fields stretched on into eternity.

She had walked here before.
But each visit was like stepping through a different world.

Like a shimmering mirage, the realm shifted with every blink, its shape and substance dancing to whims even she couldn’t fully see.

And yet, in this ever-changing beauty, one thing remained constant:
The Way.

The High Priest would never find it on his own.
Like most mortals, he was blind to the other side.

She alone had the Holy Sight in Ar Fira.
Perhaps in all of Ashwari.

The path unfolded before her like a great winding serpent.
It even slithered, shedding and reshaping itself with every breath of eternity.

There were many false roads here, treacherous ways meant to confuse those who entered the golden realm. But she knew the way by heart.

And faith.

She whispered again:

“The way is straight. The way is true. It will feel warm to the touch, and soft like cloth. It will feel familiar. It will stay grounded under your feet. Walk straight. Walk true.”

She saw many things when she closed her eyes:

Ten-thousand-foot waterfalls, plunging into an endless sea of green. Mountains of diamond and gold pierced the purple-painted skies. Lofty hills rose and fell before them, each crowned in fog, with a lone fig tree on the very top.

And on every tree: fruits and sprites. They swayed to the rhythm of the eternal songs, sung by sleepless spirits who never ceased.

She witnessed strange and terrible beasts, some bigger than the lakes of Ar Fira, roaming the distant lands beyond.

Without warning, they leapt into the sky…and swam away, what lay beyond the beyond.

She saw red deer basking, yellow dogs baying, and birds of every size and color bursting into shape. Strange cries and distant whistles echoed from the field of trees below, their sources never revealed.

It was all so…

Beautiful.

Sacred.

Neverending.

It was Heaven.

But then –

“A spirit of the land emerges from hallowed ground before us. Give to them the first two moments of creations,” she whispered, low and slow.

These beings knew the realm well.

After all, they had been here since the beginning.

Ancient forces, bound by custom.
And custom demanded offerings.

Just like now.

“With heaven and earth in hand…”

She picked up the jars of earth and aether.

Placed them in the High Priest’s hands.

“We ask the spirit to grant us passage to the true path.”

The nameless spirit accepted their gifts and let them pass. On they went, following the one true way, while she whispered still, back in the Temple, to his mortal ear.

After a long journey, they came upon an angel of the Lord, a keeper of this realm. It was dutybound to protect these holy lands, granting favor only to those of pure heart and mind.

The angel’s body was invisible, even to her, but its many black eyes glistened and blinked in perfect unison.

“The angel asks for a token of love. Give it, and she will guide you to the gates of the House.”

The wedding crown now rested in the High Priest’s mortal hand, and with it, he appeased the angel.

Soon, they were led through rolling fields toward the yard, where stranger things moved unseen between folds of light.

“Now take the sacred dagger, and hold it tight. It sings the Song of Slumber, written by Sera, son of Serif.”

At its call, the hills began to sleep.
The rolling ceased.

Still and somber.

The way fell silent.
And peace returned to the path.

The green fields gave way to golden pavement, lined with white-iron fence posts. The house of the Lord came into view.
Miles long. Fathoms high.
No end in sight.

They walked the true path, until the gates rose before them, guarded by colossal rams. Their fleece was black as pitch, and their eyes burned blood-red.

They devoured any soul who wandered too close.

“Be not afraid,” she whispered, steady and sure.

The rams stood still as stone, only their eyes moving as the High Priest’s arwah approached. Then, without warning, they roared and lowered their horns.
Terror struck her like a hammer.
She flinched.
A second too long…

But she steadied herself.
And pressed on.

“Take the flesh of the world, cut from the ribs of the universe. With this, the soul-eaters shall be sated, and the gates will open.”

At last, they had crossed the boundary from wild realm to cultured space. One step forward, and they stood in blessed presence.

The ceiling soared high above, veiled in cloud. Endless walls rose in peace-blue turquoise and love-white marble. Where floor met wall, sacred wood lined the ledges, cut from trees not of the living world.

Echoing through those endless halls…music without instruments, song without voice.

It was pure joy.

It was utter sorrow.

It was longing and belonging.

It was their Lord, come to show them the way.

At last, a pair of golden doors appeared at the end of the hall. They swung open slowly, sending the deepest echoes rippling across –

CRAAASH!!

Her eyes snapped open.
Screams tore through the sanctuary.

Shattered door pieces flew from the front of the Temple, forcing the holy ones to scramble onto the altar beside her.

For a second…nobody moved.

Not even the gods.

Then, the savage horde poured in.

A savage, stinking tide that flooded the Temple with blood and fear. The smell alone nearly knocked her unconscious.

The servants of Khenet were being herded toward the altar.
She froze where she knelt.
The enemy closed in.

Those closest were hacked down with axes and swords, their screams echoing long after their bodies fell.

Ice-cold terror gripped her insides.
She couldn’t move.

The blood-soaked demons came closer.

Closer.

I love you, mother! I love you, father! I love you, Antion! I love you, Antion! I love you –

Even as they seized her, she fought back.
But their hands were fire.
Their breath was rot.

“NOOO!”

She screamed.
Clawed.
Writhed.
They just laughed.

She reached for the High Priest, for his robe…but missed.

Her fingers found something else.
The wedding crown.

Without thinking, she swung it, wild and desperate.

The blow was deflected.
He hurled her to the floor.

As he came at her again…he stopped.

His eyes locked onto the crown trembling in her hands.
Then to the dagger beside her.
Then to the High Priest.

He hesitated, even as his fellow warriors rounded up the priestesses. The priests had already been killed.
Their throats slit.
One by one.

The priestesses cried out, but were struck, threatened, beaten down into silent, sobbing messes on the floor.

The struggle was over.

Holy blood would flood the Temple tonight.

And still…her tormentor lingered.
He picked up the ceremonial dagger, studied it, turned it over in his hands. Then, without a word, he stepped behind the High Priest. And drove the blade into his neck.

A cry rose from the priestesses, until even that was silenced.

The dagger remained, still buried, like it belonged there. She watched, helpless, as the High Priest collapsed onto the altar.
Writhing.
Then still.

She was at the mercy of these blood-soaked monsters.
Were they wearing her love’s blood now?

Suddenly, her tormentor swooped down and yanked her to her feet. She yelped, sharp, startled.

He tore the crown from her hands. Slammed it onto her head. Laughed. Then yanked it off again…only to jam it back on, upside down.

He hooked his arm in hers and paraded her down the altar steps, as if they were performing; putting on a show.

She was marched out with the other priestesses…leaving the High Priest behind to his dark fate.
No rites.
No farewell.

They were thrust back into what remained of Ar Fira, their once-glorious home, now reduced to smoke and ash.
From the temple hill, she saw the west gates smoldering in the distance. Above the city, a cloud of ruin hung still as a whisper on water.

The battle was over.
The city was gone

Through milling soldiers and heaps of the dead, past silent homes and smoking rubble, a horse-drawn chariot rolled slowly down the ruined street.
It stopped beside the Temple stairway.

The rider said nothing.
He didn’t need to.

His presence screamed across Ar Fira.

Commanding.
Terrifying.

He looked once over the Temple’s high walls and statues,
down at the serene gardens, now watered with blood.

Then his eyes found her.

They flicked to the upside-down crown on her head.
He stepped down from his silver carriage as she was dragged to the base of the Temple stairs. As he neared, she saw the scar running down the side of his jaw.

Who would’ve dared strike this man?

And then he spoke.

“Are you okay, musa?”

She whimpered, unable able to find her words.

His brow furrowed.

“Can you understand me?”

“…”

“Can You Understand Me??”

“Yes!” she finally wailed.

The devil paused.

Nodded.

Then he reached out and lifted her chin.

Forcing her to meet his eyes.

She didn’t fight him.

Her strength was already gone.

“What’s your name?”

“…Rokhsa…”

He leaned in close, the scar on his jaw leering.

“Well, Rokhsa…musa…someone has come a long way…just to meet…”

You.

 

 

Chapter 6

Ar Fira was far behind now.

Battered, blackened…but not yet destroyed.
They had passed the shattered western gates, splintered into a million charred pieces across the bloodstained earth.
Wood, iron, stone… all ruined.
By what?
Rokhsa couldn’t begin to imagine.

They’d long since traded the chariot for a larger carriage. As they rolled on, she scanned under wheel for signs of Antion, sick as it felt. But the faces of the dead all looked the same now, Arfiran and Urgesh alike: blood-soaked, lifeless, frozen in their final throes.

It smelled like death.

But it wasn’t just the bodies that repulsed her. Something else hung in the air. Something wrong. Unnatural.

The worst of it came as they passed through the ruins of the west gates. The stench nearly choked the life from her.
If there was a smell worse than death, this was it.

When they finally broke through the oasis treeline, and the bodies trickled to nothing, she gave up.
She submitted to the torture.

And her tears fell like rain.

Her captor, silent for most of the journey, finally spoke.

“I know this isn’t pleasant, but you must remain strong.”

The thing was…she couldn’t stop if she wanted to.

She sat with her back to the seat board, watching the only world she’d ever known disappear, swallowed whole by the desert.

And the tears kept coming. She couldn’t stop them, not with everything she knew collapsing behind her.

He leaned in.
“Please, Rokhsa…”

His voice softened.

“…strength is the only thing that will keep you going.”

A single threat.

Disguised as a cold smile on the hottest day.

He was more calm, more collected, and far more calculating than the average soldier he commanded.

She saw it in his eyes: determined, proud…merciless.

A killer.

“It’s a long way back to camp,” he said, like they were making casual conversation. “We could talk, if you want.”

Rokhsa didn’t respond.

She tried to stifle her tears.

But silence didn’t suit him.

“Conversation’s good for the mind. That’s where real strength comes from, isn’t it? The mind.”

She gave in, more afraid of his silence than his words now.

“Who are you?”

The man sat up straighter.

“My name is Anum-Thros.”

“Where are you from?”

A devilish smile.

“I think you know.”

“Why are you here?”

The man only chuckled.

Before they left the city, he had spent nearly an hour inside the Temple, only to emerge empty-handed and sour-faced.

He was looking for something.

But clearly hadn’t found it.

So he said nothing.

Perhaps she was asking the wrong questions.

She tried again.

“Did you take any prisoners?”

“No.”

The smile dropped.

“Every last one of them fought to the death. Shame, too.”

He finally looked at her.

Even in the light, his face somehow caught the shadows.

“They fought well. Very brave…but very foolish.”

Rokhsa slumped back.

Her lips grew cold.

Her breath came shallow.

Her heart had given up.

“I actually admire their sacrifice…letting the others escape while they were slaughtered.”

What!? How does he know about the others?

“You want to know why we’re here?” Anum-Thros asked, turning fully toward her. “It’s only a matter of time until your people lead us to the answer.”

“What are you going to do to them?” she asked, frantic now.

The look he gave scared her more than anything else.

“Great things.”

She asked no more questions after that.

Too tired to keep playing his game, she closed her eyes. But there was no escaping the sound of hoof and wheel…the march of soldiers surrounding their carriage…

No escape.

Maybe if she just took a couple deep breaths…

 

He didn’t wake her for hours.

By the time her weary eyes opened, the sun hung low in the southern sky…and she was met with a terrible sight.

They had reached Ruba Spring, a lush little pocket of green just beyond the Ar Fira Oasis.
But it was no more.

The enemy had built a makeshift fortress from what few trees the oasis had offered. Entire palm trunks had been driven into the earth, side by side, forming a wall too high to climb, too strong to breach.

Behind that wall stretched their forward camp; a sea of beige shelters and canvas tents, broken only by a few larger ones dyed a deep, bloody red. Officer tents, she guessed.

He told her this wasn’t their final stop.

Just a waypoint on the road ahead.

They remained only fifteen minutes.
But in that time…Rokhsa saw something.

Something off.

Anum-Thros had left her under the watch of several soldiers standing around. But these men were different from the blood-soaked savages who had stormed the Temple.
These were distinguished.
Their armor, unbruised.
Their pikes…terrifying.

And they treated those in dirty rags like dogs.
They groveled and cowered at their masters’ feet.
Slaves.

“Ready to go?” Anum-Thros asked as he climbed back aboard the carriage.

As if she had a choice.

 

4 days ago

 

They rode north the rest of the day and well into sunset. Around midnight, they stopped to change carriages at some random supply point the enemy had set up.

While he sat up front, reins in hand, she was given the rest of the carriage to herself. A sliver of privacy. The smallest morsel of dignity they could spare.
She was grateful for the solitude.

Not by the grace of her enemy, but by the light of her Lord.

Thankfully, the Kunai Highway was flat and straight, just enough to grant her the sleep she so desperately needed.
Terror kept her body tense and her mind racing. It kept her alert, but after so long, it wore her down to the bone.
Now, when she needed it most, she found sleep…

Even in the presence of evil.

 

Speaking of, he shook her awake just as the sun rose over the northern horizon. It took her a moment to remember where she was…
And then yesterday came crashing back.

As her eyes adjusted to the light and her senses returned, she realized they were descending, slowly but noticeably, into lower lands.
It reminded her of how Ar Fira sat in a shallow basin.
But this…this felt vast.

The rocky desert gave way to flat, lifeless ground. Even the stubborn shrubs and grasses had vanished, leaving only silence and sand.
Then she knew where they were.
The Flatlands.

Ashwari’s great dead plain.
Wider than the horizon let on, the Flatlands stretched endlessly, broken only by a handful of cities clinging to rare solid ground between the salt marshes and dunes.

Eventually, she saw an immense war camp rising in the distance. It used to be the town of Menkha.
She braced for ruin.
But Menkha was…fine.
More than fine.

Rokhsa sat up straighter, watching the people moving about.
Some carried baskets and tools.
Others led carts and animals.
More lounged near red tents and makeshift mats.

At least she could tell who the soldiers were; half of them jumped to attention as their carriage rolled in. Anum-Thros gave a dismissive wave, and they returned to their duties without a word.

They arrived outside a large purple tent, white lines running down the sides. Its ends were fraying, but it still stood proud; a proper officer’s quarters.
Anum-Thros climbed down from the carriage.

And extended a hand.
“Musa, if you will.”
She hesitated.

She didn’t want to touch him.

Didn’t want to go anywhere with him.
But her captor had no interest in playing nice.
“If you will.”
It was not a request.

She gave in, took Anum-Thros’ hand, and he gently helped her down without further trouble. It seemed that he genuinely did not want to hurt her.

Not yet, anyway.

But she didn’t trust him for a second.

“Thank you,” Anum-Thros said, his voice soft again as her feet touched the dusty ground.

“Let’s get some food and water. Or would you prefer wine?”

“…water…”

“Good,” her tormentor chuckled. “The wine…that’s for the soldiers. And really, they earned it.”

She was taken to the large tent.

And just when she thought she might collapse, her feet took over, carrying her forward when her will could not.
She moved on instinct now.

Separate from thought.

Separate from fear.
They ducked under the entrance flap and stepped inside. A lone chair sat beside the table, cushioned with plush skins and feathered pillows

“It’s yours, musa. Please, sit,” he said, motioning toward it. “And while you’re here, consider yourself our honored guest.”

Anum-Thros moved about the tent, collecting plates of food and cups of drink for them both. Here and there, a few officers bustled in and out in search of the same.

For the most part, they left her alone.

Still, she felt every one of their eyes the moment they entered.

Was she just a spectacle now?
A curiosity?

Mocked simply for being on the “other side”?

Did they pity her?

Did they hate her?

What did they even need her for?

Her mind began to spiral.

Worse and worse thoughts than she could stomach.

Hot tears slipped from her eyes. She tried blinking them away, but it only made things worse.

Her captor took notice when he returned, placing the food and water before her.

She was starving.

The meager scraps he’d offered on the road hadn’t come close to easing the hunger that clawed at her insides.

She’d accepted them then.
But not now.

She kept her eyes on anything but him or the plate.

Refused to eat.

He sighed and took a seat across from her.

She would rather starve than endure another ounce of humiliation at the hands of these people.

“Stop.”

She would not.

Anum-Thros sighed again.

He fell back into his seat and began eating, ignoring her completely, while she tried not to break apart.

What am I doing here!?

Why was she still alive, when everyone she’d ever known and loved was gone?

The other priestesses…
They were probably being sold off, sent to foreign lands, treated like animals.

And Antion…

…oh Antion…

“He died that day, didn’t he?”

Rokhsa looked over, stunned, as if he read her mind.

But he was focused only on the plate before him.

Half-eaten now.
Just picking at what remained.

“Did they let holy ones marry in your city?”

“Yes, but…”

His eyes flicked up.

“We weren’t married yet…”

He shrugged and went back to his plate.

“Was he a soldier? Officer?”

Her eyes dropped to her feet.

Anum-Thros waved it off.

“Say no more. I know war is terrible, but we didn’t exactly want this either. If they had only surrendered, they wouldn’t have had to die.”

“Yeah, sure…”

He paused.

Offended, maybe.

“You don’t believe me?”

Rokhsa met his eyes.

A storm built in her gut, hot and fast.

“How can you deny it?” she breathed sharp through clenched teeth. “In the Temple, you killed my brothers. You stole my sisters. You defiled the holy altar.”

Anum-Thros just sat there.

Listening.

“And most of all,” she snarled, “you have called down the wrath of the Lord! There were no soldiers in His holy house, but you killed them anyway!”

The bastard said nothing.

Didn’t dare deny it.

Anum-Thros sat back, thinking on her words, leaving her to deflate in the silence that followed. He seemed deep in thought…until he rose with a tired sigh.

“Come here.”

She hesitated…but followed him outside.

She heard their cries before she saw anything.

Distant at first.

Familiar.

Then her eyes adjusted to the early afternoon light.

A horrible sight unfolded before her.

There they were, locked in a cage on wheels, crying out for mercy across a sea of deaf ears.

Her fellow priestesses.

They must have arrived long after her, far behind the carriage she rode in on; she hadn’t seen them once.

But they saw her now.

They called her name.

They begged for help.

And there was nothing Rokhsa could do.

The same blood-soaked savages who had butchered their brothers in the Temple now circled the cage like hungry hyenas, snapping their teeth, laughing at their pain.

They joked and cackled among themselves, reveling in the spoils of conquest. Occasionally, one would reach through the metal bars, grabbing at the terrified women like it was all a game.
Every time a priestess kicked one greedy hand away, three more reached in to hold her still. They taunted their prey with disgusting laughter, shouting unintelligible threats.

It was the nightmare all over again.
Except for her sisters…it never ended.

Anum-Thros turned her way, nodding toward the scene.

“Are they the ones who killed your priests?”

“Yes.”

Without a word, he strode off to a nearby group of soldiers and muttered something.

Then he pointed.

Straight at the men harassing her sisters.

He returned…but didn’t stop beside her.
Didn’t even look at her.
Just passed by and disappeared back into the tent.

He left her alone to witness what came next.

The soldiers Anum-Thros had spoken to rushed over to the bloody brutes and yanked them away from the cage.
They screamed for mercy as they were thrown to their knees…a commodity their commander had clearly run out of.

In a second, their throats were slit.
They dropped face-first.
Bled out in under a minute.

Rokhsa couldn’t move, couldn’t look away.

She was stunned to her core, terrified, and yet…
It felt…good.

In some sense of the word that made no sense at all.

Before she could even process what had happened, Anum-Thros returned, holding a small bag in his hands.

He stopped beside her.

And whistled.
Within moments, a full-sized carriage pulled up and stopped just a few feet away. This one was nothing like the last: solid bronze, lined with gold.

A gleaming force of power.

The horses were massive beasts, snorting as they struck the ground with heavy metal shoes.

Anum-Thros climbed aboard without hesitation.

He set the bag on the seat, then hung one hand on the carriage rail and reached down to her.

She didn’t resist this time.

Too tired to fight.

Once she was settled, he placed the bag on her lap.

Inside: a mashed-up slop of food.
Barely recognizable.
Not at all appetizing.

She slowly turned to him.
He just shrugged.

“It’s a long way. Eat.”

 

3 days ago

 

Gehdu was the first major city in the Flatlands between Ar Fira and the Ulu Valley. Naturally, it served as a trading hub.
Set in a wide groove against the earth, this fertile pocket made for excellent farmland and pasture, feeding the thousands who lived there.
The city sat on the shores of Ahira Lake.

The only salt lake in all of Ashwari.
It was fed by the winding Ahira River, which snaked in from the sea, far to the west.

When Urgesh first began making noise on the far side of the land, many from Gehdu fled to Ar Fira. Because of that, the city offered no resistance when the northerners finally marched through.
Maybe that’s why Rokhsa saw no damage to the gates or walls as they rode through the re-occupied city.
“The place was pretty much abandoned when we got here,” Anum-Thros confirmed, the first words either of them had spoken since leaving Menkha.

“Not a single sword in defense.”

She had never been here before, and yet… it already reminded her of home. Off in the distance, a massive temple loomed over multi-level homes and public buildings.
It had to be the Temple of Poro, a goddess from the western lands, brought east long ago by Kresian settlers.

The temple rose tall, as if reaching for the gods above, with white pillars and a triangular roof. Red-tiled gables slanted down both sides, meeting thick stone walls adorned with scenes from ancient western legends.

Her captor must have noticed Rokhsa staring, because he steered the carriage toward the towering sanctuary.

“I cannot lie…it’s glorious,” Anum-Thros uttered.

Soon, they were right beside the temple.

The front doors stood open, just a short dash away.

But Rokhsa knew better than to seek false safety within those halls. No god could protect her now.

A few soldiers jogged out from the temple doors, speaking to her captor in their northern tongue. Rokhsa had long assumed he was a high-ranking officer.

But how high?

She hadn’t the faintest idea.
Probably very.

Because when he pointed toward the temple, the men turned and marched back inside without another word.

“Your gods,” Anum-Thros said, watching the temple doors, “they aren’t the same ones they worship across the sea, are they?”

“No.”

“But you let them build a temple here anyway,” he chuckled. “And who did you worship?”

“I serve Lord Khenet. The only true god,” she answered, pride quietly creeping into her voice.

“Just the one?”

“The others might not be real,” she said, “but the Lord and his brothers are the world.”
“I’ve heard of your Lord,” he nodded. “But his brothers…?”

The carriage lurched forward again, rolling them deeper into Gehdu proper: high-rise public buildings, green gardens, wide, polished streets.

It was still a beautiful city.

Now ruled by demons.

“What do you know about the western goddess Poro?” he asked after a minute. “That was her temple, right?”

Part of her training at the Temple of Khenet involved studying the gods of other lands, but Poro had always intrigued her most; a goddess of strong minds and fierce hearts.

“Smart, powerful, loved by all,” Anum-Thros said, almost admiringly. “Even back home, her legends reached our ears.”

Rokhsa cast one silent glance at her captor.

“Since the dawn of time, chaos and darkness had followed man’s every step, always hiding the future, always clouding the past.”

He never took his eyes off the road.

“But Poro, in her infinite wisdom, took pity on us poor mortals, so that we might see beyond the darkness. Learn from the past….and predict the future…”

Rokhsa stared, stunned. This man, this savage killer from the north, knew the stories of the west.

“And so,” he continued, “she set out from the Tekkus Mountains, north of Kresia, searching far and wide for the Fate of Knowledge. She chased his fiery trail across the universe for ten years straight until, one day, she finally caught him by the tail. Refusing to let go until he revealed the secrets of the universe to her.”

He paused.

“And what do you know?”

Anum-Thros gave her a wide grin.

“The Fate agreed,” he said. “He wrote everything he knew across the night sky, for any and all to interpret. Poro then found a remote cave in some far-off land, where she began transcribing what she learned from the stars. All on those cave walls.”

Rokhsa knew this part.

She’d heard it all before.

“Well…” he went on, “somewhere within our western border lands, we found a cave. And inside that cave, the walls are filled with old Kresian writing.”

She froze.
That she hadn’t heard.

“Massive carvings, so ancient our translators could barely make them out. Advanced equations, impossible numbers, and even a signature, they think.”

In other words…

Ancient wisdom.

“Mostly undeciphered, but no less amazing.”

He leaned back, smiling faintly.

“The stories say Poro’s cave sat on some island in the middle of a distant sea…but wouldn’t it be crazy…if she came to us instead?”

Anum-Thros smirked as they passed the city’s edge, where the vast emptiness of the Flatlands stretched forth.

At this end of the city, a massive war camp sprawled nearby, so large, it was almost a city of its own.

Just how many soldiers made up this army?

They would be sleeping here for the night, though Rokhsa never spent a moment out from under Anum-Thros’ watchful eye.
Her mat lay on the floor, placed directly in front of his bed, within his private quarters. And despite her exhaustion, sleep refused to come.

 

2 days ago

 

After a full day’s ride deeper into the barren Flatlands – sleeping beneath a gaunt moon, guided by the winding Ahira River, and watched by a hundred hungry eyes – Rokhsa could no longer think straight.

At long last, they came upon another piece of civilization in the desolate wastes.

Only…it lay just as dead as Ar Fira.
They rode through the place where two colossal gates had once stood, marked now by a gaping wound between shattered walls.

The ends of the walls were singed black and blown apart, as if torn down by great, smoky hands. Their pieces lay scattered among days-old puddles of blood.
No bodies.
The first row of houses near the gates had burned into hideous black husks, and yet, none beyond them had caught flame.

But the smell…
The smell was baffling.
It reeked of evil, like the air of Aru’ah Mahta.

The Land of the Dead.
She had smelled it before, in Ar Fira.

Right where the west gates used to be.
Now, as they passed through the ruins, the foul mix of blood, rubble, and something else nearly made her lean over the side of the carriage and retch.

The stench of charred flesh still clung to the air, even though the bodies were long gone.
She shut her eyes tight.

It was the only defense she had left.

However they had come by these unearthly weapons – powerful enough to obliterate city walls – one thing was certain:
Urgesh had besieged the city of Maqata with brutal precision, tearing through both gate and wall in a single, devastating strike.

The dead city gave no resistance.
They rolled through the shattered gates unopposed, past walls nearly as thick and tall as Ar Fira’s, and yet even these had crumbled before Urgesh’s dark magic.

Then she saw them.
Beyond those annihilated gates…
Rokhsa found the people of Maqata.

The dead had been piled up just outside the city walls, bodies mangled beyond recognition, legs and arms twisted in impossible ways.

The cursed images stayed seared in her eyelids long after they rode past.

She expected her captor to say something.

Some noble comment on war.

Some flicker of remorse for the tragic loss of life.

“…they shouldn’t have fought back.”

 

yesterday

 

If the legends were true, Imawe was the first city ever built along the Ahira River, thousands of years ago.
It sat in one of Ashwari’s many oases, its freshwater springs a sharp contrast to the river’s salt-heavy flow.
Their main exports were fish from the river and salt from the pans, used to preserve the meat for long journeys.

That trade brought great wealth, opening paths to the larger markets of the Ulu Valley.

Even the Temple back home.
From the beginning, Imawe was an open city, built without walls. And for thousands of years, it never needed them.
Until now.

“Ah, the great Salt City,” Anum-Thros exclaimed, proving again how well he knew these lands.

Rokhsa couldn’t help but admire the city; still brilliant, still bustling. How had some Flatland cities remained untouched by the enemy?

It couldn’t be.

Shouldn’t be.

No…something wasn’t right here.

“Who are all these people?” she asked her Urgeshi captor.

“These are Imawe’s new citizens,” he said with a nod. “Some old, most new. As you can see, we’ve breathed new life into the city.”

“So…they’re from Urgesh?”

“They’re citizens of the empire now,” he corrected. “What matters is, they’ve been given a second chance.”

She’d heard enough.

After some time, they’d cleared the city walls, pristine as ever. Rokhsa lifted her eyes up to the horizon…and there, like a shimmering island in an endless sea of trees, lay the remains of a small village.

Atop a small cliff overlooking the ruins stood a single temple, towering above crumpled roofs and collapsed homes like some failed guardian angel.

Men moved in and out of the temple.

Just like in Gehdu.

Just like in Ar Fira.

What were they looking for?

Treasure?

Knowledge?

Something else?

“What do you want with me?” she asked once they were beyond the city limits.

“I think you know, priestess,” was all he said.

Rokhsa didn’t let it drop.
Suspicion gnawed at her.

Curiosity lit the rest.

“Why did you have the Sekhemat killed, back in Ar Fira?”

“Mm,” Anum-Thros hummed, almost absentminded. “Who’s that?”

“Our High Priest.”

He pulled the reins hard.
The horses reared, shrieking and swiping at the air.
Then silence.

His eyes swept over her like a hawk circling prey.
He set the reins down.

Leaned in.

“You’re telling me…you’re not?”

For once, he looked confused.
But no more than she was.

“I…no, I never led the Temple,” she stammered.

“Funny…” he said.

Only, he wasn’t laughing.

“I was told you were mid-sacrifice, ritual knife at your side, clutching that crown on your head like it was your birthright.”

Suddenly, the crown she’d forgotten began crushing her head. The air turned to poison.

“Don’t tell me we were mistaken about you…”

The next few moments turned ice-cold, despite the unbearable sun overhead. The crown slunk lower on her head.

An eternity passed before Anum-Thros leaned back, smiling. He eased into his seat, flicked the reins, and the carriage rolled forward.

Only then did she remember how to breathe.

“Oh well…it’ll be our little secret.”

The world moved again…

But her heart stayed frozen.

She found a single prayer on her lips.

And whispered it to herself:

Lord bless the Ulu two:

One roaring,

One silent,

Both pure and true…

 

 

Chapter 7

“Wake up!”

The sudden shout ripped Antion from his dream world and hurled him back into cold reality.

He shot upright.

It was early morning, as far as he could tell. Elk was already up, struggling to stand. The rest of the team scrambled to pack their gear.

“What’s going on?”

“The commander!” someone hissed from the dark.

An arrow of pure adrenaline through his chest.

No time for questions; they packed fast and rushed down to the silent village, leaving no trace behind.

Apparently, Khewen hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d been pacing the village when, out of nowhere, Commander Raumose arrived.

Dead quiet.

Black-on-black.

With a few soldiers in tow.

While Simbuu slept on.

“What’s he doing here?” Antion muttered.

Commander Raumose was supposed to be days behind with the rest of their people.

“Let’s go find out.”

They followed Khewen back to the sleepy lakeside village and spotted a shadowy envoy lingering at the edge of town.
As dawn crept in, Antion began to make out their features: silent, still, brooding, and dark.

Among them, Antion caught a glimpse of Former Commander Arkhad, standing apart from the others, still half shadow and whisper.
But no one embodied those traits more than the figure at their head: their steadfast commander.

Raumose.

His officer’s uniform was gone, or maybe just buried beneath the heavy travel cloak wrapped over his shoulders. As they neared the commander, who now carried the rising dawn on his back, they saluted him.

He quickly waved them off.

“Forget it, soldiers. Just tell me, what are we facing?”

“The road ahead is quiet for now,” Antion relayed, “but there’s talk the enemy plans to strike Auxua soon.”

Raumose nodded, eyes drifting as if searching for an answer only he could hear. Arkhad stepped forward to speak, but Raumose raised a hand.
“It’s a week to Medun, another to Auxua. We move forward. Scout the road. No time to waste.”

Arkhad stepped forward again.

“I’ll go.”

“Actually,” the commander cut in, “I’ll go. I should’ve been at the front from the start.”
“But Commander, I –”

“– I need you here, soldier,” Commander Raumose said, his tone final. “Wait for the rest of our people.”

“Why can’t they?” Arkhad snapped, flinging a hand toward Antion and Elk. “I’ve got more experience than the two of them combined.”

“Enough.”

If Arkhad wanted his spot so badly, Antion would have gladly handed it over. But the commander had other plans.

Once again, Antion was being pushed further from Rokhsa. And he couldn’t just tell Raumose to shove off, no matter how much he wanted to.

“This mission isn’t over,” the commander said, voice steady now. “We ride for Medun. Right now.”

Antion hesitated.

This was his last chance to speak up.

“But sir –”

“– Soldier!”

Raumose stared him down into silence…or was there something else behind that burning gaze?

Antion felt the heat rise in his own chest. He wanted to ask: had the Temple fallen? Had the holy ones survived?

But he kept his mouth shut for one glaring possibility…

Is he keeping me from her?

The commander turned to the rest of the soldiers.

Conveniently ignoring Arkhad.
Still looking at Antion.

“You.”

Then Elk.

“You.”

Then Emenes.

“You.”

Then Stolimon.

“You.”

And finally, two wide-eyed recruits from ah-Karg. Barely eighteen, and already they had the hollow look of boys who’d seen too much.

He could see it in their sunken eyes.

“And you two. You’re all with me. Lucky for you, I’m getting older, so we’re riding the rest of the way. Now, where do they keep the mounts?”

“There’s a stable at the north end of the village,” Emenes said.

“Lead the way, soldier.”

They marched on, leaving their ah-Karg brethren behind…and one very unhappy former commander.

Just outside the village, they found the stables.

The group huddled by the fence while Commander Raumose headed next door to speak with the stable master.

The stalls were little more than stick-woven cubbies, scattered with hay and clumps of dry grass. A few animals slept inside, oblivious to the troubles of man.

Antion counted two horses, and only four true desert-trekkers. Horses were easier to ride, but camels went to the desert like fish to water.

Fortunately, there weren’t enough mounts for all seven of them. Maybe, Antion thought, they’d dismiss him. Maybe he could stay behind, and wait for Rokhsa.

Raumose came out from the stable master’s house, shaking his head.

“Wouldn’t sell me the last two camels,” he grumbled.

Antion’s heart flipped, and his stomach twisted with hope.

“You two.”

Raumose pointed at the two fresh-faced soldiers whose names Antion never learned.

“Stay here, and wait for our people.”

He turned to Emenes.

“You’re dismissed as well.”

Antion’s heart collapsed.

“Antion, Eklidos, take the horses. Stolimon, grab a camel. Mount up!”

The gods had truly cursed Antion.

Why else keep him from his woman a moment longer? Why stretch their love so thin it might snap in the slightest wind?

Was this a test?

Did the High One believe Antion loved Rokhsa more?

…was He wrong?

Antion said nothing. He packed his gear in silence, burying doubt beneath duty. Ar Fira had plenty of camels; he and his brother had learned to ride them young.

But horses were rare in the desert.

They’d have to learn fast.

His mount was a fine brown mare, with long black hair flowing down its neck. Its mane and tail were braided into thick, wind-whipped locks. It stood half a foot shorter than him, until its head lifted to meet his eyes.

And it was a she, and she was beautiful.

The mare, named Rainfall, gave a soft whinny and trotted to the feeding pails, where the old stable master waited with feed and brush in hand.

“Keep her safe, please,” the man said, voice low, almost regretful.

“I promise.”

And he meant it.

 

Medun Oasis was roughly one and a quarter the distance between Ar Fira and Simbuu. On foot, it would’ve taken six days, but their mounts could shave off two, maybe three.

Their commander rode ahead, first and free to taste the ceaseless call of the world beyond the shrinking village. Stolimon followed close behind.

Elk and Antion took up the rear, side by side.

Antion’s saddle was rough, and the rigid pace they kept made him feel like he might slide off at any moment. He gripped the reins and squeezed his legs tighter around Rainfall’s sides.

“Getting the hang of it back there?”

The commander was glancing over his shoulder.

Right at him.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

The commander turned back…then shifted again.

“Antion. Ride up here a second.”

He nudged Rainfall forward with a tap of the heel and pulled up alongside.

“Have you ever been to Medun, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

Quite true.

“Do you know why people travel from all over to visit?”

“No, sir.”

Not quite.

There was a temple there, another house of Khenet.
And he had a sinking feeling about what came next.

“They have a temple there –”

Exactly.

“– dedicated to the worship of the Golden One. It’s a beautiful house. Incredibly old…”

The commander trailed off.

His usual gruffness faded, voice low now; almost gentle.
“I know this must be hard to hear…”

Antion’s heart kicked faster.
He knew what was coming.

“I went back to the city before it was too late. I tried to find the holy ones, but the Temple was…”

Antion felt the world tilt beneath him.

And the stars began to fall.

One. By. One.

He started shaking his head.

But Raumose kept talking.

“We can say a prayer at the altar when we get there.”

Antion turned his gaze toward him.

“If you want.”

Never before had the commander spoken to him so gently….and never before had Antion been closer to strangling someone.

But these times were trying.

He had to stay grounded.

“I know you still worship the Lord of Light in your heart.”

Antion’s heart twisted in agreement.

But his mouth kept shut.

“I doubt becoming ah-Karg changed that much. But that’s okay. I expected this. Not everyone would abandon their lord for another.”

The commander drew a long breath.

“And one cannot serve two masters.”
Silence stretched between them.

Long and dry as the road ahead.

“But Khenet and Karghur are brothers in the world above, are they not? Doesn’t that make us brothers in this one?”

Antion just blinked.

But his thoughts refused to cross his lips.

“Is that so foolish to believe?”

For a long moment, Antion had no answer.
Then it came…though he didn’t believe a word of it.

“I believe we’re all committed, sir…we know what’s at stake.”

“That’s what I want to hear, soldier,” Raumose said with a smile. “It’s hard enough crossing this desert without looking over your shoulder every five seconds.”

“Sir?”

Antion hadn’t thought much when Commander Raumose “recruited” him outside Ar Fira with everyone else. But after being assigned to every scout team, and now hearing more kindness than in all his years training under the man, he was starting to catch on.

“It’s no secret your woman was a holy one –”

And there it was.

“– Many looked up to her, and…”

Antion stared him down.

A fierce gaze met his, still softened around the flames.

“…and many look up to you. Now more than ever. And the rest? They haven’t stopped praying. For her…or for you.”

Antion kept staring.

But his focus had slipped.

“They want you to be a pillar of the faith. A symbol for the Lord. That’s why it’s so important we all stick together through this.”

So that was it.

The bastard needed Antion’s support in case a revolt broke out. For what? To talk the mob down?

Save the exile from the exiled?

Antion thought of nothing but the years he’d spent training under Raumose’s boot; years of pain, silence, and grit.

Did this bitter old man deserve to be spared his fate?

 

Antion rode the rest of the day at the rear with Elk, his only true brother out here. He told him everything the commander had just said.

It earned him one of Elk’s well-worn scowls.
“So… he saved you, just in case you’d have to save him later?”

Antion nodded, voice low.

“He had this planned out from the start. Like he knew the city would fall. Like he expected it. Now he’s just covering his ass in case there’s a revolt.”

Elk just blinked.

“And he saved me…because I’m your brother?”

He sounded deflated. There didn’t seem to be any other reason…unless it was dumb luck.

But Antion wouldn’t let his brother fall for that.

“I say, if they want his head,” Antion whispered, “they can have it. No sense trying to stop the inevitable.”

 

The next day came and went.

By sundown, the sky had darkened, and the sun leaned low on the horizon. Commander Raumose led them off the road and picked a spot to camp.

“Here’s a good one,” he pointed out.

Here being nowhere special, no remarkable place in all this stretch of sand. At least the road was still in sight.

They figured they’d covered about forty miles that day. At this pace, Medun Oasis would rise the day after tomorrow.

But they were already pushing their mounts.

So it became a short, quiet night.

Everyone tucked in early.

And the Lord above shut off the light.

 

All Antion could do that night was dream of Medun.

And in that desert oasis, a woman awaited him.

He couldn’t see her face or form, for she had wrapped herself in pure white robes, billowing like smoke.

But she was as beautiful as she was haunting.

He did not know her.

But she knew him.

She took his hand and led him through empty, silent streets.

They stopped before the tallest structure in sight: a spire of gold and silver, lined with bulging spheres that circled the base and climbed the sides like sacred ornaments.

Each sphere glowed from within, revealing their translucent interiors…mostly.

Inside, shadows danced.

Then he was inside one of them, at the very top. From there, he could see all of Medun: a sprawling city of grand temples and towering buildings, blue gardens and shimmering parks.

Miles upon miles…

The streets below crisscrossed in intricate shapes, forming patterns only visible from above.
One great road stretched all the way to the Ulu River, beneath purple skies and drifting worlds; vast planets suspended in the ether, with cosmic dust swirling even higher than the spire itself.

Then he was back on the streets, following the woman in white. Only now…she was a fox.

Pure white.
She slipped into a dark alley and vanished.

But he didn’t follow.

The moment she changed, Antion knew he was dreaming.

He leapt high into the air and soared like a bird, scanning the desert below with eager eyes. He glimpsed the lands north of Ashwari and crossed a thousand miles in the blink of an eye.

He saw mountains rising with him, climbing the world itself. And valleys so deep, so dark, the sun might never touch them.

Farther north, he saw an endless ocean and longed to know who, or what, waited on the other side. But as he flew over darker waters, the world dimmed with them…until there was nothing left to see.

 

When Antion awoke, he lay there a while longer.
Still clinging to his dreams:
Sprawling Medun.
Distant lands.
The woman in white.

He wanted to see her again.

But in his heart, he knew.

She was gone.

Rokhsa was…

He didn’t need the commander to say it. But hearing it, knowing, still drove the spear deeper.
And it hardly came as a surprise.

Deep down, he’d known all along.

Still…he could dream.

As the others stirred and packed their things, Antion sat watching the sunrise.
Ready to go.
But not quite ready to leave.
The morning sky held the promise of a beautiful day, and that was something he could appreciate right now. He was eager to see Medun Oasis, though he knew it wouldn’t be anything like the one in his dreams.
More than likely, it fell somewhere between Simbuu and Ar Fira; too small to be a city, too large to be a village.
Commander Raumose finished packing before the rest.
Spotting Antion already waiting, he sat beside him.

Together, they watched the morning sky shift.
From red, to orange, to yellow…
Then finally, a hazy, lazy blue.
“Sometimes, I get in a mood,” the commander said, still watching the sky. “I start wondering…how many sunrises there’ve been since the first dawn. A million? More? When even was the first sunrise?”

Antion had an answer for that.

“The Temple taught us that the first sunrise over this world came just after the last sunset of the one before. That when the old world fell away, a new one rose. And everything…began again.”

Rapture. Rinse. Repeat.

“So, the sun’s just…always been rising?” Raumose asked.

“I guess so.”

“But I thought Khenet created the world?”

“He did. And the one before. And the one before that. Have you never spoken to a holy one back home?”

The commander just laughed.

“I must’ve missed that lesson. Too busy raising an army, I suppose.”

Antion said nothing.

Which, apparently, was invitation enough.

“I made you strong, didn’t I?”

Was that a question, or a confession?

“My training. My regiment. I know I was tough, but it was to make you tougher.”

Antion felt the weight of the world returning to his shoulders. So much for that beautiful day.

“But for all that we’ve lost,” the commander said, “we cannot lose ourselves too.”

Raumose said the words.

But Antion saw the truth.

All those years under the commander’s boot.
Forced marches, barefoot through burning sand.
Countless nights without sleep, pushed to the edge.
All those times he wished he was dead.

He never forgot.

But this…this was strange.
To see the bastard they’d all despised for years appear so… human.

“I made everyone ah-Karg,” the commander said. “Brought them into the most respected warrior clan in Ashwari.”

Where was he going with this?

“I gave them all a purpose again…and still, it wasn’t enough. I lost them their home.”

Anything to shut him up…

“It’s not your fault, sir.”

Except…Antion had been carrying that very thought all week, dragging it behind him like a rotting carcass. Raumose was the Superior Commander of Ar Fira’s army; essentially, the city’s general.

Who else could bear the blame?

“Thank you, soldier,” Raumose said. “But I know you don’t mean that.”

Antion turned his head.
The commander didn’t look at him.
Just kept his eyes on the sky.

“How could you…after everything I put you through?”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say anything at all.
Just nodded and sighed.

“I’ve heard talk back in the main camp,” the commander said. “Their voices grow louder by the day. They say I’m not fit to lead anymore.”

Finally, Raumose turned to him.

His eyes were on fire.

But all it took was the slightest breeze…

“They want me gone. For good.”

The silence that followed wasn’t natural.
It lingered.
Pressed down.
And then:

“But I’m telling you now, soldier, I will not let our people lose everything again. I will not rest until every soul behind us is safe. I promise you, I’m still the best hope we have of making it through this.”

Why was he telling Antion this?

As if any of this was up to him.

And yet…he might have to choose soon.
Help this man…or sate his people’s thirst.

For deposition…or blood.

Was it even a choice anymore?

“I’m going to start doing things differently from here on out,” the commander said.

“Sir?” Antion asked, confused.

Raumose raised a finger and smiled.

“For starters, don’t call me sir.”

Antion forced a smile of his own.

“All right…so what do I call you?”

Behind them, the others were mounting up.
Raumose and Antion stood, brushing dust from their legs.

“I have a name, you know.”

 

By midday, Antion was trying, for the hundredth time, to recall what he’d heard about Medun Oasis. But his stomach had other ideas.

Just as the hunger started gnawing louder than his thoughts, the commander called out:

“Lunchtime!”

About time.

As Antion unloaded their water, Commander Raumose emerged from behind a boulder, rummaging through his camel’s pack.

“Fitting name for a desert beast,” Elk poked, nodding at Antion’s horse. “Rainfall.”

“Could’ve been anything else you’d never see out here,” Antion replied in a mock-dramatic voice. “Like…Greenfields.”

“Mm. How about…Shade-from-Sun?”

“That’s a terrible name for a horse,” Antion laughed. “How about…Silence-from-Elk.”

Their bellies ached with laughter almost as much as hunger. Still digging through his pack, the commander chuckled and called out, “How about…Some-Goddamn-Water.”

Only, nobody laughed.

Silence fell. Heavy.

The commander shook his head and kept searching…for his drinking cup. And the water was strapped to Antion’s horse.
Which meant it was his to watch.
Even for the commander.

So Antion walked over.

He took the cup and dipped it into the leather bag of precious water, careful not to let sand slip inside.

“Tough crowd,” Raumose muttered between sips.

“This your new approach?” Antion asked. “Doing things differently?”

A flicker of surprise crossed the commander’s face.

“What?”

“All due respect, sir,” Antion said quietly, leaning in, “bad jokes won’t get you their respect.”

“Come on…”

But Antion just stared.

“…that bad?”

“And if the gods do decide to damn our water –”

“– Alright,” the commander surrendered. “No more bad jokes…but the same goes for you.”

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. After another push north, they stopped again and ate supper in silence.
Slept in silence.
And all the next day, they rode in silence.

Another forty miles behind them. Forty more, and they’d reach Medun by late afternoon tomorrow.

But he was careful not to celebrate so soon. Another hundred miles still sat between Medun and Auxua. And from Auxua to whatever came next…

Could be a thousand more.

But he didn’t dare give up hope.

Not on his people.

Or the last bit of family he had left.

He night, he dreamt of them all, safe at home, surrounded by warm music and warmer food, comfortable beds and cool nights, roaring fires, and friendly faces.

Everyone he knew was there.

And no one ever left, not until he had to.

 

The next day, a certain excitement stirred the air.

They would reach Medun Valley Oasis before nightfall.

And there…

Where the desert scarred, the desert would bless.

Unending sand, drowning in silence, would soon give way to peaceful green.

And there…there it was.

Antion forgot the sun beating down his back.
His eyes locked on paradise unfolding ahead.

They came to a stop on a dry embankment, overlooking the valley below; an endless sea of green, reaching to the ends of the earth.

In the distance, black hills rose like shadows defying the sun, while the glistening foliage below shimmered in the late evening light.

Simply…ceaseless.

Here, the desert shifted from yellow and white to shades of black and red, painting the land in blood and ash, making the fertile valley below all the more alluring.

The highway led them down from the edge, diving straight into the green wall of the oasis. And when they hit the treeline…

Magic.

Cool air, dripping with shade, met them like brothers.

Even through the trees and fields, Antion could see the temple, revered and radiant, sitting neat and still at the heart of the valley.

Never knowing the danger coming from both sides.

These people had no walls but fences.
No warriors but farmers.
No weapons but faith.

Faith that the world beyond would keep passing by.

Antion hoped their faith was enough.

Palm trees swooshed overhead. Buzzflies rattled in the grass. And lush gardens greeted them as they neared the closest town.

A small number of stone fountains and statues stared on as they rode past, reminding them that people still lived here.

Thrived, even.

Who knew how long.

Or how much longer.

They sauntered past the large Temple of Khenet:

Tall stone pillars held up the open-air roof, staring down with an ageless gaze, weathered from untold centuries of harsh wind and desert sun.

Antion could see straight through the open temple, its bright columns glowing in the afternoon light. He was just happy to see it now, knowing the Lord lived just down the street.

Children ran nearby, playing their games and singing their songs. Merchants shouted their wares to passing travelers, chasing any glance.

First things first, they looked for rooms with stables.

All on the commander’s coin, of course.

They rode through dusty streets as the sun dipped low, another hot day fading into cooler air.

Before long, they found a small inn with a barn out back. The innkeeper took them in and fed their weary mounts. After a short rest, the commander roused the group and suggested they find some food and drink.

“We’re only here through tomorrow,” he reminded them. “Next day, we’re gone. Our mission’s still to secure the way forward, so let’s eat while we can.”

 

With the animals stabled, stomachs settled, and wandering fevers cooling for the night, Antion and Raumose walked the quiet streets, seeking the lone temple of the valley.

They moved among civilians; some with family and some solitary, but most welcomed the commander’s warm gestures and harmless questions.

Was it all an act?

Was he gathering intel?

Fishing for whispers that trickled down from the north?

At last, they reached the temple stairs and crossed the threshold of the divine. The air was warmer up here, calmer.

It wrapped Antion in a cloak of holy disguise.

He could feel Khenet’s glow tonight, radiant beneath the holy roof, as the moon rose over a quiet night in Ashwari.
And in that light…he felt Rokhsa too, showering him her own.
It made him smile…if only on the inside.

They found a quiet corner and knelt before a golden icon.
Like the others scattered through the temple, this relic seemed to uphold the hush that filled the sacred air.

The commander suggested they pray on their own, each to himself. Antion bowed his head and thought…

What should he pray for?

 

God…my Lord…Heavenly Father of the world above and below, if you would hear me now…I ask for strength now. Strength to help my people, your faithful flock.

Forgive us for Ar Fira, your most sacred home. And forgive us…for joining the ah-Karg. Still, we follow you into the New Dawn, Father.

I will march unto my death…

With your name upon my breath.

 

Antion ended his prayer and turned.
In the candlelight, the commander’s eyes looked softer.

Less stone, more man.
Or maybe he’d just left his usual fire at the door.

“I just prayed to a god I never thought I’d pray to,” the commander said, sounding more surprised than anything.

“Well, how do you feel?”

“Good,” he nodded. “I feel good.”

Antion smiled.
“I always do after a prayer. It reminds me I’m never truly alone, not as long as I can still speak to the Lord.”

Commander Raumose returned a smile of his own.

“I could get used to it.”

“Khenet accepts all, sir.”

That word again.

The commander seemed to shy away.

“That word just reminds me how old I’m getting.”

They laughed.

It felt good to laugh, especially now.

But the moment passed, as they always did, and the world resumed its usual, heavy pace. Their smiles faded, replaced once more by the weight of it all.

“Commander…what is the plan?”

He didn’t answer right away.

The silence alone stirred something uneasy in Antion’s gut.
Then again, everything the commander did since Ar Fira did that.
Not a good start.

“Commander?”

“…I don’t know…”

That whisper carried eons of frustration and doubt.

“This road ends at Auxua,” Raumose said at last. “To go west is to die a horrible death. East? Same thing…just slower.”

Antion’s jaw clenched.

Anger bloomed in his chest.

“But you said you were our best chance! You said that!”

“I know what I said!” the commander snapped.

They both glanced around, aware they weren’t alone in the temple. Their voices dipped, but the heat never died.

Antion stepped closer.
He needed answers. Now.
But then he saw the commander look away.
And that was worse than anything he could’ve said.

“Then we go back to our people,” Antion muttered. “Ask what they want. Cross the desert? Sail upriver? We’ll talk to them. I won’t –”

“No.”

That single word struck him cold.

“No,” Raumose repeated, firmer. “We lead them to Auxua. And we fight, however we can. But we can’t run. Not while we still stand.”

The commander turned to face Antion.

“And maybe…we can buy them enough time.”

A hush fell over the temple, deeper than before.

“Okay then.”

Antion exhaled, slow and heavy.

“And if we beat them there, maybe we can drive them out of Ashwari. For good.”

His voice caught fire now, slow but rising.

“Then we’ll dig Ar Fira out under the sands and build her back, better than before.”

His eyes flicked open wider.

“Maybe we don’t have to leave forever.”

Antion couldn’t explain it, but something deep down told him this could be their comeback. Maybe…maybe everything was going to be okay.

Then Raumose’s voice sank lower than the setting sun.

“…I betrayed Ar Fira.”

Those words barely escaped his lips…but there was no mistaking them. The commander’s shoulders dropped. His gaze fell to the stone.

Antion heard him.
But he didn’t understand.

“…what did you say?”

A whisper.

“I betrayed our city…”

The first honest words.

“I doomed our people…”

Antion’s thoughts slowed to a crawl.
His vision tunneled down to the man before him; once so proud, so unshakable, now collapsed, shattered.

“I infiltrated the city years ago…rose through the ranks…”

A ringing filled Antion’s ears.
No.

A scream.
He wasn’t hearing this.

“I gave him Ar Fira.”

…and there it was.

Antion shot to his feet.

He stared at the man wearing Raumose’s face…and finally saw the eyes behind it. And they disgusted him.

“There’s something he wants,” the traitor stammered. “Something he’s looking for, but…”

Antion stood frozen, burning.
His mind flashed:
Wringing the bastard’s life out, driving a blade through his black heart…but he knew he’d never win that fight.

Raumose was a warrior.

A killer.

It was the only reason why he wasn’t already charging.

Or running.

“Antion, please,” Raumose begged, “I cannot live with what I’ve done. I need to fix this…”

Tears welled in Antion’s eyes.

He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer, not while he stared straight into the eyes of his enemy.

“You destroyed my home…betrayed my people…you ruined my life…”

“Please…forgive me…”

His whisper a force, his heart a thudding mess, everything else scattered in the wind…but still, Antion uttered the truest word:

“No.”

He stormed out of the temple in the blink of an eye, leaving Raumose scrambling in the dust.

“Wait!”

Antion didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

He followed a footpath into some quiet, dimly lit garden. He didn’t care where it led; anywhere was better.

But Raumose kept coming.

“Stop, please! I want to fix this!”

Antion had no words for his former commander…and nothing to stop him. Let the people rip him apart.

“Antion!” the traitor dared shout.

Antion stopped.

Spun around.

And punched Raumose square in the mouth.

He hit the ground. And stayed there.

It felt so good to finally let the rage out, despite Antion’s now throbbing wrist, so good to look down on the man he’d hated his whole life…even as the horror churned inside.

“Elk and I are taking the horses. Try to stop us, I swear I’ll tell the others everything.”

“I need your help.”

“Not my problem,” Antion fired back.

“Please, just listen.”

“To An Urgesh Piece Of Trash!?”

“– She’s not dead!”

Antion froze yet again.

“…what?”

The rattled man struggled to rise.

Blood dripped from his mouth.

“Rokhsa…she’s not dead.”

Those eyes locked on Antion; dead-set, unshaken.

“The General…he’ll want her…alive.”

“How do you know!?” Antion snarled.

“The Temple wasn’t destroyed,” Raumose said, “but the holy ones were surely taken. She’ll be brought to Ashagyur himself. At that fortress just outside Auxua.”

“How do you know that?”

Raumose didn’t answer; just stood there, blood trickling from his mouth, refusing to wipe it..

“Because, I’m the one who suggested the place…years ago.”

“I see,” Antion spoke through gritted teeth, “then you didn’t just give them Ar Fira. You gave them all of Ashwari.”

Again, Raumose just sighed, but he didn’t deny it.

“Fuck you.”

Still, the traitor pressed on.

“They’re preparing a full-scale siege, but they won’t attack until the rest of their forces come up behind us, catch Auxua in a pincer.”

A breath.

“The General is ambitious, but he’s no fool. For him, victory must be assured.”

Antion stared him down, rage brimming just beneath the surface.

Urgesh wielded a weapon like nothing the world had ever seen; monstrous, unnatural. But Auxua…Auxua was enormous. The largest city this side of the Ulu. And heavily defended.

It made sense.

“If we can kill him before that,” Raumose went on, despite the red river pouring from his face, “maybe we can end this battle before it begins.”

Antion paused.

How could he trust this worm groveling at his feet? Then again…who else could he trust right now?

Raumose had just thrown down his life; his secret, his shame. And as much as Antion loathed him…

A man with nothing left to lose had no reason left to lie.

He didn’t trust him. Not for a second.
But he couldn’t afford to be wrong.

Still…how were they supposed to take down the most powerful man in the world?

Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers.

“Come back when you pull yourself together…sir,” he muttered. “If you do, then…maybe we’ll talk. And if you don’t…”

He locked eyes with that sad, sorry face.

“Good. Fucking. Riddance.”

Antion turned on his heel and walked away.

 

An hour later, long after the sun had abandoned this land for another, Antion sat by the fire with Elk and the others. They’d rented a small inn, but no one felt like being indoors.
Around the firepit, they said little.
Now and then, someone toasted a chunk of bread or meat over the glowing coals. Mostly, they just stared into the flames.

Antion kept replaying what had happened back in the temple. Raumose, his commander for the past eight years, the man who’d turned him into a soldier, was…one of them.

By flesh and blood, he was the enemy, part of the plague that struck deep into this land, poisoning the very well from which all of Ashwari drew.

Could Raumose truly feel regret?

Could he ever make it right?

Most of all…
Could Antion believe a single word?

And just like that, Raumose stepped out of the veiled dark and sat by the fire. He looked to Antion, still wearing the mask of a commander, but his eyes asked a silent question.

Where do we stand?

Antion didn’t answer.
He simply handed him a bowl of vegetable broth.

No spoon.

The look he gave Raumose said it all:

We’re good…for now. But you can lap your sup like a dog tonight.

Raumose accepted the bowl with a curt, “Thank you, soldier,” and held it over the fire to warm.

They were all still part of the same team.

For now.

 

 

Chapter 8

The new day began exactly as the previous night had ended: quietly, but suddenly. Antion had slept, somehow, though most of the night was spent half-expecting a knife in his back.

But then, why had Raumose confessed at all? He could’ve waited until Auxua, then slipped back to his master unnoticed.

Instead, he admitted everything, right there in Khenet’s house, asking for forgiveness, and help. Help in stopping the most powerful army, and the most dangerous man, this side of the West Sea.

Maybe even the world.

Beside him, Elk stirred awake as the morning sun splashed in from the window of their shared room at the inn. Seeing Antion staring over, Elk shot a smile and climbed to his feet.

Today was their one day to explore Medun Oasis, something his brother had been looking forward to since Simbuu.

So just act normal.

He desperately wanted to tell Elk what Raumose had spilled to him; about the enemy, about Rokhsa, but he couldn’t risk compromising Raumose’s position…not yet.

Except, he didn’t trust Raumose; not really. But if there was even a chance Rokhsa was still alive, he couldn’t just ignore it. Foolish or not, that one thread was enough to keep him from burning the bridge entirely.

They hadn’t spoken since, but the man’s words kept echoing in his head. Antion turned them over and over, searching for cracks.

Was he just being played?

Only time would tell.

They left the inn and began their journey through Medun Valley, winding along narrow streets as oasis life stirred around them.

Merchants peddled their wares to passersby. The smell of fresh food drifted around corners, seeking hungry noses. Packs of children played their games in the middle of the streets.

A few young women knelt in their garden, smiling as the brothers walked by. Antion gave a small wave, but Elk kept waving.

It took a second to drag him away, and the women laughed as they returned to work. Elk laughed too. Antion offered a weak smile.

He didn’t want to think about girls right now, not when he had her on his mind. But Elk, who’d known him since childhood, picked up on his mood.

“The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and the women are smiling. What more could you ask for?”

Antion shot him a look.

“I know, I know,” Elk said, retreating a bit. “Well, what if we went to the temple tonight and prayed? We could use a little divine intervention about now.”

Antion clapped a hand on Elk’s shoulder and smiled for real this time, despite swearing he’d never return to that temple again.

“Sounds good to me.”

For the next few hours, the two brothers roamed freely across the valley. They wandered through scattered villages, taking in the sights of the vast, seemingly endless oasis.

Along the way, they passed crowds gathered around markets and springs, eager to beat the midday sun with cool water and street food.

After a quick lunch, they headed back to the village they were staying in, which they learned was called Djesko. When they reached the corner where their inn stood, they spotted Raumose and Stolimon on the patio sitting with the elderly couple who owned the place.

Act…normal…

The owners had moved here from Ar Fira long ago, but they’d never lost touch with home. The food they offered was proof enough.

In that sense, every bite was bittersweet.

A wave of mouth-watering aromas drifted out from inside: honey and spice from burning incense, and even a faint hint of cinnamon sneaking through.
If Antion closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he’d never left.

After a second lunch, one that left them quietly aching for home, Raumose addressed the soldiers. Could Antion sit at the table with…him…without losing control?

“Alright, men, tomorrow we ride for Auxua. Our intel –” he nodded toward the elderly owners, “– suggests the city still stands. The plan is to get there before the siege begins, and hold them off just long enough for our people to slip by and sail east.”

He scanned the group, waiting for a nod, a word, anything. But when his gaze landed on Antion, time slowed.

Those eyes.

Those evil eyes…

“Also, tomorrow,” Raumose continued, “our second scout team should arrive from behind to join us. Together, we’ll head for Auxua, so long as this valley has some mounts to spare.”

Raumose smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.

“I’m sorry, tomorrow, sir?” Elk asked, brow creased.

Antion was just as surprised.

It had taken them four days to reach Medun by camel and horseback, and even then, they’d to push hard. But to cover a hundred and twenty miles on foot, while already a day behind schedule?

Raumose leaned forward across the table.

“Do you doubt my men?” he growled.

“Of course not, Commander,” Elk said quickly. “Just…impressed is all.”

Raumose cocked his head, then leaned back again.

“They’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon. So be here, ready to go.”

As the group rose to leave and pay, the innkeeper called out that their meal was on the house. The soldiers thanked him twice over, though Raumose hesitated.

“Sir, please, let me pay for my men and I.”

“Soldiers of the homeland dine for free,” the man stated proudly.

Raumose finally relented and shook the man’s hand.

 

An hour after their meal, Elk suggested they head to the temple, so they dragged their full bellies to the center of town.

But when they arrived, an afternoon service was already underway, one concerning a priest and his flock. Out of respect, they slipped out back and found a bench off the side, where they could sit in silence.

Antion’s mind drifted back to the night before, when he and Raumose had come here. Part of him wished he could just forget the whole damn thing.

But this moment, sitting with Elk, talking about the valley, the food, the future, was a welcome distraction.

They talked about the black mountains surrounding the valley. Back home, there was no such wild landscape beyond the oasis, just endless sand, and the occasional sun-scorched rock.

Out here, they’d seen sheer cliffs that scraped the sky, and crumbling villages swallowed by the green, where mirages of phantoms swayed in the haze.

And then there were those strange rock formations that looked suspiciously like…

“…mushrooms.”

“Yup, that’s exactly what they look like,” Antion smirked, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, it’s not my fault the gods have a dirty sense of humor.”

Then they talked about how nice it would’ve been to travel the country, before the war. So many places they’d wanted to see; yet, for one odd reason or another, they’d just never left Ar Fira.
Not even once.

The conversation faded after that.
They never minded the quiet.

It meant they were comfortable enough not to fill it.

They sat and watched the service within the temple. The congregation prayed for the land, then cursed the very name of Urgesh.

Just then, Antion remembered something…well, half of something, from his visits to Rokhsa at the Temple back home.

“What?” Elk asked, catching his sigh.

“She taught me a hymn once. Only for times of war. I’m sure she and the others recited it that day when…”

“Recite away, brother.”

Elk gave him a moment to gather the words.

 

Khenet,

Gi ah-gi,

Rabiti klesha’a nuti ehr’…

 

Though the enemy comes with sword and shield,

To take what is most blessed to you,

I, your humble servant and soldier, fight to restore peace,

For the people, for the land, for the animals and the elements.

 

I will lift my shield, blessed in your name,

I will bear my sword, forged with your spirit,

I will draw in each breath, gifted by you.

 

Oh, Golden One,

Lord over me,

Lord over my land,

Lord over all I stand to defend.

 

Hear my prayer.

Bless me today,

My family tomorrow,

And your people for all time.

May your love protect us in all ways, always.

 

When Antion finished, they sat in silence a moment longer.

Then Elk spoke.

“You know what? I do feel a little better.”

“Every little bit helps.”

Elk hesitated for a second.

“Mind if I…say a prayer for us?”

“Have at it.”

He cleared his throat.

“Okay, here goes…”

 

Oh…Golden God,

God of gods,

Khenet, the…supreme force in the universe,

Giver of blessings…

…taker of lives…

 

Antion peeked over at his brother.

 

Lord…I’m sorry that I sought the blessings of another, but I believed it was the right thing to do at the time. I, uh, I want to say sorry, and I hope you can forgive me and the rest of the ah-Karg. They’re not bad people. Some of them are actually really nice and…um, again, sorry.

 

I am sorry.

We are sorry.

We love you, Lord.

We hope you love us.

 

“Wow…that was –”

“– Awful!” Elk burst out, shaking with laughter.

“Was it genuine at least?” Antion asked between sharp breaths.

Elk paused, thoughtful now.

“Well, not everyone has your way with words, brother, but…yeah. It was.”

They left the temple grounds in search of a less holy patch of land to soil with their good fun. As they walked, Antion felt better than he had in a long time.

It was easy to forget what they were fighting for.

But thank the gods he had his brother to remind him.

 

By early morning, Antion and Elk made damn sure to be at the meetup spot before the others arrived. Raumose and Stolimon were already there, fresh off breakfast and a cup of dark root brew.

Raumose…if that even is your name.

The traitor sat across from the mighty Stolimon, the only one among them who actually stood a chance against the commander in a fair fight.

But since when did traitors and liars ever fight fair? If Antion was going to take him down, it’d have to be by surprise.

Raumose glanced up from his plate and locked eyes with him. It only lasted for a second, but it was enough to kill Antion’s appetite.

Was he really supposed to sit next to him?

“Sir,” Raumose said to the owner, Kubarek, picking his teeth clean, “soon you’ll have a whole team of Ar Fira’s finest in here. I don’t suppose you could let me pick up this next tab? I’d hate to clean you out like this.”

“I’ve enough food for an army,” Kubarek chuckled. “But uh…just curious what you’re all doing out here.”

The nervous edge in his voice made Raumose lean back in his chair with a shrug.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt. We’re pitching in for the good fight up north. Auxua won’t fall, not if we have anything to say about it.”

“That’s admirable, very brave of you, but…”

The inn owner paused.

“Don’t they need you back in Ar Fira? I thought the invaders were set to hit the city any day now.”

Without missing a beat, Raumose fired back.

“If Auxua falls, every single oasis along the way will burn, and then we’ll have nowhere to run.”

Kubarek took a step back and bowed, apologizing.

“Besides,” Raumose said with a smart grin, “we’re the only ones they could spare.”

Just then, a head poked through the doorway. The sun outside was so bright the figure appeared only as a shadow.

“Hey, guys!”

Emenes burst through the doorway, shifting from shadow to man. Unfortunately, he may have materialized too soon; he tripped on the threshold and slammed face-first into the floor.

“Ow!…you gotta be –”

Raumose didn’t even blink.

“Like I said, we’re the spares.”

Emenes picked himself up, face bright red with embarrassment. Antion and Elk tried to hold it in, but they were already laughing.

“Shut up!”

“Or what?” Elk grinned. “You wanna take it outside…or the floor?”

he whole table cracked up, and for the first time that morning, Antion felt lighter. Maybe it was seeing a familiar face again. Maybe it was just safety in numbers.

Whatever it was, he was ready to go.

They stepped outside and watched as more horses and camels came trotting down the street, carrying weary riders in from the harsh desert.

So, they’d managed to find more rides in Simbuu.

Saurab, Khewen, and Daqmet had returned as well, completing the original line up that had left Ar Fira just over a week ago.

A few more ah-Karg warriors followed close behind, and then two more after. Wait a minute…those last two looked anything but ah-Karg.

Vestheus and Tefriti sauntered in on their camels, looking nothing like the sharp-edged, stone-faced warriors they rode into town with. No munitions, no hardened gazes, just warm words and friendly airs.

“And food. Lots of it,” Vestheus beamed, slapping the stuffed pack on his camel.

“We stayed up all night making it, drying it, preserving it,” Tefriti said, counting each task on her fingers with a smile.

“So, my friends, how are you?” Vestheus exclaimed, leaping off his camel and dragging Antion and Elk into a tighter hug than either expected.

“Good…and you?” Antion wheezed.

“Oh, not-so-bad.”

Antion glanced up at Tefriti, still perched atop her camel, trying to stifle her laughter. She waved down at them, her grin bright enough to make the sun blush.

Draped in billowing white garments that danced with every gust of wind, she looked more like a desert queen, than the wife of a mystic fool.

“Musa,” the brothers remarked, bowing with flair.

“Boys,” she replied, tipping her hood.

“Boys,” Vestheus echoed, lightly punching Elk’s shoulder.

Just then, someone new rode up from the back of the caravan: Menek, Diodra’s husband.

What was he doing here?

And alone?

The couple used to travel everywhere together while Antion watched Diodra’s market stand back home. So why was the man here alone?

Antion walked up to the camel and patted her long, droopy neck. The old man quietly smiled down at him.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Antion asked, half-joking.

“Well, hello to you too,” Menek chuckled. “I’m here to help.”

He gave a simple nod, as if that explained everything.

Antion frowned.

“Where’s Diodra?”

“Come on, son,” Menek said, giving the reins a soft tug. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

“Alright, everyone here?” Raumose raised as he emerged from the inn. “Let’s go!”

He mounted his camel and rode toward the front of the caravan, already picking up speed. That was when Antion noticed Menek scanning the area, head on a swivel.

“What is it?” Antion asked.

Instead of answering, Menek yelled out:

“Hey! We’re missing someone!”

Raumose stopped.

And turned around slowly.

“Who?”

As if on cue, former Commander Arkhad came riding in from up the street, slouched atop a large camel. A short bow was slung across his back. His face was hard, unreadable.

He passed Antion and Menek without a word, heading straight for Raumose at the front.

“Sorry, Commander,” Arkhad said with a sigh that couldn’t have been more false. “Duty calls.”

Arkhad didn’t wait for an answer. He simply pushed ahead, riding toward the vast northern stretch without looking back.

Still facing the caravan, Raumose’s eyes met Antion’s.

And in that moment, he knew:

Something wasn’t right.
Again.

 

The road to Auxua would be long and dull, unless the enemy had something to say about it. Nothing but flat earth and sand, all the way to the final drop into the Ulu River Valley.
After that?

Smooth sailing…hopefully.

Their so-called scout team had now grown into a full-blown caravan:

Antion and Elk, Commander Raumose, former Commander Arkhad, warriors Stolimon, Emenes, Saurab, Khewen, and Daqmet, two unfamiliar soldiers; and finally, Vestheus, Tefriti, and Menek.

Antion and his brother rode near the middle of the group when Menek jogged up toward Raumose, though not before glancing back to make sure Antion was listening.

“Commander,” he said, “if you have a moment, I’d like to share something with you.”

Raumose gave a nod.

“We’ve got all the time in the world out here.”

Menek nodded back and continued.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened back in the city. About how they destroyed our gates with some kind of…I don’t know, dark magic.”

Raumose’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you getting at?”

Menek straightened in his saddle.

“I don’t think it was magic…but something else.”

Everyone who hadn’t been listening before was now. Even Arkhad leaned forward on his camel to catch the old man’s words.

“It’s a deeper understanding of the world,” Menek said. “A practical knowledge of the world…only weaponized.”

“You’re losing me now,” Raumose warned. “What are you saying.”

Menek raised a finger, then dug into the leather bag strapped to his camel. He pulled out a simple clay pot, small and unremarkable, with tiny holes bored into its sides.

He held it up for all to see.

“One clay vessel. Fired, but brittle. Perfect for transporting volatile material. Feed a fuse through one of these holes, light it…and there you go. Primed and timed.”

The caravan fell silent.

“Now,” Menek continued, “whatever they’re using in that mix, it’s strong enough to bring down walls and armies alike. But if it comes from the earth…”

He paused.

“…then so must the way to stop it.”

Raumose just scoffed.

“So, what? You’re telling me they dug up some kind of peacemaker from the dirt and just…lobbed it at our gates?”

It sounded like a joke.
But the commander wasn’t laughing.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Menek shrugged. “They could be mining this stuff. Or mixing two separate elements into one deadly compound.”

He exhaled into his clay jar.

“I just wish I knew more.”

But Raumose pressed him further.

“And how would you know any of this?”

Menek gave a small, disarming smile.

“I’ve been around, sir. Met some sharp minds. Seen some things in this wide, wild world.”

He glanced at the pot again.

“When I heard what they did to our gates…let’s just say a few old bells started ringing.”

But Raumose still seemed unimpressed.

Until Menek added:

“Have you ever been to where the West Sea meets the Endless Ocean, Commander?”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, I have.”

“Do I sense a story here?”

The old man shrugged again, then gave in.

“Far south, where Ashwari and the western lands nearly touch, what we call the World Gates, there’s a monastery built into a cliff, high above the sea. It overlooks the very mouth of the world, and they’ve defended those waters for generations, harnessing the earth itself to aid them. I can’t explain it, but I’ve seen it.”

A breeze passed through the caravan just then, quieting even the animals, as if the world itself was listening.

“I don’t claim to know how to crack their formula before we reach Auxua,” Menek said, “but if they try the same tactics, I think I can help defend the city.”

Raumose gave a rare smile as Menek glanced back at Antion.

“Well, we’re all ears.”

 

That night, as the caravan settled into their makeshift beds around two fires, Antion took a quiet walk into the desert with Menek. They tossed around small talk at first, but it was clear the old man had something else on his mind.

“Look, son…I’m so sorry, but the holy ones never made it to camp. We waited as long as we could, but the commander had to get us moving. And don’t blame him. Hell, I don’t. We had to leave.”

Antion said nothing. He knew his words would betray his feelings, so he buried them both deep inside.

“Don’t ever give up on love, son.”

Antion turned, finding two sad, mournful eyes staring back.

“And never forget it’s not always a two-way street. You’ve got to take care of yourself first. Only then will the right people find their way into your life.”

Menek must’ve sensed the words weren’t landing.

“Look…I don’t usually share this but…I loved another woman before I met Diodra. I must have been around your age. Gods, feels like forever ago.”

They shared a quick laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m old. Get over it,” Menek chuckled, but then his tone softened. “We met while I was traveling west, and I was married before I knew what hit me.”

The old man smiled to himself, briefly caught in the warmth of memory. But when he spoke again, his voice had shifted, measured and careful.

“A year later, we had a house in the city of Yeruamon, right on the north shore of the sea. Safe. Tucked away. I stopped bringing her on long journeys, because I thought keeping her close to home meant keeping her safe…”

His voice grew quiet.

“Then one day…she got sick. I don’t know when exactly. I wasn’t there. By the time I got back, after months away, a thousand miles from home…it was too late. Our friends and neighbors had already buried her.”

This man had already lost the love of his life…and lived long enough to have been blessed with another. The thought hit Antion like a rock to the chest.
He knew what Menek was trying to say, but…

How could he even think of moving on from Rokhsa?

“Years passed before I met Diodra,” Menek said. “By then, I’d already surrendered to the road. But when we first locked eyes, I swear, it was almost as if all my old heartache just…melted away.”

Menek walked on beside him, eyes fixed ahead, the dunes stretching on and on.

“I’ve never traveled without her since, because I didn’t want to miss having to say goodbye when the time came. I tried to keep her safe as best I could, but…”

He let out a soft murmur, then went on.

“But this journey, here and now, is far too dangerous for her to take, but even more dangerous if she didn’t. It’s bad enough I had to leave her behind for now, but I just have to help in any way that I can. For her.”

“I understand,” Antion whispered, dazed by all the old man had shared.

“What a mess we’re in, son.”

They walked on in silence, the cool sand swallowing their feet with each step. Above them, the stars stretched endlessly, mirroring the fathomless Sand Sea below.

Two opposite worlds, connected only by the observations of the mortals caught between.

A minute passed before Antion finally asked:

“What’s the furthest place you’ve ever been?”

Menek thought for a moment.

“Hmm. Good question. I used to say the Endless Ocean, for one must sail the entire length of the West Sea to reach it. But…I think I have to give it to Khirrat. Harsh land to the east of Urgesh. Just getting there takes over six months.”

“Wait,” Antion said, “you’ve been to Urgesh?”

Menek gave him a look: stern, but amused.

And half a shrug.

“I visited the capital once. Best fishcakes I ever had.”

“Really?”

“Worst service too,” Menek added with a wink.

“Damn.”

“But you know where I’ve always wanted to go?”

His eyes crinkled with a quiet smile.

“Engila, the land the flowers forgot, but the stones remember. Another lifetime, and another thousand miles north of Urgesh. The stories I’ve heard could fill a library.”

Antion could only listen.

“They say the people there have discovered the secret to living forever. And they’ll teach it to anyone willing to stay and learn.”

Again:

“Damn.”

“Indeed, son.”

 

Antion found himself back at camp, sitting with Elk as the late evening faded into the dead of night. He told his brother what Menek had shared, about the holy ones back home…how they’d never made it.

Menek might not have known it, but he finally gave Antion the means to openly mourn.

“I’m so sorry about Rokhsa,” Elk breathed. “I loved her like a sister, man…”

I loved her more…

Antion didn’t reply at first. He just stared into the fire, letting the words hang there. His heart had quieted since Ar Fira, since losing her…but it still throbbed.

“Anty, as soon as we reach the river…we run. Right?”

“…right.”

They sat there a moment longer, silent on the desert floor.

Then Elk smiled, the way only a brother could.

“Come on, man, let’s get some shut eye. These next few days are gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Antion murmured, settling onto his mat. “Glad I still got you, brother.”

Elk grinned.

“Whatever. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start kissing you goodnight.”

Antion snorted and rolled onto his side.

“You can kiss my ass goodnight.”

 

 

Chapter 9

“Good morning, soldier,” Tefriti and Vestheus beamed as Antion stirred awake.

“And to you,” he muttered, clicking his teeth and nodding, head flopping back onto the mat.

So you found me, is what he really wanted to say.

Breakfast came quick and quiet, scarfed down by human and beast alike. No one wasted time packing up. Then, once more, they vanished into the endless fathoms of the Sand Sea. Not a trace left behind.

Now back on the road and steadily gaining ground northward, they finally had time to talk without the rush.

So the couple told Antion how they’d come to join the caravan.

“…then we sold our stuff, said our goodbyes, and bought these camels on our way out.” Vestheus concluded.

Nothing to it.

“Their names are Djey and Hetep, and they are just gorgeous,” Tefriti adored as she stroked her mount. “But we waited for your people before leaving…just like you asked.”

Hetep hummed to himself, prompting Rainfall to snort and stretch her head toward the camel. Antion rubbed her neck, coaxing her back to watching the road ahead.

“Aww, they like each other,” Tefriti cooed.

“Let’s just hope they don’t start rocking the stables,” Vestheus let out with a wink. “Can you imagine those ugly bastards?”

“And here I thought I was looking at one.”

Everyone turned to look at Elk.

“Sorry, just a joke…”

“Ha! Good one!” Vestheus barked, laughing anyway.

“How did everyone react when they saw our people entering Simbuu?” Antion asked, eager to move past the jokes.

“Most panicked. About half up and joined your people, leaving everything behind to reach the Ulu. But some still plan to stay behind. And I expect the same will happen in Medun.”

Antion’s heart picked up just thinking about it.
Maybe, when Urgesh finally descended on the oases, they’d spare the lowly farmers and villagers. But more likely, a tired army – hot, hungry, and thirsty – would raid before it ever thought to trade.

Antion pushed those thoughts aside as Vestheus spoke up.

“So, you’re all going to help defend Auxua while us civilians sail away for safer shores, huh?”

“We’re going to try.”

“That is, if the city still stands,” Vestheus added, cryptic as ever.

“Then at least we tried something.”

“Yes, hmm,” Vestheus hummed, “but have you tried everything?”

Antion threw his hands up.

“You got me. What haven’t we tried?”

“Well, I’ll say this, Antion…”

Antion turned.
Vestheus was watching him now with an uncharacteristically stern look.

“I don’t believe your fate ends at Auxua. Not in more bloodshed. I think it stretches far into the shimmering future. I don’t believe you are meant to fight the enemy here, but you will conquer them in your own way.”

Antion gave pause.

“And just what is meant of me in this world? The only thing I can do is fight for my land…and die for my people.”

“Or you can live,” Vestheus replied, “and recognize your true purpose.”

Antion just shook his head.

“And who are you to tell me my fate?”

“My boy,” Vestheus said, somewhat taken aback, “you have me all wrong. I’m not trying to steer you from your path, I’m just trying to help. You are special. Don’t forget it.”

“Again, who are you to say?”

Vestheus had better get to his point; the sooner the better.

“I’m not saying, but the stars…well, they say a lot. I mean, sometimes they never shut up!”

Antion had to laugh at that.

“Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

Vestheus flashed a genuine, toothy smile.

“Of course. And I am happy to see you both,” Antion bowed. “Really.”

“Us too,” Vestheus bowed back.

Tefriti, too, returned the gesture, and off they went, trailing behind the rest of the group before long.

These people are crazy! Antion thought to himself while chuckling under his breath.

But I like them.

 

By noon, the group had stopped for lunch, skipping the fire and sticking to dried goods: baked bread with sun-dried fruits and vegetables.

Afterward, as the others were packing up, Antion spotted Raumose motioning him over.
He walked over to the commander.

“Yeah?”

“Ride with me. Let’s talk.”

The last thing Antion wanted was to be anywhere near this traitor. But instead of following his gut, he sucked it up and climbed over Rainfall’s back, his trusty mount.

Horse and rider moved alongside Raumose and his camel, the two keeping just enough distance for a private exchange.

Raumose leaned sideways and whispered, “Arkhad…he’s not who you think he is…”

Antion didn’t react outwardly.
But inside, confusion and hatred flared, threatening to erupt in every direction.

Raumose didn’t have to explain.

Antion already knew what he meant.

He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Arkhad was riding with Stolimon, the two of them appearing deep in conversation.

Antion had never known much about the former commander, but he’d heard the man wasn’t exactly pleasant.
Still, his reputation wasn’t nearly as bad as Raumose’s.

The soldiers may have feared Raumose, but Arkhad?

He had somehow managed to earn a bit of respect from the lower ranks. Some of them may have even liked him.

Of course he’s one of you.

“Why am I not surprised there’s another,” Antion huffed, slowly shaking his head.

“Actually, there were three of us in the beginning,” Raumose admitted. “The other died just after we arrived in Ar Fira, caught something nasty. That just leaves me and…”

“So the three of you infiltrated our city, betrayed us to hell and back, and now here we are, roasting alive in the middle of the desert, probably marching to our deaths as we speak.”

Antion’s voice dropped to a quiet growl.
“Anything else I’m missing?”

Raumose seemed to grow impatient with his attitude.

“Look, we only came for the real prize.”

“The real prize?”

“From what I gathered, it was something big, something dangerous, and well hidden…a weapon I assumed. And the General, he was already obsessed with Ar Fira by the time I first met him. He was convinced something was buried there, so he sent me in…to weaken the city for a future invasion.”

“What was the point of that?” Antion asked, confused.

“Because,” Raumose lingered for a second, “if Ar Fira really did have a weapon like that, something powerful enough to stop an army, and you were up against an enemy like Urgesh, wouldn’t you use it?”

“I guess…”

“Exactly…only, I never found anything. After a while, I started thinking maybe it never existed, that the General got it wrong.”

Raumose just started shaking his head.

“I figured…I thought this information would doom Ar Fira, because it meant that we had no bargaining tool. Nothing to offer Ashagyur whenever he finally swept through.”

Antion, however, wasn’t buying that for a second.

“Here we are two weeks out, hundreds of miles down the road, and we still haven’t reached the end of this desert. Would he have really gone through all this effort to take the city if you’d have just told him his prize was somewhere else?”

The look in Raumose’s eyes spoke volumes.

“Trust me,” he said, “in all my years under him, that man never left a single stone unturned. A city our size? Doesn’t matter how far out in the wasteland it sits. Sooner or later, it was going to attract the carnivores. And the General…he’s as hungry as they come.”

Those words sent a shiver down Antion’s spine.

Raumose, however, kept going.

“But yeah, I believe the General wanted Ar Fira more than he needed it. Like I said, the city was an obsession for him, and he had to have it. It was almost as if…as if taking the city was the sole purpose for the invasion of Ashwari…”

He trailed off for a beat…before looking Antion dead in the eye, his gaze like iron.

“I never believed for a second that we could hold them off forever, but I had hoped to buy our people just a little more time than what we gave them in the end. I thought we could hold out for days, maybe even weeks…and then they crushed us in a single afternoon…”

Raumose cut himself short, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I know it’ll never be enough…but I did everything I could for our people.”
“They’re not your people!” Antion hissed, still aware of the discretion they needed to take.

But Raumose refused to back down.

“I realize I’m just a filthy traitor in your eyes, but I’ve lived in Ar Fira since you were still a boy. It was my home, just as much as it was yours.”

Antion had nothing to say.

Either Raumose was a master manipulator, or the man was truly spilling his guts out.

Antion could crush it right here.
Say something to end it.
But instead, he took a breath.

“So…you think he’s on to you?”

He jerked his head slightly toward Arkhad.

Raumose kept his eyes forward as he spoke:

“Here’s the thing, no one in Ashwari knew Urgesh was coming. No one except us. And instead of weakening the city like we were supposed to, I did the opposite. I’m the one who built up our army. I’m the one who reinforced our defenses. And I’m the one currently trying to lead our people out of this storm. Arkhad would be a fool not to figure it out by now.”

“So why didn’t he leave sooner?” Antion pressed, still trying to fit the pieces together. “Why not slip out of the city and run back to the General?”

“He knew I’d be watching for it,” Raumose said. “If he ran, I’d have every soldier in the city on his ass. But I couldn’t just kill one of our commanders. And I couldn’t chain him up, either. If he broke, he’d expose me.”

Raumose shook his head.

“No, this is his one chance. He’s been itching to get ahead of me from the start, challenging me behind my back, riling up the rest of the soldiers…trying to get rid of me. He wants to reach the General before I do…and if he does, I’m afraid our plans won’t count for much.”

Antion rolled his eyes and sat back on his horse, trying to process it all.

Another mole.
Still faithful to the empire.
Riding with them, waiting to rat Raumose out the first chance he got.

And if he reached the General first, then he would set his vicious hordes upon the unsuspecting exiles before they had a chance to reach the river up north.

In other words:

Complete annihilation.

But something still nagged at Antion.

“What about this…thing he wants? Could it really be a weapon?”

“Right now, I think we should worry about getting rid of Arkhad, before he gets rid of us,” Raumose grumbled. “Then we can take turns guessing what that madman’s looking for out here. Until then, eyes to the front, ears to the back. We’ll talk more later.”

Antion sighed and settled back in the saddle atop Rainfall. Raumose trotted ahead, leaving him behind.

But then, Antion felt it.

Like a tug at the back of his skull, some invisible thread pulling him off course.

Against Raumose’s advice, he turned his head…and saw Arkhad.
Staring right at him.

 

That night, long after supper had been devoured, Antion, Vestheus, and Tefriti wandered away from the camp.

They found a cool patch of sand and laid down to stargaze, letting the desert night settle around them.

Once they’d grown still, Vestheus spoke:

“You know, if one can read the stars, one can read the future.”
“Is that so?” Antion asked.

“Ancient Kresian wisdom,” Vestheus said without taking his eyes off the skies. “They believe everyone’s fate is written up there, just waiting to be read.”

Antion smirked.

“And here I thought you worshipped the real gods.”

“Who’s to say the western divinities aren’t real?” Tefriti chimed in. “They could be our gods in disguise. They could even be from the same family. Who knows?”

“Yeah, Khenet’s cousins, twice removed,” Antion humored them.

Vestheus kept staring skyward, as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“Sometimes I get the feeling the gods aren’t looking back at me at all,” he said. “In those moments, I wonder if they even exist. Is that crazy?”

“I guess I’ve thought the same thing once or twice,” Antion admitted.

Vestheus sighed.

“You hear about miracles performed in the past, or in far off lands that you’ll never visit in your life, and it makes you wonder if that’s all they ever were…just legends…”

Nobody said a word for a long time.

And that was fine.
They were tired, and no one wanted to disturb the translucent silence blanketing the land.

After a while, Vestheus spoke again:

“On nights like these, I’d lie back and stare up at these same stars… and just talk to the gods.”

The bearded man then laughed to himself.

“You know how they are; they don’t like to talk back. But that doesn’t mean they’re not listening. I’d ask for signs, little answers to the questions I didn’t know how to answer. Should I travel today? Should I pursue this? Should I fast this week?

“And sometimes, it felt like the gods would respond. A spark in the sky. A sudden twinkle. Or, once, my house nearly burned down, and I knew I had my answer.”

Antion glanced over and saw the couple laughing softly.

“And one time,” Vestheus said, “I asked the gods something that changed my life forever. That same night, they gave me a sign. Three massive, blazing lights raced across the dark skies, so bright that I had to shield my poor eyes, and yet I couldn’t look away.”

He sat up slightly, his voice lowering.

“The first one was the biggest and brightest. It outshone the other two by far. The second one, not quite as big, not quite as bright, but fiercer. It burned hot, like it still had fight in it. And the last one was smaller, nowhere near as brilliant as the first two. It trailed behind like it was trying to catch up, but it never could…”

Antion looked over at Vestheus again and found the man staring back at him.

“And just like that, I had my answer.”

“And what was your question?”

A smile…

“I asked them the very question of my fate, the only question I ever truly carried in my heart. And what they told me in those dark skies, I am fulfilling this very second. I asked them: What is my destiny?”

A good question.

“And what is your destiny?”

Vestheus just let out another small laugh.

Tefriti rubbed her husband’s belly and sighed sweetly.

No more words of wisdom.

No more talk of destiny.

And just like that, Antion had his answer.

 

6 days ago

 

Just a week prior, she’d been home, spending one last night with her beloved before they walked their separate paths.

A week from now…she shuddered to imagine where she’d end up. Her captors weren’t big on answers.

From Masayiq onward, all she could gather was that they were heading east, against the current of the Ulu River.

It was the lifeblood of Ashwari, the course that allowed the gods to return to the land in times of need. Now?

City after city.

Ruin after ruin.

Death after devastation.

It all started to look the same.

The smoke had long since cleared, giving them a full view of the damage from their position on the river. Civilization in the valley clung close to the Ulu’s banks, reliant on the water for everything.

And so, Rokhsa was forced to witness every atrocity the invaders left in their wake.

Anum-Thros, however, seemed to revel in it.

He stood at the front of the ship, calmly watching the past months of carnage drift by.

Men passed her in varying states of uniform – some glaring, others pretending she wasn’t there – on their way to speak with her captor.

Eventually, he came and sat beside her on the plain, hard deck.

He began to hum.

The melody was soft.

Almost beautiful.

But its source was hideous.

She tried to ignore him, something he didn’t seem to mind.

Instead, she focused on the setting sun. The quiet waters. Anything but the stench of scorched flesh and seared stone.

“I have a question, musa. Real quick,” Anum-Thros said after a stretch of silence. “Just curious, but what was your role in the temple? What did you do?”

Rokhsa didn’t want to answer, but her will to resist had long since withered.

“I was a seer…I guess. I couldn’t see forward or back, but I could see the present. Different realms. Different places. Anywhere I chose.”

“And you chose this path?”

“It chose me.”
“Can you see different places in this realm? Say…Auxua?”

Rokhsa shut her mouth at once.

“I’m kidding,” Anum-Thros lightly chuckled. “Trick question.”

“Even if I could, I need the proper ritual, and the Lord’s blessing.”

Anum-Thros shifted beside her.

“Do you think your Lord is out here tonight?”

Again, Rokhsa kept quiet.

And again: “Trick question. I already know the answer. For a seer, you’re not very good.”

She had had enough of this man’s wretched games…
“Is this why I’m still alive? So I could predict your war? Well here’s a prophecy: Ashwari will never die!”

“Whoa, now that’s what I’m talking about!” Anum-Thros exclaimed as he climbed to his feet. “I knew you had that fire in you.”

Rokhsa felt played, so she turned her back on the bastard and shut her eyes. She did not let one tear get through, even as her captor just laughed and walked back toward the ship’s cabin.

“Keep that fire stoked, musa. You’re going to need it.”

Not a single tear got through that night.

Not one…

…okay.

Maybe one.

 

5 days ago

 

Last night, they reached a small village on the Ulu’s banks. Waiting just off the docks was a simple but well-made carriage, likely “repurposed” from the locals, to carry them inland to a massive fortress.

That cursed compound stood like an angry god, looming over the distant city of Auxua, whose lights Rokhsa could barely make out a mile and a half away.

Wider than it first appeared, its bulk swallowed the land in the dark. Dim lights guided them through empty streets and silent trees, revealing only shadows.

Faint impressions of the horrors that might lie within.

At last, they entered the fortress itself. They walked through the main courtyard, into the dark belly of the beast.

What was waiting for her?

Her captor was saluted and bowed to every stretch of the way. Anum-Thros clearly enjoyed the respect (and fear) he commanded from these men, even if he walked on with quiet dignity.

But he couldn’t hide that evil smile.

Once inside, however, the atmosphere shifted.

Torches and candles had been freshly lit for their arrival, leaving every stone surface touched by warm light.

Their path was laid out ahead, crystal clear and free of dark web, until they reached a large chamber-room on the second floor.

Inside, a fire was lit within the hearth on the other side, and a large man sat in a comfortable-looking chair, facing away from them.

Anum-Thros held her back, hand tight on her arm, before stepping forward to greet the stranger.

The man turned to see who had disturbed him before climbing to his feet.

The two men met in the middle. Her captor bowed, and then they spoke at great lengths in their native language. Occasionally, one of them motioned toward her.

And every time, her heart jumped.

She did not want this stranger’s attention.

Finally, the men approached her, Anum-Thros hanging back just a step. The large man brought his old, fat face down to hers.

All she could hear was his nose, breathing slow and rhythmic. His bushy, graying beard dominated most of his face, but his deep blue eyes commanded everything else.

He said nothing, so she did the same, but she held her shaky stance.

Was he going to say something?

Anything to break the awful silence?

Instead, he leaned back, smiled…
And winked.

Then, with a casual wave goodnight, he turned and walked slowly back to his chair by the fire.

Anum-Thros gave a soft whistle to get her attention, then nodded toward the door.

She was led outside again, this time into a different courtyard, where tents stood tall, woven from richly spun fabric.

He brought her to one of the smaller tents and pulled back the entrance flap.

“This one’s all yours, for as long as we’re here anyway,” Anum-Thros said after the quick tour. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

She looked around.

The tent held a proper bed in one corner, a pair of small stools with fresh clothes and towels neatly folded on top, and a large rug spread out in the center.

The rug was beautiful: intricate, hand-woven, clearly valuable. Candles lit the space with warm, flickering light, as if the entire tent had been prepared just for her.

But in the end, it still felt like a prison.

“Sleep tight,” Anum-Thros bid her, already turning to leave.

Part of her felt relief.
The other part felt even more lost…
And more afraid.

She crossed the tent and fell onto the bed, which sat raised on a simple wooden frame. Rolling onto her side, she shut her eyes.

It was surprisingly cozy.

And without constant eyes tracking her every move, she found comfort in the cool, threaded sheets.

But then it hit her:

This was why they gave her so much freedom.

There was nowhere to go.

If she was meant to escape, then a leap into the river, a mad dash through the desert; any of these better plans than trying to sneak out of this fortress.

But that was last night.

Tonight, she found sleep easier.
The routine had begun to settle in, and at least, for now, they were keeping her occupied, keeping her alive.

For now.

 

3 days ago

 

She was kept well fed, allowed to bathe in solitude, and most importantly, left alone to pray in peace to her own gods.

That day, she was permitted to walk the grounds, though not without someone watching her every step. She decided to climb up to the fortress roof and look out over the land.

Her beautiful country, the one that had cradled her people since the first dawn, stretched out in all directions.

Endless and eternal.

Rokhsa had never been so far from home.
But even here, she could still see its beauty.

She looked toward the waters.

The endless green snake of trees and brush wrapped around the blue serpent of the river. Together, they wound through the valley, up and down, forever and always.

This was the Ulu Anra.

The river of two hearts.

Two hearts, yes.

But one remained hidden from mortal eyes, a second river, running in spirit more than sand.

It was the light of the Lord, the second waters from heaven, flowing beneath the surface of the world.

“Lord bless the Ulu two,” she whispered.

Two hearts, forever entwined…

She missed her man more than ever in that moment, if that was even possible.

His scent. His warmth. The memory of his touch.

The feeling of his lips on hers. The strength in his hands.

The things she loved most about him…were fading.

It’s too soon to lose you again…

The day was bright, but her mind was clouded. She found a seat on a small bench atop the roof and watched the world pass by.

And right before her eyes, the land had changed.

It changed in tone.

It changed in pride.

It changed in ownership.

Nothing would ever be the same.

“Musa.”
She hadn’t noticed Anum-Thros appear until his voice broke through her haze.
He waved off the guard without a word and climbed the rest of the stairs, pulling up two stools across from her.

“It’s time.”

Just then, the large man from the other night emerged behind him, the same man who had sat by the fire without saying a word to her.

There was no mistaking him now.

The name she kept hearing in whispers, catching fragments whenever she dared to listen in on passing conversations:

…Parsh Ashagyur…Parsh Ashagyur…

Anum-Thros confirmed it with a formal introduction, the only man he bowed to, it seemed.

The great, bearded General lumbered over and took a seat.
Only then did Anum-Thros take his.

“Musa, this is Parsh, uh…General Ashagyur. Commander-in-Chief and Field Marshal of the Royal Urgesh Army.”

The General smiled and bowed his head.

And when he lifted his head again, he stared straight into Rokhsa’s eyes.

“You…” he struggled in stilted Ashwaran, “you are…are so…”

She knew this was coming.

She stifled a sob as her mind raced ahead to the inevitable words.

…beautiful…a goddess…he had to have her…and he wouldn’t take no…

This was it…the gods had truly failed her.

Instead:

“You are…sorrow. I am…sorry.”

The General paused, searching for the right words. Then he tapped on Anum-Thros’ shoulder and spoke in their shared tongue.

“He wants you to know how sorry he is for what happened to your old home,” Anum-Thros translated, hardly containing his smile, “but he also wants you to know that your new home eagerly awaits you…in Urgesh.”

Rokhsa just stared, confused.

What did this monster care for what he devoured? What did he care for the lives he ruined, the lives he swallowed?

He could call it sorrow, regret, or anything else…it would never undo what he did.

The General reached out for her retreating hand. He lifted it slowly to his forehead, holding it there in seeming lament.

“I am sorry…but…”

Rokhsa looked into those fierce eyes, not knowing what to expect next, yet not daring to tear her hand away.

“Where is…the Silent River?”

She blinked, confused, trying to respond.

But either he missed it…or he didn’t believe it.

“Where is it?”

“What? I don’t –”

“– Where. Is. The Silent. River?”

 

 

 

Chapter 10

Antion was jolted awake by a shadowed figure standing over him, silhouetted against the bright morning sky and blinding desert glare.

It was only his Commander.
Raumose…or whatever his real name was.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Mmm, yeah, I’m up,” Antion grumbled.

Then, Raumose leaned in close and whispered, “We’re going to reach Auxua tonight. He needs to go before that.”

If Antion wasn’t awake yet…he was now.

“So…I need to know you got my back. It’s now or never.”

Antion sat straight up.

He didn’t fully understand what those words meant, but the look in Raumose’s eyes said everything. He nodded and got up to face whatever the day was about to throw at them.

Raumose walked over to his camel, Hhu, and pulled his sword from the pack, fastening it snug on his belt.

Antion watched as the man composed himself – shoulders back, chin high – then started toward Arkhad.

Antion felt it in his gut.
This was it.

He grabbed his own sword and quickly fell in behind the commander, keeping his distance.

But Arkhad must’ve sensed something.
He stopped packing.

Antion couldn’t make out what Raumose said, but Arkhad’s surprise shifted into anger. Then, with calculated calm, Arkhad wiped the expression from his face.
And mouthed the words:

“Bring it on.”

Raumose drew his sword and took a step forward, but Arkhad was faster. He leapt back, unsheathing his blade in a blur.

Raumose charged and swung hard, but Arkhad knocked the strike aside with ease.

He countered, jabbing, prodding, testing Raumose’s defenses. But the commander danced back, nimble on his feet.

Then Raumose lunged, this time with a fist.
It missed the mark by inches, glancing off Arkhad’s shoulder instead. A solid hit, but Arkhad barely stumbled.

On the sidelines, Stolimon looked ready to leap in, until Raumose roared:

“STAY BACK!!”

Stolimon reluctantly backed off, though he kept his eyes locked on the fight, just like everyone else in camp.

Raumose turned just as Arkhad lunged again, stabbing fast and relentless, trying to catch him off guard.

But then Arkhad feinted to the side, lashing out with a sharp kick to Raumose’s exposed flank. The hard sole of his sandal scraped down the commander’s shin, tearing skin.

Blood spilled down his leg.
But Raumose didn’t falter.

He was far from finished.

Sensing an opening, Arkhad lunged again, this time, aiming to kill! Raumose parried just in time, but caught an elbow square across the chin.

Raumose staggered back, struggling to stay upright, but it seemed that his legs had given up before his spirit did.

His knees sank down low into the sand…a bit too low…and then his sword fell from his hand…

Arkhad saw his victory and charged once again to take it.

He was nearly on top of Raumose when the commander suddenly pulled a knife from his belt and lunged low.

He slammed into Arkhad’s waist, driving them both into the sand. The tackle knocked the sword from Arkhad’s hand and the air from his lungs.

Then Raumose seized his head and drove the blade up through his chin.

Tefriti cried out behind them.

Arkhad thrashed, slamming both fists into Raumose’s skull.
Blows rained down, wild and brutal.

But even Antion could see his strength was draining with the blood.

Too much blood.

Still, Arkhad fought on.
He clawed at Raumose’s face, ripping skin, drawing pained screams.

But soon…Arkhad’s fighting died down…his attacks became weaker and weaker…

And then he too died.

Antion came rushing over to help pull Raumose to his feet, but he continued to sway in place even after Antion let go.

He turned his head to look at Antion; one eye blackened, the other swollen nearly shut. His face and arms were marked with blood, bruises, and open wounds.

Gods!

Antion spun around, shouting for Elk to fetch water while he ran for the bandages.

Raumose was a mess, but with a few days’ rest in Auxua, he’d survive.

Back at his side, Antion pressed a wet cloth to his face. Raumose took it and leaned into the cool relief, then glanced toward the others.

His breathing slowed…but the weight hadn’t lifted.
He looked more worn than wounded.

Still though, he addressed the camp with his usual bravado:

“Listen up, soldiers! It’s come to my attention that this worthless dog was planning some kind of uprising. I want everyone who’s been in on it to step forward. Now!”

They all stood like statues. No one dared defend the dead man lying before them.

What was even the point?

Raumose gave a satisfied nod, then staggered toward his camel. He hauled himself up into the saddle with effort.

Then, turning to the two soldiers Antion didn’t recognize.

“You two. Bury him. And don’t take long.”

Then Raumose turned his back on the group and trotted off toward the river, pressing the wet cloth to his bloodied face…like nothing happened.

“The rest of you, come on!”

There was a pause.
A silent beat where no one moved.

Then, slowly, they followed.
One by one, they did as they were told.

Antion just stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what he’d just seen.
What he’d just let happen.

 

Two weeks of scorching sands and thirsty thoughts.

Two weeks of blinding rock and desert dune, searing the dust into the minds of all who passed through.

Two weeks of torture at the hands of desert-dwelling demons.

They had nearly forgotten what beauty looked like…

But there it was.

From the edge of the Ulu River Valley, they saw for miles: a sweep of green, trees and fields stretching to every horizon.

There were huts and homes clustered in certain areas, many with smokestacks puffing away.

Around the farms, a dozen kafqi – field guardians – flew through the air, cloth hawks stretched over wooden frames, their red-tipped wings and fluttering cloth “legs” dancing in the high breeze, all tethered to the ground by rope.

And beyond them lay the glorious, ancient city of Auxua. It still clung to the green horizon’s edge, but even from miles away, its beauty was unmistakable.

Or had two weeks in the despairing desert been enough time to make a broken-down barn look like a palace?

Beyond Antion’s sight, the river flowed west toward the sea, where Ashwari, Kresia, and Yerua met near the center of the world.
As the sun set, their caravan descended into the Ulu River Valley, where yellow sand gave way to green grass and thriving brush.

And so many trees!

Palm and acacia, cypress and sycamore, pomegranates and poppies; trees of every shape and color burst from the dirt like guardians of the valley, while birds soared overhead, their songs echoing paradise.

The Ulu River Valley, stretching hundreds of miles east to west, once belonged to the ancient kingdoms of Anthrybis, who united Ashwari and beyond under a single dynasty.
Along its banks, they built many cities; some still standing, still thriving, even if the royal lines that raised them had faded long ago.
After the fall, Kresian migrants crossed the West Sea and settled here, bringing their riches, cultures, and kings of their own; some of whom reshaped the cities in their image.

Even Auxua, whose old name was Akhamet, now bore a different identity.

Now, as night crept over the quiet land, they rode past tents and scattered shacks, refugees from the west, clinging to the edges of a city born of two legacies.

A fall far from former glory.

The closer they came to Auxua, the livelier it grew, and Antion found himself overwhelmed by all he saw.
The scent of spiced meats and herbs hung in the air, mingling with smoke from fires and incense burning through the night.
Some smells were familiar; others hinted at faraway origins. Goats bleated somewhere, and camels groaned in the distance.

Then…the merchants attacked!

“– Sir! Mighty warrior!”

“– Beds for Khenet’s finest!”

“– We have weapons! Leather! Iron too!”

“– Proud soldier, aren’t you tired? I have food, water, beds!”

“– Even soldiers need rest and…relaxation!”

Vendor stands lined the road, selling everything from spices to weapons to vices, growing only thicker the closer they got to Auxua.

“– You there! Strong man!”

“– Salt for sale! Food as well! Big strong warriors need to eat!”

“– Strong soldiers need love too! Come inside and take a load off!”

Antion just stared.
The merchant stared back, eyebrows raised, gesturing eagerly toward him and Elk.

“You there! That’s quite a load! My girls can take care of that!”

Antion waved the merchant off.

The man moved on, trying to tempt Elk, Stolimon, and the others toward one of the colorful tents nearby, where vague shadows danced seductively within.
Elk turned and grinned at his brother.
“First hour’s on this guy,” Emenes called from behind.

They kept laughing, even as the world slipped further into chaos. Since spotting Auxua on the horizon, the mood had lifted, if only slightly.
And yet…that morning still lingered well on into the night, like an unwelcome parasite gnawing at the back of their minds.

Raumose had murdered Arkhad in full view of the camp, right after revealing to Antion that he’d been an Urgesh spy all along.

Was it all just to make Antion’s head spin?

If so, it was working.

Either way, nobody dared outright challenge the commander after that. But the whispers grew louder behind his back, even among the original ah-Karg.

The thought vanished as they finally passed through the gates of Auxua the Great. Thick mudbrick and stone walls framed its massive wooden doors, thrown wide open even in times of war.

Crowds moved on both sides of the street like two opposing currents in uneasy harmony. As they rode in, Antion was hit with a thousand sensations at once:
Voices shouted over each other.
Spices stung his eyes and nose.
Body odor and animal stench clung to the back of his throat.

Auxua was easily twice the size of Ar Fira. Antion could tell that long before reaching the gates, but being inside the belly of this great beast was something else entirely.

“Gods, it stinks!” Elk spat out.

“Welcome to the city,” Menek chuckled, clapping his hands together. “Commander!”

Raumose turned.

“I know a couple places that’ll take us in for the night. I can lead us there.”

“No need,” Raumose dismissed. “We’re staying in the barracks. We’re soldiers of this army too.”

He then turned to Vestheus and Tefriti.

“Except you two. This is where we part.”

“What?”

Vestheus, caught off guard by the commander’s callousness, began to beg.

“Please, I can help too if it means my wife and I have a place to stay for the night. Please! We have no money left!”

He glanced at Antion, who could only watch as the ah-Karg turned their backs.

“No.”

Raumose turned to lead the caravan onward, but Menek stepped forward.

“And where does that leave me?”

Raumose gave him a hard look.

“If you can help us, then you’re coming with.”
“And what about my wife when she arrives?”

Raumose gritted his teeth.

“I will make sure she is taken care of. I will make sure all of our people are taken care of.”
“Well, what about them?” Menek snapped, pointing at the couple. “Don’t they count?”

“Don’t push your luck, old man! They aren’t one of us.”

Antion just stared at Raumose, the words burning in his throat.

Neither are you, you son of a bitch!

While the others followed the commander, the abandoned couple stood alone to watch as the dust kicked up in their faces.

Antion, however, felt differently.

“Forget him. Here.”

He dug into his bag and handed Vestheus a few silver pieces.

“Get out of here, leave this land. Go to Kresia, go south, just get out of this city. Sell everything if you have to, just go.”

Vestheus stared at Antion, frozen in panic.

“But I was meant to help you. This isn’t how it ends –”

“– Stop it!” Antion shouted. “Some things even the gods can’t control.”

He nudged his horse forward, catching up with the caravan. Just once, he looked back.

The couple had drawn their camels close, foreheads touching, eyes closed, whispering words meant only for each other.
He turned away, trying to forget them, but Vestheus and Tefriti had already left their mark: they were everything he wanted with Rokhsa, an unbreakable love, even in a world at war.

Does she wait just beyond these city walls?

Antion’s thoughts were cut short as they reached a fortified corner of the city, walled off from the rest of Auxua, with armed guards posted at the entrances.

Raumose rode up to them.

“I am Commander Raumose, leader of the last of Ar Fira’s army. I need to speak with the commanding officer.”

The caravan was led to a stall house just inside the fort, where their animals were taken. Once everyone dismounted, Raumose gave the next orders.

“Emenes, Antion, Menek. You’re with me. Everyone else, wait here.”

The four of them followed the soldier through the Auxuan bastion, up a flight of stone stairs to a room at the end of a long hall.

Inside, wooden benches and stands lined the walls, draped with military standards and scattered with official-looking documents. A bed sat in one corner, an ornate rug at its foot.

At the center stood a lone table.

Moonlight spilled through the windows, joined by the soft glow of a single candle burning on the table, its light casting long shadows over what looked like a model of Auxua and the lands beyond.

The miniature sat on a square wooden slab, separate from the table, with small wooden pieces marking the city’s buildings and temples; simplified, but recognizable.
The Ulu River slithered across the board in dull blue paint, a poor echo of its true grandeur.
But what caught Antion’s eye was what lay “downstream”:

A whole city of tiny cloth strips, each propped up by thin wooden shards, encircling a massive fortress just beyond Auxua.

So that’s the enemy.

If the model was to scale, the enemy camp nearly matched the city in size. Auxua was the largest city in Ashwari, home to perhaps thirty or forty thousand, but even that couldn’t stand against an army of this scale, even if every citizen took up a spear.

Behind them, a striking man strode into the room, clad in polished armor over a red and blue underrobe. He stood nearly half a head taller than Raumose, but Raumose didn’t flinch, offering a solemn nod.

“Captain Senduru,” Raumose bowed, clearly recognizing the officer.

“And you are?”

“Commander Raumose of Ar Fira, at your service. The city fell after heavy fighting. We lost many good men, but the rest of us are here now, ready to offer our spears.”

With a confident nod, he added:

“Fortunately, battle is all we know.”
The Auxuan captain looked them over, seeming to gauge their worth. After a few seconds, the captain sighed.

“Ar Fira is gone?”

The captain shook his weary head.

“I’m sorry…are you all that remains?”

“Our people are still on the road,” Raumose replied. “They’ll arrive within the week, with many more warriors among them.”

Captain Senduru eyed Menek.

“And who’s this? He doesn’t look like a fighter to me.”

Before Menek could answer, Raumose stepped in again.

“He’s a civilian, but he claims to understand the enemy’s siege craft, how they breached our gates, and many others I presume.”

The captain’s face suddenly grew pale, even under the warm glow of candlelight.

“I know what you speak of,” he nodded slowly. “I saw it for myself…watched from here as they blew a hole right through my fortress.”

He turned to Raumose.

“And it only took them a day to rebuild it.”

Antion glanced at Raumose. The man stood like a statue, unblinking.

“You know what their message was after they took our fortress?” the captain asked. “An ox-cart full of the heads of my officers, with the overseer’s at the top…along with those of his family.”

The room fell silent.

Even Raumose winced, his expression betraying a rare moment of horror.

Captain Senduru led them to the table, where only two chairs waited. He offered the last to Raumose, who hesitated before sitting.

Maybe no one else noticed the shift in him.
But Antion did.

The captain then turned to Menek.

“So, what do you have? How do they conquer and destroy so easily?”

Antion and Emenes leaned against the wall, settling in.

For the next half hour, they exchanged nothing but confused glances as the other three men rambled about the elemental properties of various compounds and mixtures.

Something about dark magic and strange substances from the earth…most of it flew right over Antion’s head.

He looked at Emenes again. Same blank stare.
Yeah…they definitely weren’t the smartest ones in the room.

“IIf they’re lighting the charges with fire, then we station men along the walls with water from the river, ready to douse the fuses the moment they’re lit. Do it right, and we can drive them back. Here and now!”

Senduru smiled, “I like your spirit, Menek. I think this could work.”
Raumose nodded, saying, “He’s a smart man, Captain. That’s why I brought him.”

Senduru rose from his chair.

“So, we’ve got tactics to hold the walls, and a few compounds of our own to test. Now it’s time I showed you just what we’re up against.”

The captain led them out of the room, down the hall, and up several flights of stairs, until they reached the very top of the city walls themselves.

From up here, they could see far across the land on this cool, cloudless night. Though it was dark, Antion spotted a fortress-like structure barely a mile away.

The enemy had lit hundreds of fires. In their glow, faint outlines of countless tents emerged, promising thousands more soldiers within, each with their dark hearts set on death and destruction.

Gods…

“That fortress they’re occupying,” the captain said, “is called Wen’at. It’s the first thing they captured when they arrived here. Since seizing the river downstream, they’ve had a steady flow of supplies coming in from the west. Now, they’re too dug in to launch an attack.”

“Why haven’t they made a move yet?” Menek asked.

“I’ve been asking the same damn thing for weeks,” the captain hissed. “They have the numbers. They have their…weapon. I just don’t know what they’re waiting for.”

…but did Raumose?

Speaking of:

“And how many men do they have?” he asked.

“We estimate twenty, maybe twenty-five thousand.”

Raumose narrowed his eyes.

“Twenty? We had less than half that when they hit us. And how many soldiers do we have here?”

The captain’s voice softened.

“Ten thousand able-bodied…but real soldiers? Maybe five.
We’re recruiting civilians, but we can’t train them fast enough. They’re willing to die for Auxua, but who knows how it’ll go down when the fighting begins.”

Antion looked out from the western wall. The air may have been cool that night, but the atmosphere was on fire.

The distant giant that was Urgesh waited, maybe for the right moment to strike, or for more fighters to sail up the river, or to brew more dark concoctions.
Or maybe…they were waiting for Auxua’s surrender.

“They sit there, expecting us to cower behind our walls,” the captain spat through clenched teeth. “But we’ll train, grow stronger, and prepare for the greatest moment in our city’s proud history.”

“No greater glory!” Raumose raised.

The captain turned to the last of the Arfirans. He clasped Raumose’s forearm and shook it firmly.

“You’re brave men. I’m honored to have you here.”

He shook Emenes’ arm, then moved to Menek, who said nothing. He just nodded and gripped firmly, fear and courage in equal measure.

Finally, he came to Antion.

They locked eyes.

“Are you proud to be here, warrior?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you going to fight with all your soul and spear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you afraid to die for this land?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Antion, sir.”

“Antion, of Ar Fira…”

The captain clasped Antion’s forearm and shook it with vigor.

“…you honor this land with your very presence. May Khenet smile upon you in the heat of battle.”

“And the Lord with you, sir.”

With that, the captain led them back down into the stronghold. They didn’t have far to go before reaching their new quarters.

The room was spacious, lined with mats, thin blankets, and pillows. Nothing more.
Four walls. That’s what Antion preferred.

“I want everyone to get some sleep. You’ll need it tomorrow,” Raumose told them. “And, captain?”

Captain Senduru turned and nodded slowly.

“A word please…in private.”

Senduru nodded, and the two left without another word.

Antion took stock of the room.

One side was packed with Auxuan soldiers, some asleep, others just roused by their arrival.
The other side held fewer bodies; Stolimon, Elk, and the rest of their scout team among them.

Antion spotted his belongings beside Elk’s mat.
Elk jumped up when he saw him, and the two slipped out, leaving the others to settle in.

They spoke in hushed tones as they wandered the fort.

“I got a good look at Urgesh, Elk. Their army is…” Antion shook his head, exhaling hard, “just that half over there…it’s massive.”

Elk stood dumbstruck in the dim hallway, where moonlight seeped in from a few narrow windows had been carved out from the walls.

“So we’re doomed, is that it?” Elk muttered.

“Not necessarily. Menek and the city captain are working on some ways to defend against…whatever Urgesh has.”

Elk just stared at Antion with all the intensity of the sun.

“Do you think we have a chance?”

The question struck Antion fierce. He wanted to give his brother something that might put him at ease, if only for the night…but he couldn’t…

“No…”

Simply, no.

“Then it’s settled,” Elk replied, his voice drained of all emotion.

“What is?”

“We head west. We’ll swim across the Ulu if we have to, just keep going until we reach the sea. By this time next month, we’ll be kicking back on some tropical beach, pretending this was all just a bad dream.”

Antion agreed on the outside, but on the inside his guts were a squirming mess.

Leaving everything behind would be easy. The hard part was leaving behind the hope of ever seeing Rokhsa again.

Still, he said what he had to, to keep his brother steady.

“You know I’m in, brother, but we need to prepare as best we can,” Antion added. “A couple days at least.”

“Okay, but that’s it,” Elk nodded. “Then we’re out, ready or not.”

“You got it,” Antion assured.

He was still determined to rescue Rokhsa, even if it meant lying to his brother’s face. It made him sick, but he couldn’t reveal Raumose or the plan.
Not if there was still a chance to see her again.

Come to think of it, Raumose still hadn’t told him the full plan yet.

 

It wasn’t easy falling asleep that night, despite their exhaustion. Eventually, Elk drifted off, his deep, rhythmic breathing giving him away.

Still clinging to wakefulness, Antion stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing shadowy shapes darting through the dark.

Just as he began slipping into the dreamland of forests and temple towers…of sweet light, blue waters, and cool mugs of beer…
A figure rose from a mat down the aisle.

Antion froze, watching as it crept closer without a sound.

 

 

Chapter 11

Raumose knelt beside Antion in the still darkness.

He reached out to jostle his arm, but before he could, Antion whispered:

“What.”

The hand froze.

The body stiffened up.

The shadow leaned down.

“Come on. Let’s talk.”

Antion rose silently and followed Raumose out, stepping over mats and sleeping bodies. Only once they reached the hallway did Raumose speak.

“We’ve come this far. Now’s the time.”

“What, tonight?”

“Not tonight. But if not soon, we’ll miss our chance.”

“And this couldn’t wait until morning?” Antion yawned.

“We need to be ready at all times.”

“Right. I see…”

Raumose gave him a strange look.

“You all right?”

Antion had promised his brother they’d skip town before war broke out in Auxua. But the lie he carried cut deeper than any spear to the gut.

Still, if this mission succeeded…maybe there’d be no need to run.
Maybe then, Elk could forgive him.

“I’m fine.”

“Good,” Raumose nodded. “Come on, I want to talk topside.”

They climbed staircase after staircase until, at last, the cool Ashwaran night met them again. They even found the same spot as before, where they had stood hours ago, staring out at the enemy.

An Auxuan soldier passed by now and then, but they kept their voices low.

“We slip out through the western gates, no problem,” Raumose said. “The enemy’s focused on the city, but if we skirt south a few miles, we can circle in from the west side of their camp. Fewer eyes there, I’d wager. From there, we find the biggest tent, or fanciest room, in that fortress.”

“Biggest and fanciest?” Antion asked. “Is he not a man among his own men?”

The averted look Raumose gave him was answer enough.

Still:

“That man commands a quarter of a million soldiers across a million square miles of continental ground. He took the empire’s old borders and laid them out where they are now. He is a god among his own men.”

To hear Raumose speak of his old master…was it old admiration? Newfound respect?

“If he’s down there, he’ll be living well above the rest. But he’ll also be guarded, day and night. I just –”

Antion watched him struggle.

Raumose stared into the dark, searching for words.

“– I just don’t know how we’re going to get to him,” he finally said. “I had hoped Menek could have built us something workable, give them a taste of their own medicine, but…I don’t think that’s going to happen soon enough.”

“You’re honestly telling me you don’t know how to do it yourself?” Antion asked, eyeing him with doubt. “I mean…you are Urgeshi.”

That seemed to strike the right chord.

“Okay, let’s just get a couple things straight here!” Raumose raised a finger with his whisper. “First off, I’m not Urgeshi, I’m Madari. And second, this…this dark magic, earth-knowledge, whatever it is…it came after my time. I was just as shocked as you when they blew our gates apart.”

Antion had no response.

“Good. Great. Glad we could straighten that out.”

Whatever the hell Madari is…

Brushing that aside, Antion focused on the real problem: there was no clear way to move through the enemy camp.

No sneaking in; not with all those fires.
No fighting through; not with their numbers.

But he couldn’t give up on her now.

That left only one option…

“So…the General doesn’t know you’ve turned yet, right?”

Raumose glanced over and shook his head.

“He shouldn’t. Who’s left to tell him now?”

Then his tone darkened.

“But Antion, he could have spies anywhere like he did with me, even here in Auxua. Citizens, guards, thieves, beggars, the captain. Anybody.”

“Okay,” Antion nodded slowly, “so this man has eyes and ears everywhere. But we just got here. If he doesn’t know you’re in the city, and assuming he doesn’t know you’ve turned, then we can twist that in our favor.”

Raumose’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you getting at?”

Antion exhaled and leaned over the wall, watching the distant lights flicker across the enemy fortress.
Now and then, a shadow would pass in front of one, snuffing it out, only for the flame to return a second later.
And on it went.

“We walk straight into their camp. Right up to the General himself…and I’ll be your captive.”

Antion sighed.

“You tell him…you tell him I know where it is, and that I can take him there. Tell him…I’ll do it if he lets Rokhsa go.”

Raumose exhaled sharply.

“No. There has to be another way if we just think about it –”

“– I have been thinking about it!” Antion snapped. “Why else would he want her? So she can lead him to his prize, right? That’s why he has her.”

Raumose went quiet, refusing to meet his eyes.

Antion felt his stomach twist.

“Right?”

“I suppose he could have asked her…”

Why was it so hard for Raumose to answer the question?

“But isn’t that why he took the holy ones alive? Isn’t that…?”

Raumose finally looked at him, and slowly shook his head.

“They’re a…a prize all on their own.”

Horrified, Antion pressed on, even though every part of him wanted to stop.

“Ashagyur likes rare things. People, I should say. He collects rare people. He’ll probably want a look before they’re sent north before selling them off.”

Antion couldn’t stand to listen further.

But he didn’t dare turn from the evil Raumose spoke.

“And when he finds out just how special Rokhsa was to the Temple, he’ll take her back to his palace in the city of Urik.”

“He collects people? Alive?”

“Don’t worry, he’s going to keep her alive,” Raumose said. “Look, this is a good thing. Now we know she’s down there. And if not…at least we know where she’s going. But still…I’m sorry, Antion, but you don’t want to know what Ashagyur does with those he keeps for himself.”

Antion’s voice came low, but sharp as a blade.

“That’s the love of my life you’re talking about!”

Antion felt himself losing control again, his mind spinning with sick thoughts about Rokhsa’s dark fate.

“We gotta stay calm. This isn’t how we’re going to get her back. But believe me, we will.”

“…oh gods…”

Antion slid down the wall until he hit the floor.
He missed her so much it hurt: his head, his heart, his everything!

The darkest part of him wanted to burn it all down.
But Raumose wasn’t having it.

“Get up, soldier! There’s no moping around in this army! We’re here to win a war!”

Antion looked up at his former commander, his own personal traitor to the people. Raumose’s chest rose and fell with a mad heart beating within.

Or did he even have one?

“Have you never loved someone?” Antion asked the traitor.

Raumose looked away and exhaled sharply.

Clearly, Antion had struck deep.

“Of course I have. I had my woman once, but I had to leave her behind, to…uh…”

“Destroy my world from the inside?” Antion finished for him.

“…yeah…”

“Hard for me to sympathize right now.”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” Raumose cracked. “I need your help.”

“Help yourself.”

“Let’s get one last thing straight, boy.”

He got right in Antion’s face, his growl backed by a dangerous look in his eyes.

“What would you do if you were sent to infiltrate your enemy? Huh? And what if you’d been led your whole life to believe they were your enemy? That they wished nothing but death on you and yours? What would you do then?”

Antion kept silent.

“Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to do right by my country?”

Raumose’s voice softened…like he was lingering in ancient memories.

“Kresia, sure…they would’ve become a threat to the empire sooner or later. But Ashwari? Ar Fira? Your people were never our enemy, and I’m ashamed it took me this long to see that.”

The anger faded out…replaced now by the embers of what felt like an old fire still burning in the man.

“I had been lied to by my own people…deceived into letting thousands die by my hand. And I let the most powerful man in the world convince me your people had something worth killing for.”

The fire in Raumose’s eyes had dimmed.

In its place dropped something that sounded like remorse…if he was even capable of such a thing.

“That’s why I need your help now, Antion. Help me make it right.”

Here was the real reason for Raumose’s turn: shame.

A broken man simply trying to put all the pieces back together, but it was like fixing a shattered mirror.

It could never be whole again.

Antion tried believing in Raumose’s words.

He really did.

Because if he didn’t…he might lose his one chance at saving her, no matter how small that chance was.

“Look, I don’t think we’ll get her back just by trading your life, but your plan could at least get us both inside. Once there, we wait for the right moment. We grab her…and kill the bastard on the way out.”

“Sounds great,” Antion said dryly. “Can’t wait to be your prisoner. It was bad enough being your subordinate.”

“Hey, it was your idea,” Raumose grunted. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Still…is it enough to end this war?”

Raumose shrugged.

“Maybe, but the empire will still have its emperor. I can’t tell you that they won’t just send some new field marshal over.”

Antion exhaled a bittersweet sigh.

“As long as she’s free. That’s all I want.”

“Of course,” Raumose assured, offering his hand to pull Antion to his feet.

“And if I don’t make it…will you bring her back to her people?”

They exchanged a long, sober look.

Finally, Raumose nodded.

“I will.”

Antion began pacing, hands on his hips, trying his hardest not to let the tears fall. But of course, he could no longer hold back he had been holding in for weeks.

The hot gates were opened, and the flood came loose.

“Gods, I miss her…you have no idea.”

“Hey…look…”

Raumose sagged his shoulders, staring right into Antion’s red, puffy eyes.

“…I’m so sorry. For everything. I wish I could take it all back, I really do…but the past is set in stone, and the future has yet to be carved.”

Antion could not forgive him that night, but he took Raumose’s outstretched arm and clasped it tight.
Then he breathed deep…and stood a little straighter.

“You’re right. If we’re doing this, then we need to focus on the mission ahead.”

Raumose nodded again.

No more words were needed that night.

 

The next morning, they were jolted awake by shouting and the thunder of galloping hooves outside. Antion and Elk – hearts in their throats, terror in their veins – rushed to the window.

They witnessed absolute chaos taking over the street below!

The people were running for their very –!

No wait…it was a parade.

“What’s today?”

“Wait…is it ah-Dehu W’ah-Duu already?”

Emenes stirred on the floor, sat up, and came over.
A grin spread across his face as he spotted the glossy wooden idols of Light and Darkness gleaming in the crowd.

“No way! ah-Dehu W’ah-Duu! Sa’a sheti ah-Dehu!” he shouted.

“Sa’a sheti ah-Duu!” they echoed.

“Gods above, I hope we get some time off today!” Emenes exclaimed, and for good reason.

The Dusk and The Dawn was a special day in Ashwari, for it was the midpoint of the year. It symbolized duality and balance: light and dark, dawn and dusk, life and death.

Stolimon stirred from the noise, only to find Emenes grinning at him.

“Happy Dusk!”

“Mmm…what?”

“Happy Dusk, Stoly!”

“Don’t call me that,” Stolimon muttered as he climbed to his feet, dressing for the day. “Where’s the commander?”

“Beats me. Must’ve woken up before the rest of us.”

Daqmet and Menek had stirred too; the former groaning upright from his mat, the latter springing to the window to join the others.

Menek’s eyes lit up at the sight of the parade below.

“Ah yes, how could I have forgotten? S’a-sheti ah-Dehu, everyone!”

“Sa’a sheti ah-Duu!”

“Sa’a sheti ah-Duu!”

“Sa’a sheti ah-Duu!”

Just then, Commander Raumose strode into the barracks and parked his heels abruptly in front of the team. The others looked his way but said nothing.

Not a sound.

“Happy Dusk!” Raumose said at last.

“Happy Dawn!” they cheered back.

And all was well for now.

“Alright, listen up. Today, we’re taking a lay of the land. Talk to the soldiers, the merchants, the neighbors, pilgrims, beggars. Take note of the roads, glean whatever information you can, and keep our people in mind while you do.”

“Ey!” they all sounded off.

“Good. Now, let’s make two teams. One stays in the city, the other makes their way around the north and east perimeter. Perimeter team, focus on the roads out, especially to the east. By day’s end, I want an escape route mapped from the eastern gates. Clear??”

“Yes, Commander!” they barked.

“And I want us in full dress and arms. We’re still representing Ar Fira, men. Look like it.”

At that, the commander split them into two teams:
Antion, Elk, and Emenes on perimeter duty; Raumose, Stolimon, Daqmet, and Khewen in the city.

“Um…what do you want me to do?”

Everyone turned to the forgotten Menek, still standing by the window.

Raumose placed his hands on his sides.

“You…just work on what you need to. Help with the defenses if you can. If anyone gives you problems, tell them to take it up with me or the captain. Everyone else, move it!”

Everyone rushed to their duties, dressing in full arms and armor (sword, shield, and leather fittings) before breaking fast with whatever food they had left.

The soldiers then practically raced through the fort, eager to catch the festivities up close.

Antion, Elk, and Emenes crossed the open yard and moved along the tall wooden boundary, heading for the gate that led into Auxua proper.

From a distance, they could already see the crowds; bodies packed tight, clad in colorful clothes and billowing robes, surging through the streets like a river run wild.

Off-key woodwinds, hand drums, and drunken chants filled the air, each sound announcing the passage of rowdy folk determined to celebrate the miracle of life.

Life was beautiful.

The three of them stopped just short of the gates, pausing to admire the dedication these city-goers brought to their streets, even with doom looming just outside.

Antion felt a flicker of respect for Auxua then, though he still couldn’t get past the smell, no matter how much perfume they used to cover it up.

“After you,” Elk said, bowing with a gesture.

“Yeah, thanks,” he chuckled.

Together, they stepped into the crowd.

The streets pulsed with life, hands outstretched for greetings, for drink, for song. The people feasted, laughed, and pressed forward in celebration.

This was, after all, a celebration of life, of their way of living, of everything they’d built through the blessings of the gods.

It was a celebration of the gods…and yet, so much more.

Despite the creeping death howling beyond their walls, these people danced and drank, fearless in the face of evil.

I Am Auxua! Witness Me!

The trio quickly got swept up in the chaos, waving their arms, laughing, drinking from cups of wine passed through the crowd.

All around them, people leaned from windows and balconies stacked high above the streets.

One, two, three, even four or five stories high, they waved banners of every color, scattered holy water and rice, and chanted blessings to gods and men alike.

Before long, the trio spotted the massive northern gates rising at the far end of the city; easy to see even through the dizzying throngs of celebrants.

They slipped free from the crowd and made their way toward the towering defenses.

Even though the festival was held within the city, Antion was stunned by how many people were outside the walls.

Most seemed to be heading into Auxua, drawn by its grandeur, but hundreds more walked the roads circling the city, some likely coming up from the Ulu River nearby.

Out on the water, they spotted ferries and boats, maybe trying to whisk people away from the war.

Were they risking the journey west?
Or chancing the trek east?
Were there even any major cities east of Auxua??

Would that stop Urgesh from pursuing anyway?

Raumose said the General never left a stone unturned.

“What do you think will happen if they decide to attack right now?”

It was Emenes who asked; brave, loyal, and their only true friend from Karghur’s eternal cult of war.

Elk spoke first.

“We haul ass. That’s what.”

“Where?”

This time, Antion answered.

“We’ll go west, around the enemy. Find a port city and sail for Kresia. Anyone got a better idea?”

“…”

“…”

“Good…because that’s all I got.”

He flashed them a fake grin, and both Elk and Emenes cracked a smile.

They circled the city walls, chatting with street vendors, questioning elders at their gathering spots, and even played a game of kickball with some kids in a grassy field across the road.

Around midday, they found a vendor selling smoked meat with cold beer and decided to eat in the shade.

They tucked into a narrow alley between two large buildings pressed up against the city wall and dug in.
The food was filling, but the beer? Downright invigorating!

Afterward, they sat for a while, soaking up the cool shade, hiding from the sweltering sun.

They lazed. They joked.
They wished for easier lives.

And then came the real talk.

“Let me ask you straight, Antion. There’s no commander, no pressure…who do you think’s gonna win this battle?”

Emenes had the guts to ask it, so Antion leaned in.

“You want my honest opinion?”

“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, man…I really don’t.”

“Yeah, we’ll all feeling it, brother,” Elk sighed.

Antion glanced down, voice quieter now.

“If I’m being completely honest…I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

“Same here,” Emenes muttered. “I’ve been having crazy nightmares these last two weeks. We already lost our home, our pride…what’s the point of fighting a war we can’t win?”

“Gotta say, man, I’m surprised to hear you say that. I thought you were ah-Karg, through and through.”

Emenes sucked his teeth.

“I just fell into it, I guess. And if I’m being completely honest…I never wanted to die for this war. I just want to live. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” Antion breathed out, “it just makes you human.”

Did he say it for Emenes…or for himself?

“What about you, Elk? How you holding up?”

Elk seemed to drift somewhere far off, but when he returned, his voice was firm.

“We need to leave. Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Tonight.”

Emenes sat back with a grunt, but he nodded. This was their best shot at surviving the war…and their commander’s wrath.

They couldn’t be caught by either side. Raumose had made it clear what happened to deserters.

Hypocrite!

“Well, fuck Urgesh,” Elk snapped. “Fuck the commander. And fuck this whole war. We’re getting outta here, tonight!”

Only problem was…
How was Antion supposed to save Rokhsa if they left tonight? How was he going to keep his brother in Auxua just a little longer?

How the hell was he going to keep this lie alive!?

“Well,” Emenes grinned, “before we skip town, we should hit those tents near the south gates. You know, the ones with the ladies begging for attention. Might get cold out there tonight, and I am not cuddling up with you two.”
“Man, is that all you think about?” Elk laughed. “We’re talking about the rest of our lives over here, and you’re thinking about seeding the fields?”

This earned a hearty chuckle from Antion and Emenes.

“No, no, no,” Emenes said, spinning around to defend himself. “You got me all wrong. I’ll plant the garden, but I’m not raising any sprouts.”

Antion’s heart skipped a beat.

Emenes kept going, unaware.

“Seriously, who wants kids these days?”

Even Elk’s smile faded.

“I swear, if some bitch ever tries to have my kid, she can just –!”

“– Hey!” Elk cut in, sharp. “Enough.”

Emenes’ face turned to shock.

“What?”

They both turned to Antion, who was already looking away.

Emenes frowned.

“Wait…what’s going on?”

Antion took a breath.

Then let it out.

“…I had a son once…”

“Shit! I’m sorry, Anty, I didn’t mean, I was just…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Antion said quietly. “It was a while ago…”

“What happened?”

“We never found out,” Antion said. “I came home one day. She was holding him in her arms. He just…he wasn’t breathing anymore…”

Emenes reached out and gave his knee a small shake, as if to transfer his condolences on to the father of none.

It had been years, but Antion still thought about his little boy every day. More than he thought of Rokhsa, even.

No doubt, she would say the same.

That’s why he had to get her back.
And why he couldn’t risk Elk’s life with the truth.
He couldn’t lose any more family.

“I’m just…I’m sorry, man,” Emenes said again. “I had no idea.”

“It’s okay, man. Really.”

“No, wait…here.”

Emenes dug into his pocket and handed something to Antion, who took it without thinking.

Emenes’ treasured Urgesh coin sat in his palm. One side bore the face of a long-dead king; the other, the outline of the known world.

“It means a lot to me,” Emenes said quietly. “But I want you to have it.”

“Really, you don’t have to –”

“– I do. Please.”

Antion bowed his head and accepted the token, tucking it gently into the breast pocket of his undershirt.

Then he looked up to meet the eyes of his companions, both offering nothing but quiet, sorry looks.

He shook his head and managed a loose smile, which seemed to ease them…especially Emenes.

With that, the trio finished their lunch and got back to the mission: scouting the northern and northeastern outskirts of Auxua.

They reached the eastern gates and spotted a road veering east by northeast. They followed it for about half a mile, tracing the winding banks of the ancient Ulu River.

Elk, deciding to go for it, dropped to all fours and dunked his head straight into the river, snorting and splashing like a wild animal at its favorite watering hole.

“C’mon, the water’s just right!”

“You really hang out with this guy?” Emenes wheezed between fits of laughter.

Antion, still clutching his sides, howled, “More his keeper than his brother.”

Along the way, they stopped a local and asked how far the road went. The man just shrugged.
“How far you wanna go?”

Perhaps their people could use this road to escape the enemy, to find a place where they might finally know peace again.
Wherever that was, hopefully it was far from here.

By late evening, they had circled back to the city’s northern gates, where Raumose and the others were already waiting.

“Nice of you to show up, soldiers,” Raumose called. “So, what’s the situation?”

Antion stepped forward.

“We heard talk of another large force moving up the Ulu. Heading for the fortress.”

“Any proof?”

“Just talk.”

Raumose nodded.

“I see…still, talk is useful.”

“And we found a road heading east. Follows the river for miles. Could get our people out without having to pass through the city.”

“Good work, men.”

A brief silence settled over them.

“What’s the plan, Commander?”

Raumose looked them over; all eyes on him, ears tuned.

“We do nothing. Sit tight and wait for the rest of our people. And if Urgesh attacks before that, then we fight. Understood?”

They all sounded off in unison.

“Good. Now let’s get some grub, soldiers.”

They walked back through the city as a group, pushing through streets still packed with sweaty bodies and discarded trash. The people of Auxua were partying hard, and Antion couldn’t blame them.

Still though…

Ar Fira was never this messy! he thought to himself.

Only once they reached the fort grounds could they finally hear themselves think. The commander dismissed everyone for the rest of the day. Free to eat, rest, or party ’til sunrise.

Their choice.

Antion stopped to pick the rocks from his sandals, not intentionally hanging back, but unnoticed all the same.

“Hey!”

Elk called out and waved him over, but before Antion could respond, Raumose’s voice cut through.

“Antion. A word.”

Antion held up a finger to his brother, but he still caught the word forming silently on Elk’s lips:

Tonight.

His heart kicked into overdrive.
But before he could dwell on it, he jogged over to the commander and bowed his head slightly.

“Commander?”

Raumose glanced around, checking that no one was watching. Then, barely louder than a breath:

“Tonight.”

 

 

Chapter 12

That evening brought dark clouds rolling over the quiet land of Ashwari. Heavy. Unyielding.

They settled into Antion’s mind just the same, brooding and gray, and stayed with him through the night.

He was torn, split between the only two people he had left.

His brother had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders with a smile on his face, just so Antion wouldn’t have to.

…but it wasn’t his brother who gave him his only son, the greatest treasure Antion ever held. If he chose one, he was condemning the other.

And the truth was, it had never really been a choice.

Worst of all, no one would ever believe he risked everything for love on the word of a professional liar.

They’d only see a defector.
Two traitors instead of one.

Coward or not, Antion made his choice for the hundredth time that night, unanimous every single time.

If only she knew he was coming…

He saw only two outcomes tonight: either they actually pull off their suicide mission, or they all die in the attempt, and all they’ll remember about him was that time he once betrayed his friends and family for nothing.

May the Lord forgive him.

He paced the empty room in nervous terror, his insides twisting with the slow, gnawing dread in his gut.

Soon, very soon, they would be facing down the most powerful army in the world, undefeated in battle, without mercy.

Soon, they’d stand outside the enemy-held fortress of Wen’at, a massive bastion of ancient stone and shadow, housing the greatest evil this land had ever known.

And they were going to walk right up to it.

He shook out his hands, numb with icy fingers, as an out-of-body sensation nearly swallowed him whole. By now, a wave of nausea had him hunched over a trash bucket, prisoner to the sickness writhing inside him.

Unable to calm his stomach, he leaned against the table and forced his mind on Rokhsa. Her big, brown, beautiful eyes that could stare straight through him.

Her long and wavy hair that tickled his face whenever he leaned in too close. The way she smiled at him, as if no one and nothing else mattered in that moment…

If anything…do it for that.

Antion glanced at the single candle flickering in the room, a modest one-bed chamber in an inn near the barracks where they’d spent the night before.

It wasn’t far from the city’s western gates either. Another key detail in Raumose’s plan. The commander had paid out of pocket to book each of them their own rooms.

He had even arranged for food and wine to be delivered throughout the night, using the festival as cover. He had hoped the distractions would be enough for them to slip away unnoticed.

But now…he was late.

Gods, where is he!?

He’d been waiting for hours, waiting for Raumose to fetch him, dreading the knock on his door that would drag him to certain doom.

– and there it was –

Three sharp, rapturous knocks snapped him out of his spiral. The person on the other side was impatient.

Another knock.

“Antion.”

It was Raumose.

It had to be.

So then…this was it.

Time to go.

His legs shook beneath him as he rose.

He stumbled to the door and opened it.

“Elk?”

His brother marched in without a word and closed the door behind him, leaving a stunned Antion in his wake.

“What? Everything okay?”

Elk shot him a wild look; part fear, part excitement.

“We’re leaving,” he whispered. “There’s a man with a boat downstairs. He said he can take the three of us to the West Sea. Tonight. Apparently, Urgesh doesn’t touch civilian vessels…”

His eyes scanned the room: bags and clothes scattered, sheets untouched, food uneaten. Then his gaze shifted to Antion, to his sunken eyes, to his twitchy mouth.

“…what’s wrong, Anty?”

He could run out on his best friend without a word, abandon him to the wastes in pursuit of what he desired most…

But he could not lie to his face.

Elk was still his brother.

“Look, man, there’s something I gotta tell you…”

Elk stood silent, his face growing colder by the second.

“…I can’t come with you. Not tonight.”

Elk exhaled hard and threw up his hands.

“Well, why not!?”

“The enemy camp, the fortress…their General is there right now and…so is Rokhsa.”

Elk’s eyes were sharp and fierce, but the moment Antion whispered her name, they softened like wax under the sun.

“The commander and I, we’re going to get her back. And then we’re going after the General, but…I’m sorry, Elk, but I can’t go with you…not tonight…”

Elk didn’t move, as if held hostage by Antion’s words.

“I can’t…”

No one moved.

Nothing stirred.

Not a sound.

“Okay.”

One word, but it hit like a sucker punch.

“Okay?”

Elk nodded, slow and steady.

“Yeah. Okay…let’s do this. I want to help.”

Pure selflessness…in the face of a selfish coward.

“No, man, get out of here with your life! Start again, somewhere better than here!”

“Antion, no.”

Antion’s worst fears were coming true.

Now he was putting Elk’s neck on the block.

“But what about Emenes?”

“What about him!? He’s not my brother!”

This wasn’t how he pictured it.
Yelling, maybe. Even a punch or two.
But not this…this resolve.

Maybe he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d try to stop me…but I can’t lose you too…”

“Alright, look,” Elk said, “I’m a little pissed off…but…”

Antion stared at his brother, sensing he was holding something back.

“…but whether you like it or not…you’re stuck with me.”

A flood of relief surged through Antion.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so alone in the world.

Then, sharp knocks at the door.

Raumose burst in and shut it behind him without a word. The two brothers turned to him as he finally faced them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Raumose grunted at Elk, as if trying to cover for the fact that he’d just barged into Antion’s room for seemingly no reason.

“Sir, uh,” Antion began, glancing at Elk, “he’s here to help us. I told him about the plan and –”

“– You told him everything!?”

Seeing Raumose’s eyes flare wild with panic, Antion wasted no time in clarifying.

“Yes, sir. I just brought him up to speed: infiltrate the fortress, kill the General, rescue the priestess.”

Raumose’s stare slowly relaxed. Elk showed no sign of suspicion. After all, Antion still kept the real secret buried.

“Ready to help any way I can, Commander!” Elk fired off, falling into to his good soldier routine.

Raumose looked confused…and plain irritated.

“Absolutely not, soldier. I kept you and everyone else out of this for a reason. It’s too dangerous.”

“He’s coming, sir,” Antion uttered.

Even Elk couldn’t keep his fear from slipping through.

No one challenged the commander.

“We need him.”

Raumose narrowed his eyes, sharp as blades, but Antion wasn’t going to back down.

The commander was ready to explode.

But then the unthinkable happened:

He backed off.

“Okay, okay…we can make this work…”

Raumose rubbed his temples.

“Eklidos, you’ll pose as another guard while we escort Antion through the enemy camp. If we move quickly, no one will question us, but you’ll need to look the part.”

Finally, Antion was in on the plan.

“We’ll have to find some poor bastard who wandered too far from camp,” Raumose said, gesturing to Antion and himself, “or else the two of us will need to sneak in and grab you a uniform.”

Elk frowned.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry, soldier, we’ll fill you in on the way. But we have to leave now.”

With that, Raumose turned on his heel and exited the room.

Elk shot Antion a wide-eyed look, then sighed.
Antion could only shrug.

They followed Raumose down through the tavern level of the inn, still packed with local patrons and drunken festivalgoers, all talking, singing, and clinking cups in chaotic unison.

A weathered old man at the bar waved Elk down, but his brother pretended not to see him as they slipped out the door.

The festival was still going strong in Auxua, though the day crowd had thinned as evening settled in.

The sun had set an hour ago, but the lights stayed bright across streets and rooftops, flickering and dancing like the partiers below; less rhythmic as the night wore on, but no less alive.

From around the corner, unseen, someone played a stringed instrument for a crowd of whistlers and hooters.

To them, it was a beautiful piece fit for the ears of gods.

To Antion…it was the last song he would ever hear in his short life.

He looked up at the moon in those dark skies, half-obscured by drifting clouds. The bright orb flitted between the taller buildings as they walked, content, it seemed, merely to steal bird’s-eye glances at the dead men passing on.

Only it knew where they were going tonight.

The night had only just begun, leaving them plenty of time to complete the mission and return before sunrise.

And with darkness clinging to the valley like water to cloth,
they just might get there unseen.

Through bustling streets, past the western gates, and over hallowed ground tread by thousands of Ashwarans before them…the full weight of their mission was finally crushing Antion.

His heart pounded.
Sweat stung his eyes.
His lips had gone cold with terror.

Still, his legs carried him toward the enemy.
He couldn’t stop now.

This is it!

They carried no arms, no armor, only their faith that Raumose knew what he was doing…which, in the moment, felt incredibly stupid.

Still, they followed close behind him, their commander striding ahead with purpose…and maybe a dash of madness.

As the city fell away behind them, so too did the tents, the peddlers, the refugees, and the opportunists, replaced by a lonely dirt road stretching west.

Soon, there was nothing but the chatter of insects, the wash of wind through the upper leaves, and, now and then, the distant howl of strays.

No…wait.

Quiet at first, but rising fast, the muffled beat of drums began to echo from the direction of the enemy fortress.

And they grew louder by the minute.

Antion turned to Raumose, who stared straight ahead; unflinching, silent, locked onto the land of his former people.

Unwavering in the face of the enemy.

“What’s going on?” Elk asked nervously from behind.

“Nothing good.”

Still, they followed Raumose down the westbound road, toward the fortress of demons and destroyers, like good little soldiers following the beat of battle.

Here and there, narrow paths branched off, as if the land itself was offering them a way out, a chance to abandon the madness and run.

No, he wasn’t running away again, despite the alarms in Antion’s head screaming otherwise. His stomach begged him to turn back now, back to warm lights and soft lies…

But onward they walked, brisk steps toward the storm of raging drums. Some missed their beats, sounding off out of sync, but it didn’t matter.

The effect was the same.

“Scare tactic?” Antion muttered.

Still staring ahead, Raumose said, “Maybe it’s a response to all the noise coming from the city.”

Whatever it was, it gave him pause.
Maybe the siege had begun. Or maybe it was some war ritual, designed to strike fear into the city’s heart.

It hardly seemed necessary though, for Urgesh already had the region gripped in terror.

By now, many locals had already run to the nearest boat, caravan, hill, or hole in the ground. Others had chosen their hiding spots well in advance.

As for the patriots, the so-called pillars of the earth,
they were living like there was no tomorrow.

But how many will stay until the very last minute?

How many will make the same mistake we made in Ar Fira?

The ancient kingdom of Anthrybis once ruled this giant valley for thousands of years, until their entire world collapsed in the blink of an eye.

Now, their descendants stood at the edge of the same abyss.
Was history cursed to repeat itself forever?

Rapture. Rinse. Repeat.

“Are you sure this is a good plan, sir?” Elk asked. “And just what is the plan?”

“I’ll be impersonating a high-ranking officer. And your brother’s my captive. You are one of my guards. Together, we’ll walk right through their camp. Your job is to shut your mouth and do as you’re told. Got it?”

Elk’s mouth hung slightly open, like he always did when words failed him.

“Close enough,” Raumose muttered. “Now, when we get there, Antion will try and exchange himself for the priestess’ release…but more than likely, he’ll end up in a cage.”

No wonder Raumose kept Antion’s role a secret until now.

There was no escaping Urgesh and this madman.

“Whatever the outcome, our mission is simple. Free your brother. Kill the General. Save the priestess…and hopefully end this war.”

Once Elk recovered from his shock, he stammered out, “Sir…first off, we don’t even speak their language, let alone look like them. And say we do reach the General…what then? Won’t he be protected? Under guard?”

Raumose didn’t glance back for even a second.

“I knew this invasion was coming for years, and I’ve been preparing ever since,” he said without missing a step. “So let me do the talking, and just act like you belong. That’s what these are for.”

From his pocket, Raumose produced three objects:

First, a tattered scrap of cloth, likely torn from an old shirt.

Second, a faded but well-preserved armband, embroidered with a strange symbol: a half circle with a swirling line through its center.

And third, a plain iron dagger in a small sheath, easy enough to conceal, deadly enough to steal a life.

The scrap was for Elk.

“Tie this around your mouth when we get close.”

The dagger, for Antion.

“Tie this around your thigh.”

The armband, Raumose kept for himself. He rolled up his sleeve and slid it on so that the symbol faced outward.

It was certainly an interesting mark.

Almost…looked like a face.

“Sir?”

Before Elk could finish, Raumose cut him off.

“Wrap it around your mouth and you won’t have to say a word. They’ll assume your tongue was cut out. It’s a popular punishment over there…so I’ve heard. It marks you. Different. Dirty. Undesirable. The other soldiers should avoid you altogether.”

Finally, he turned to Antion.

“Here’s something to tie that knife around your leg,” he said, passing over another strip of cloth. “I hope I don’t have to tell you what it’s for.”

Antion understood.
For protection.
For leverage.
For the kill.

“What is that, sir?” Elk asked, pointing at the armband.

“I took it off an enemy officer during the battle,” Raumose said calmly.

Sure…

“Hopefully it’ll make our cover look more legit.”

Tools in hand, they traveled the rest of the way in uneasy silence, the distant drums still thundering and screaming.

They passed the occasional house or farm, but the closer they drew to the fortress, the more it became clear why no one lived in these torched, ransacked ruins anymore…

Eventually, all signs of Ashwaran life faded behind them, leaving the lone stretch ahead dark and barren.

Even the trees were gone, likely cleared to keep the land around the fortress exposed and defensible.

No sneaking in…

But then they saw it.
Breaking past the final line of trees, the fortress rose less than half a mile ahead, perched atop the largest hill in sight.

The structure itself was hidden behind towering walls of ancient stone and mortar, but the lights, the sounds…they spoke of legions.
Untold numbers, waiting.

And the tents.
Gods, there were thousands of them.

Surrounding the outer walls of the stronghold, numerous tents and ground shelters stretched across the empty fields, laid out in a clean, methodical grid.

Too many to count.

Many had fires burning before them, with shadows moving and mingling in the flickering light.

“Keep an eye out for patrols, sentries,” Raumose muttered.

as if their eyes weren’t already bulging at every twitch in the dark.

Even now, they could make out checkpoints and forward camps along the main road, ready to intercept any fool stupid enough to approach from Auxua.

“But we’re taking the back door,” Raumose assured, veering left along the tree line.

With each step, Antion planted one foot in soft, cool grass, and the other on barren ground, stripped of life.

Another Great Green Drop-Off, just like the one back home. Only now, he had one foot loosely rooted in life, and the other toeing death’s line.

He hadn’t been this close since the battle.
Defending walls was one thing.
But infiltrating them was something else entirely.

An unnatural chill swept in from the desert beyond the valley, raising the hairs on their arms and necks.

Antion was scared to absolute death, but he absolutely loved Rokhsa.
His heru.
His lost love.

I survived the battle, he told himself. I can survive this!

“Stop!”

They all saw it: a flicker of light quietly erupting from a lone house in the distance, nestled along the edge of the tree line.

Maybe five hundred feet out.

Small and unassuming, it might’ve once been an old equipment shed for the fortress groundskeeper’s shack…what little ground there was left to keep.

They wouldn’t have noticed it at all, if not for the light which flared again, before it grew into a steady plume of fire.

“Who could that possibly be?” Elk whispered. “Don’t they know who just moved into the neighborhood?”

Raumose just growled.

“I think they are the new neighbors.”

At Raumose’s signal, they halted just a hundred feet from the small dwelling. Up close, it revealed itself to be an old stable house, judging by the animal stalls out back.

Raumose wasted no time.
With a few quick gestures, he signaled them to move again.

He led them around to the rear, where the stalls still reeked of old beasts but stood empty. From behind the wooden fence, they peered through the gloom.

Two Urgesh soldiers sat by a fire inside the house.

They looked like grunts.
Simple red tunics draped over their shoulders. Faded brown buskins on their feet. No armor. No rank. Just warm bodies keeping the flame alive.

The soldiers had leaned their swords and shields against what remained of the back wall. Though the foundation still held, most of the rear had been blown apart by…something.

The surviving walls were scorched black.

The floor scarred and brittle.

The roof sat crumpled in a corner, swept aside like trash.

“Got that knife ready?”

His chest tightened.
A dull buzz filled his head.

His palms turned slick with sweat, like his whole body already knew what was coming.

“Yeah.”

Beside him, Raumose unsheathed his own hidden blade.

“I’ll take the left. You take the right. And try to spare the uniform.”

Following Raumose’s lead, Antion stalked forward like a silent shadow. The soldiers had their backs turned, still fussing with their small fire.

Antion glanced at Raumose, wildfires burning in his eyes.

Are we really doing this!?

…one…

Raumose mouthed the word.

…two…

Antion squeezed his blade tighter.

His breath came fast and shallow.

The darkness was closing in…

But he had to stay calm.

He had to do this.

This was what Raumose trained him for.

…three!

They charged into the derelict house and lunged!

But Raumose was faster.
Out of the corner of his eye, Antion saw the commander drive straight through his target.
He forced himself to strike just as viciously!

The enemy had his back turned, but must’ve sensed something. He twisted around just in time, narrowly dodging the tip of Antion’s blade.

But Antion’s momentum still slammed them both to the ground – hard.

He raised his dagger, aiming for the man’s chest. But before iron met flesh, the soldier’s palm snapped around and smashed into the side of Antion’s head.

Bone met skull in a world-ending crack.

And for a second…Antion felt nothing.

Unfortunately, that second was all his opponent needed.
The man shoved him off and scrambled away.

Antion tried to rise, but a powerful shin strike slammed into his thigh, sending him stumbling back on one good leg.

He caught his balance and turned to face his foe head-on.

The Ashwaran defender took a beat to size up the Urgeshi warrior, looking for weakness, for any opening –

– But the enemy didn’t wait.
He surged forward, low and fast, for the takedown.

Antion dodged and slashed wildly. His opponent swiped back, fingers clawing for Antion’s eyes.

He ducked.

Almost…

Like lightning, the invader caught Antion’s wrist with one hand, and with the other, cracked him across the jaw.

A fiery strike.
It nearly shut the lights off for good.

But somehow, Antion staggered back, still on his feet.
He took a breath.
Faced his silent enemy.

No words. No warnings.
They both stepped in and swung!

Antion’s blade-wielding arm was blocked, and the enemy landed a cheap uppercut from underneath.

The punch snapped his head back.

And the dagger slipped from his hand…

You fool!

A terrifying thought crossed his rattled brain:
This man’s no mere soldier.

Stronger.
Faster.
More skilled.

If not for the dagger, he might’ve already lost.

Now unarmed and off-balance, Antion’s eyes darted, searching the shadows for Raumose, the only one who could save him now!

His opponent saw Antion weakening and stepped in fast to close the gap. Antion raised his empty hands, ready to block.
But again, the Urgeshi gave no warning, lunging forward and slamming a white-hot punch into his gut.

Shock.
Agony.
His mind screamed: give up.
But he couldn’t.

With a desperate surge, Antion threw everything he had into one wild swing across the man’s jaw.

The punch cracked home, shattering whatever sense the warrior had left.

He stumbled back…
…then dropped to a knee.

With his opponent defenseless, rage and survival instinct took over.
Antion drove him to the ground and unleashed his fists, hammering the man’s face, one blow after another, each strike echoing through his bones.

The sound of knuckles on flesh bounced around the destroyed house, drowning out the silence around him.

At last, panting, Antion rose on shaky legs.
He stared down at the broken warrior, his own body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. The crushed conqueror, blood pouring from his nose and open cuts, struggled to draw breath.
Between gasps, he repeated:

“Na…na…wah samda…”

Raumose stepped into view just as Antion collapsed to the floor, breathless and spent.

He knelt beside the battered man, his cold eyes unmoved by the suffering below.

“Na uda?” Raumose said.

“Na a’di! Wah samda!” the man choked, voice rising in panic.

“Na, na…”

Raumose shook his head.

A flicker of indifference on his face.

“Ya udeti sudun maferi.”

“Bah-Shay!” the fallen warrior cried out, pleading now.

Begging.

Raumose clasped the man’s throat with both hands.

And squeezed.
He didn’t stop until the thrashing ceased, until the life had drained from the enemy’s bulging eyes.

Only then did he turn back to Antion, who sat slumped on the floor, having just watched his commander commit cold-blooded murder.

Again.

Raumose just knelt there across from him…and somehow, he’d never looked more terrifying.

But then, he asked rather softly:

“You alright?”

“I’m fine but…he got me pretty good,” Antion admitted.

His head rang.
His stomach churned.
His knuckles screamed.

But he was alive.

“Antion…soldier, that was fine work.”

Antion looked up, wary and worn.
In all the years he trained under this man, he’d never heard a single word of praise. He hated Raumose once, for one reason, then hated him all over again for another.

But now…was that recognition in his voice?

Elk burst through the blasted doorway and rushed to his side. Shock was written all over his brother’s face. The same shock Antion imagined was written across his own.

“Anty! Are you okay!?”

Antion coughed, blood spilling down his lip.
“You think this looks bad…?”

Elk’s wild eyes widened further as he took in the scene.

His breath caught at the sheer destruction.

Blood. Soot. Ruin.

It looked more like a slaughterhouse than what was once someone’s loving home.

The first soldier Raumose took down had already bled out,
stab wounds torn deep into his side.

Blood had pooled into rivers and lakes across the floor,
staining everything in sight with a dull crimson glow beneath the firelight.

Antion’s opponent’s clothes had no knife holes and barely a stain, so Raumose stripped them from the man he’d just strangled and tossed them to Elk without a word.

Then he crossed back to Antion and knelt beside him,
eyes scanning his wounds with practiced efficiency, his face unreadable in the half-dark.

“How are you feeling?”

Worse. Much worse.

With the adrenaline gone, pain came rushing in.
Sharp. Searing. Total.
It filled every inch of the space the adrenaline left behind.

The fight had pushed Antion past his limits.
Each blow to the head made his thoughts slow and slippery,
like trying to hold water in shaking hands.

Frustration simmered under the pain.
But weakness wasn’t an option. Not now.

“Well?”

“Not good,” he said.

“Can you stand?”

Antion tried, but his thigh throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, as intense as the fortress drums that once filled the air.

Only now did he notice the silence.
The drums had stopped.
And somehow…that was worse.

“Bastard had leather shin straps,” Elk muttered behind him, wincing as he gave the new greaves a sharp rap with his knuckle.

He looked over at Antion, who was clutching his thigh where the blow had landed.

“Damn, I bet that hurt.”

“It’s fine,” Antion said.

They knew he was lying.

As he fought to steady himself on both feet, his vision narrowed, like peering down a dark tunnel with a single light at the end.

And in that light, he saw Rokhsa’s face.

That was enough.
He staggered forward, one aching step at a time.

A storm brewed behind his eyes, his skull pounding with a headache so fierce he thought it might knock him over.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” his brother called, rushing over with a hand outstretched.

But Antion waved him off and limped toward the silent, fire-lit fortress, which now sat silent as a grave.

“I’m good. Come on,” was all he could grunt out.

Antion’s muscles boiled beneath his skin. His veins throbbed like firelines. The headache pounded so violently, he had to clamp his eyes shut, body jerking with every spasm, every jolt that rocked him.

“Antion!”

Even the sound of his name seared the flesh from his ears.

“Hide the knife at least!”

He blinked.

The blade was in his hand.

He had no memory of picking it up.

With a wince, he slid the dagger back into its sheath under his clothes. That small movement nearly split him in half.

Raumose shoved past Elk and jogged over, grabbing Antion before he could fall.

Elk stood frozen, watching Raumose steady the wreck his brother had become.

Then, without a word, he slipped under Antion’s other arm.
Together, the two warriors carried a broken man unto his fate.

“We should go back! Just look at him!” Elk argued.

But Raumose didn’t flinch.

“This doesn’t change the plan, soldier.”

They hiked the rest of the way with Antion sagging between them, slowly falling apart with every step.

The fortress loomed closer, its black stones cold and unyielding, each brick swallowing the light around it.
A monument to the darkness within.

Before they could reach the fortress itself, they had to cross the sea of tents and lean-to’s that crowded the path.
The sprawl of firelight and shadows offered their first real look at the enemy in nearly three weeks.

A group of soldiers stepped out from the gloom near the front row of tents.

Clad in full battle dress, they shouted in their foreign tongue, voices sharp and unfamiliar, blades already half-drawn.

Raumose answered in kind, barking back and flashing the armband.

At once, the soldiers halted. They stood at attention, even stepping aside to guide them forward.

Antion felt that familiar twinge of dread.
That cold, mortal terror he hadn’t felt since the gates fell.

But even fear was fading now, slowly eaten away by sheer exhaustion.

They were led into a courtyard deep within the fortress, and there it stood: a massive tent, wide open, its interior aglow with candlelight and steaming cauldrons.

A long wooden table split the space in two, with shadowed figures seated along the far side.

One shadow loomed larger than the rest, anchored squarely at the head of the table.

Ashagyur.

The demon in disguise.

The three of them stepped into the tent’s gaping maw and stopped just short of the feast table.

At once, the chatter and laughter died.
Silence swept across the table.

Then, the central shadow slowly rose to his feet, turning to better face his intruders.

General Ashagyur stood tall, his dark gaze sweeping over the trio in heavy, measured silence.

A candle flickered on the table before him, casting sudden flashes across his face:

A flash of thick beard.

A flash of cold eyes that stung as much as stared.

A flash of dread.

Of death.

“…Anum-Uk!?” the great, brooding man exclaimed.
His beaming smile shattered the silence in an instant. “Faroushe a’lad maht! Shod la’am Anum-Thros!?”

Antion felt Elk recoil beside him.
Raumose was already glancing around the tent.

Only Antion kept his eyes locked on the devil himself.

“Parsh. Mar wakit tuwun,” Raumose replied, his voice unshaken.

“Tell him,” Antion pleaded with Raumose, his voice already cracking. “Tell him now!”

The General finally looked his way.

“Alek t’shey?” he said to Raumose.

“Ay.”

Then, in Antion’s own tongue, clumsy, but clear:

“I’ve been practicing.”

“It sounds good, Parsh.”

“Thanks to a certain local priestess…”

Ashagyur stepped around the table.

“…still, not as good as yours.”

And he wrapped Raumose in an embrace.
Like a son.

Elk was left to prop up Antion’s failing body alone. He staggered under the weight, legs wobbling.

That caught the General’s eye again.

He stepped in close.

“Ashkarai, eh?” Ashagyur breathed into Antion’s face.

Then his gaze drifted…to Elk.

Those eyes.

Those evil eyes.

“Salo?”

Elk froze; rigid, trembling.

Ashagyur glanced at Raumose, who just shrugged.

“Yeruan?” Raumose offered, flatly.

Ashagyur huffed and returned to Elk.

“Yeruan, Ashkarai, I don’t care.”

A flicker of darkness in the devil’s gaze.

“Get. Out!”

Elk backed out of the tent as the table erupted in laughter. Antion tried to stay upright, but his legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees with a crash.

His dying vision swam.
Through the blur, he saw Ashagyur’s grin as he clapped Raumose on the back.

Food and water were brought to the commander, but Antion was left where he fell. Discarded. Unnoticed.

No one helped him.

No one even looked at him.

No one cared.

Then Antion’s vision split…because another man had just stepped inside.

He walked up to the table and took a seat directly across from Antion.

Calm. Intentional. Watching him.

Antion’s stomach turned.
It was Raumose.
…but the real Raumose still stood beside the General.

The one now seated had the same face, the same eyes…except for the scar carved across his jaw.

They locked eyes.
No words. Just a nod, a silent exchange colder than any deep desert chill in the dead of night.

Antion’s breath caught in his throat.
His mind scrambled to catch up.

“Anum-Thros,” Raumose finally said.

“…brother,” the scarred one answered, in Ashwaran.

The truth crashed down like a tidal wave.

This was Raumose’s plan all along, the plan that Antion was never in on, and yet had played his part in perfectly.

This was never a rescue mission.

It was a family reunion.

And now that the traitor had returned to his people…there was no more use for him.

Under the sheer weight of exhaustion and humiliation, Antion finally collapsed on the ground.

And closed his eyes on the face of evil…

 

 

Chapter 13

The next time Antion opened his eyes, the world had grown calmer, quieter, and warmer.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the difference between now and last night was the crisp air of a new day.

He could feel it. Taste it.

He need only open his eyes to see it.

But before he did, before breaking the illusion someone had so carefully laid out around him, he let his other senses explore.

Birds called in the distance, cawing and hooting.

Something strange, but sweet, lingered on his tongue.

Beneath him, soft cushions cradled his weary frame, holding him just above the grave.

And the faintest perfume drifted past…tugging at his memory…

He knew that scent.

Even trying to open his eyes was a struggle. Everything else kept pulling him down, down toward the bitter abyss.

Was this death’s cold embrace?

“An.”

The dead called out to him.

“Anty.”

Again, they grasped for his soul.

Then again, they sounded so familiar…

“Nabi, heru, my love…come back…”

That voice…sweet as the breeze, warm as the evening sands.

“Lamb?”

He finally opened his eyes.

But it wasn’t the bright light, or the strange room, or the flood of memories from last night that stopped his heart.

It was her.

It was Rokhsa, holding his head and hand as he awoke.

“Oh, Anty,” she breathed, her soft smile barely containing her joy. “You found me.”

Those words were nearly strangled by the tears that followed, and they wept in each other’s arms.

Two broken halves, finally returned.

They held each other as long as his strength allowed, until at last his body gave out, collapsing back into the cushions.

“Gods,” he gasped, still reeling from last night.

The memories swam before his eyes: two weeks of sand-soaked torment, Auxua in chaos…Raumose’s cruel ploy.

But through it all, one image remained.
The one sitting before him now.

With tears in her eyes, and pain in her voice.

“You got beat up pretty bad,” Rokhsa said, frowning. “They brought you here so I could heal you.”

“You? A healer?” he groaned. “Remember the last time you tried to –”

“– Oh, shut up,” she scolded…before leaning down.

Her lips parted slightly, inviting him closer.

When they finally met…face-to-face…the fortress around them vanished, replaced by the light of the world. She kissed him deeply, something he had missed for so long.

And he gave her everything he had left.

Finally parting, their foreheads touched.

They gazed into each other’s eyes and saw it all: the passion, the love, the fire that first sparked so many years ago.

It almost felt like someone else’s life now.

No words or glances could express what they felt now, only the tender embrace of two souls who never stopped loving the other.

Antion’s battered body groaned in protest, but he refused to let go. Not yet. To release her would be to shatter this fragile, timeless moment. But at last, he gave in and laid his head back down.
Pain flared across his back, every cut and bruise pulsing with unresolved battle. And his head…

But each throb, each piercing ache, was proof he was still alive.

Eventually, he looked around.

They were in a large, beige-colored tent, thick and heavy enough to keep the worst of the heat at bay.
The space was sparse, with little furniture or decoration, save for crescent and star-shaped holes cut into the fabric, casting sunlight in dazzling shapes.

She reminded Antion they were still prisoners of the enemy, holed up in the massive fortress just a mile downstream from Auxua.

There goes my day…

“And…Elk came to see me this morning.”

Antion’s eyes snapped back to her.

“He’s here?”

She nodded.

Antion’s mind raced through all the awful things his brother had to endure…but he was still alive.

“He told me everything that happened and…he told me about your commander…”
Traitor!

If only he could get his hands around the bastard’s throat!

But Rokhsa was still staring, waiting for a response. And his defeated self gave up.

Again.

“Lamb…I’m so sorry…”

He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Raumose.

Forced to lie to his brother, beaten unconscious, and now thrown to the lion’s den for breakfast.

All of them.

But at least the bastard hadn’t lied about her.

She was right where he said she’d be.

Still…

This was all just one sick trick, and now the enemy’s General knew everything the commander did: about the rest of their people, about Auxua’s defenses, escape routes.

Everything.

And it was only a matter of time before they realized they didn’t need Antion anymore…

He reached for the hidden blade strapped to his leg.

Gone.

He slumped back into the cushions, defeated.

No weapon. No plan.
No idea what to do.

Rokhsa saw his hand reaching and quickly crossed to the far side of the tent, where a pile of blood-soaked rags lay crumpled. She came back with his dagger, hidden underneath all along.

“Ro, you’re amazing!”

“No, it was all you. And…the commander. He’s the one who brought you to me.”

Rokhsa tucked the blade back beneath the rags and sat beside him again. They said nothing; the looks in their eyes said it all:

Longing, relief, softness, and grief.

Nothing left to say, except…

“I love you.”

The words he’d waited far too long to hear.

“I love you too.”

She dove into his arms, and stayed there for what felt like forever. But even forever wasn’t enough. They looked at each other, remembering why they fell for each other in the first place.

To her, he was strong, thoughtful, hopelessly handsome.
To him, she was beautiful, kind, impossibly bright.

Together, they were the pieces the other never knew was missing…until they suddenly fit.

She used to come watch him train with the other soldiers, always laughing whenever he got smacked in the ass with a practice sword.

Sometimes, when the commanders weren’t looking, he’d chase her down the street, grinning like a fool. And when he caught her, he’d spin her around, pull her close, and kiss her until they were breathless.

After training, they’d usually meet their friends in the market square or taverns. But more often, it was just the two of them.
They wandered the garden paths.
They swam in the salt lakes.
They talked about everything: life, love, whatever future they could imagine. For a while, it was as perfect as life could get.

And then one day, her fate revealed itself.

During a public festival inside the Temple, on a rare, cloudy day in the oasis, a single ray of light broke through the gloom, falling directly on Rokhsa’s head.

The city hadn’t seen anything like that in years.
Antion never had.
It was a miracle.

The Temple took her in, and through the years she served the gods proudly. Antion once feared losing her to their service, but she never forgot where she came from, and she never forgot who loved her most.

Then came their only child.

Four brief years…but a lifetime ago.

He was a funny little kid, always giggling at something. Endless questions, wide-eyed wonder, that bright smile…just like his mother’s.

With her status in the temple, and Antion’s rising rank in the army, who knew what their little man could’ve become.

But the dream died soon after.

Antion wanted to follow.
But somehow, their love endured.

They held each other close; close in hand, closer at heart.

And they stayed afloat, even as their world drowned.

Together.

“I think I was dreaming about our boy last night,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I’m just glad he can’t see us like this.”

“Lord above,” she swore. “What would’ve happened if we still had him? Stay in Ar Fira? You think he would’ve been okay running from home?”

“Wouldn’t he be turning seven soon?” Antion asked, thinking aloud. “He was hard enough to catch when he was four!”

She burst into laughter.

“He wouldn’t have stopped running until the lands fell from the earth. He always had your fire, sweetheart.”

They laughed, and they cried, for their dearly departed son, in each other’s arms. It felt so good to let it out again, especially with the one they loved more than anything. Someone who knew.

“Gods, what a terrible world to raise a family.”

“Let’s just wait for the next one before we try again.”

“Agreed.”

Silence…

“Say you love me again,” she whispered.

“– I love you,” he whispered back.

“My river runs through you.”

“– And my heart sails your waters.”

“And if my river runs dry before your heart stops beating, Lord above, may He shower you from the heavens one last time in the pure essence that is my heart and soul.”

“– And when I have bathed in your heart and soul, I will seek my place beside you in the Dusk…”

“…and we’ll go on at Dawn.”

They laid back, their bodies intertwining, speaking only of the love they almost lost.

 

Say you love me again…

The Lover’s Prayer.

She had taught him many things drawn from the Temple’s deep well: the history of the world, the quarrels of the gods, the fates of the times.

But this one was his favorite.

Maybe he knew more about the world than most, even if he never got to see it. But with this knowledge, he tried his best in the one life he was given.

He was kind to others, generous when he could afford to be, loved his family with his entire heart, and tried his hardest to be a responsible man for himself.

But they made it so hard.

He was powerless to stop the invaders from taking his home, and he was powerless now, as two Urgeshi soldiers stormed into the tent.

He couldn’t stop them as they shoved Rokhsa aside and dragged him away. Just like that, they were separated again.

The potion Rokhsa had given him had dulled the pain in his body, but it muddied everything else, too.

His vision blurred.
His muscles refused to fight.
He could barely stand on his own, let alone resist.

They hauled him through the sweltering courtyard, then into the fortress. Inside, the air had dropped ten degrees.

The halls were dark and windowless, shadows stretching endlessly between scattered torches.

They led Antion to a room at the end of some forgotten corridor, where the ground was hard, and cold, and lonely.

The air reeked of decay, thick with the stench of death.

He knew this was where it would end.
Still, he asked, desperate, grasping:

“Are…you…gonna kill me?”

They said nothing.

They probably didn’t even understand him.

They marched him to the very back, forced him to his knees, before returning to the shadows.

No chains, no bonds, no two ways about it; they never thought for a second that he could escape.

And they were right.

Where would he go?
Who could he trust?

Would Elk burst out of the dark and save the day?
Or had his brother already been caught, dumped in some nameless stretch of desert, dead?

Elk…I’m so sorry.

This was all Raumose’s fault!

With one hand, he’d snatched Rokhsa away. And with the other, he dangled her freedom in Antion’s face.

Only to take them both again.

How many times would he fall for the same trick? How had he let that traitor twist him into becoming his prisoner?

Just how stupid was he!?

And then, as if summoned by his rage, the very same traitor emerged from the shadows.

But it wasn’t Raumose.

This one was younger, maybe by a few years. A deep scar split his jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent, mocking smirk.

He slithered closer, slow and silent, torturing Antion with his mere presence.

Same uniform. Same cold eyes. Same air of power.

But this man was calm. Unreadable.
And without a doubt, merciless.

“Lucky me, you are officially the second Arfiran I’ve had the pleasure of keeping in such good company.”

He even sounded like Raumose.

“Answer my questions, and you might stay there. Trust me, it’s better than the alternative.”

Antion said nothing.
But his body betrayed him, each breath trembling with barely contained fear.

“Where is the Silent River?”

“…what?”

The man leaned closer, unrelenting, “Where. Is. The Silent River?”

But Antion didn’t understand.

“I’ve searched every city, every temple, every grain of sand, every fucking rock in this cursed land!”

Madness burned behind his eyes now.

“I will tear Ar Fira to pieces. Rip up every floorboard. Dig up every inch. I will destroy everything!”

He roared, quaking with rage.

“Now tell me…where is it!?”

Antion’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of this strange demand. What was the Silent River, if not just a –

A rigid slap cracked across his face, tearing him from his silence.

“Tell me! Where is it!?”

“…it’s not real.”
“What do you mean it’s not real!? Your commander, my own brother, told me you knew where it was! Now, who’s lying!?”

Another open-handed blow slammed into the same spot he’d been struck the night before.

Stars exploded behind his eyes.
He collapsed, groaning.

“Tell me, who’s been lying to my face? My brother? Or you, huh? MY OWN FUCKING BROTHER…or you…”

This man was a mirror of Raumose.

And somehow even worse.

Worst of all, Antion knew he was going to die a horrible death, because he had nothing to offer. Worse still…he might’ve just gotten Rokhsa killed too.

It couldn’t get worse than this.

Thwack!!

“Are you listening? I asked you a question. Who’s been lying to me? My own flesh and blood brother? Or you? Him or you?”

“Look, I’ll tell you…it’s beneath the pyramids –”

Another deafening blow across his skull.

“– Another lie! Great! Better get them all out now!”

This time, a fist slammed into Antion’s gut.
The air, the sense, what little hope he had left, all ripped from him at once. The man yanked him upright by the hair, his face inches from Antion’s.

“Just. You. Wait.”

Then came the shove, violent and final.
Antion crumpled against the wall.

And just like that…he was gone.

Leaving Antion to lick his wounds.
And tend to a heart that may never heal.

He wished more than ever to be back in that tent…with her. Back in the arms of the most beautiful woman in the world.

Then he’d break her and Elk out of this cursed fortress, and they’d live out their days in the western lands.
Free. Together.

He thought of his brother.
His friends.
The soldiers he fought beside.
All the faces, all the places, from a journey cut short too soon.

He thought of what he’d never get to see.
Those impossibly high mountains that scraped the soles of the gods. The vast seas teeming with adventure, one for every brave soul.

The glorious cities that sat between here and paradise.

The long roads that wound through the countryside.

Past every tree that gave shade.
Past every village square where laughter echoed.
Past every peaceful night under the stars.

He would miss it all.

Oh gods…and Rainfall.

Just another promise he couldn’t keep

Thankfully, they hadn’t tied him up.
So he lay there, juggling between cradling his pounding head, his battered leg, and the churn in his gut.

Eventually, he gave in to all three, sprawling out, unable to keep his knees to his chest any longer.

It was freezing in here.
But maybe, if he was lucky, he could still fall asleep…

 

“Anty.”

The sound of his name yanked him from a dreamless void.

Someone was crouched before him.

It was hard to see in the dim light, but even through the fog in his head, he knew that voice.
His best friend.
His brother.

“Hey, buddy,” Elk smiled.

“Hey,” he grumbled back.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.
There stood his brother, deep inside this monstrous fortress, dressed in the garb of their enemies, sweat clinging to his face, worry etched into every line.

“Listen, I’m gonna get you out of here soon. When the time’s right, we grab Rokhsa and go. You just have to hang on. No matter what he says. No matter what he does. Do you trust me?”

Antion couldn’t even trust his own ears.

But he groaned out a weak, “Yes.”

The shadow of a smile flickered across Elk’s face.

Then he melted back into the darkness.

Do you trust me?

Elk’s voice still echoed in his skull.

I do, brother…but can you trust me?

 

“Antion, isn’t it? Good evening.”

Raumose’s darker twin had returned.

Or maybe Raumose was the dark one all along.

Hard to tell. They were both still clawing for the crown.

“I know your name, but you don’t know mine,” the man said smoothly. “I am Anum-Thros, Commander of the Royal Urgesh Army, second only to our great Parsh, Ashagyur. And since you’ve already met my brother…welcome to the family.”

He smiled as he began to pace around Antion, slow and deliberate, a predator circling helpless prey.

The slow dance of death.
The venomous strike.
The spray of blood.

This man was everything…and worse.

“My brother deceived you. Deceived your whole city. Can’t feel good…”

Anum-Thros sighed as he placed his hand on Antion’s shoulder.

“I was just there, believe it or not. It’s a beautiful city, Ar Fira. And the land even more so…that is, until you step outside the oasis.”

He leaned in close, laughing right into Antion’s ear.

His breath reeked of sour meat and mead.

“And that’s when I was struck by it all.”

Anum-Thros walked across Antion’s field of vision.

He spoke slow now, even gentle.

“The temples. The tombs. The lakes. The gardens. Everything that once made your city the envy of the wastelands. Even when the streets were choked with the bodies of your friends and family…”

He leaned down, whispering into Antion’s ear from behind.

“And their homes painted in their own blood…”

He straightened, but his hand stayed on Antion’s shoulder.

“And your walls torn to the ground…”

Then he circled back around, crouching to meet Antion’s eyes.

“…still, I could not take my eyes off it.”

Antion’s fear twisted into something hotter. Sharper. Anger climbed in his chest like flame.

“It’s a wonderful place, no doubt about that,” Anum-Thros said with a smile. “Makes me excited for what else I might find…once the rubble is cleared away.

He leaned in again.

“What do you think I’ll find then, Antion?”

He stared straight into those hard, piercing eyes.

Just like Raumose’s.
Full of power. Fueled by fire.

So…it was his turn now, wasn’t it?

“If you’re so desperate to plow our fields for your magic beans,” Antion rasped, “what the hell are you doing here? Huh? Ar Fira’s that way.”

He laughed, right in Anum-Thros’ face, then nudged his battered head toward the exit.

He didn’t care anymore.

Hell, he didn’t even care for an answer.

His captor said something…but Antion stopped listening. His own thoughts were pounding now, hammering the inside of his skull, dragging him back toward the cold, dreamless dark.

A voice called out, sharp, from somewhere in the room.
A threat.

The only words that pierced the fog, the last ones he heard before he passed out from the pain:

“And whenever I do find it, wherever I find it…I won’t have much use for you…or your priestess…”

His thunderous footfalls faded from the dungeon,
leaving Antion alone once more.

With the last of his fleeting consciousness, he prayed…

 

Lord bless the Ulu two:

One roaring,

One silent,

Both pure and true.

Waters of light,

Waters of blue,

Hear my prayer,

So I can find you.

 

Ulu meant “two hearts” in the Ashwaran tongue.

Two beating forces: one in this world, one in the next.
Forever connected by the bonds of gods and men.

There was the roaring river above. And the Silent River below. Any man could sail the first, but only the dead could swim the other.

Was that where he was sinking to now…?

To the Silent River…of death…?

 

Antion awoke to shouts.
But he kept his eyes shut.
Didn’t move from the cold floor.

There were no windows in this stone dungeon, and yet, the shouts still reached him.
Somewhere beyond the walls…something was happening.

Then everything stopped.
Even Antion’s mind.

…nothing at all.

– THEN –

 

 

Chapter 14

yesterday

 

Elk slept horribly that first long, miserable night.
Every second was spent glancing over his shoulder, waiting for the ravenous carnivores surrounding him to smell his fear and pounce.

How long until he slipped up in front of one of them?

How long until they slit his throat from ear to ear?

The stories had spread far:

Urgesh’s mutilations, their torture methods, the sick things they built from dismembered flesh to strike fear into enemy hearts.

And…

It was working.

Just hours ago, Raumose – or rather, Anum-Uk – had walked them straight into a trap and revealed his true colors.

Blood red.

Elk had always known the man to be a mean-spirited bastard…but a spy for the enemy?
Never.

In the confusion and terror, he had no choice but to leave his brother behind with those demons…and the guilt was gnawing him hollow.

But what haunted him more was this:
Why hadn’t Raumose taken him too?

Did he realize Elk wouldn’t run, that he’d stay and try to help his brother…even if it meant trapping himself here too?

…oh.

After being thrown from the General’s tent, Elk wandered through the alleys of firepits in the outer courtyard. Most had gone cold in the late night, but a few still burned, and their occupants watched him pass.

He tried to keep a low profile.
Tried to blend in.

But he must’ve drawn someone’s attention.

“Ey!”

He turned and saw a large man staring him down, just five feet away. The uniform was different. Cleaner. More adorned.
An officer, likely.

The man barked something in his foreign tongue, then smacked Elk across the chest with his sheathed sword.

Elk winced…but kept his head down.
He couldn’t afford to make a scene.

“Om’shi abahd!”

The meaning was clear enough.

“Move it, dog!”

He was abruptly shoved toward a shambling group being rounded up and marched out of the courtyard. Many wore cloth wraps like his over their mouths or faces, but theirs were far more bloodstained.

Ragged men in ragged clothes.
Feeble women who’d seen better days.

Not soldiers…

Slaves.

They shuffled beyond the fortress walls, through a forest of enemy tents scattered across the outer grounds. As they went, the tents began to degrade in quality…until, one by one, the others started piling into the scruffy excuses for shelter.

Elk let the herd carry him into one.

Inside were a dozen or so hot, sweaty bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder. There was no elbow room; just flesh and breath.

The air was thick with heat and exhaustion; the bodies packed like livestock in a sweltering pen. Somehow, the man Elk had followed managed to squeeze in, but that left no room for him.

So he moved on.

Across the aisle, another tent finally offered him a sliver of space. He crawled inside and collapsed between two sickly, sticky bodies.

Gods, it was hot that night.
No wind. No relief.
Just the stench clinging to every body.

Sleep eventually found Elk.
But so did the nightmares.

Ashagyur. Raumose. His brother.
Every leering face he’d seen while being herded through the camp. They watched him. Bled for him. Died for him.
He could shut his eyes as tight as he wanted, but theirs never left him.

 

“Astay’q!”

The call came sharp; orders for the slaves to rise and make breakfast for the fortress before the sun. Elk crawled out with the rest and obeyed their Urgesh overlords.
They were marched into another courtyard, where a makeshift outdoor kitchen awaited their servitude.

Here, they stripped dried meat into chunks for boiling stews and washed vegetables with clean water drawn from the river.

Next came the fruit; mouth-watering dates and honey stirred into a simmering pot of water, barley, and yeast.
The last batch was already being poured into terracotta pots to ferment.

Beer…sweet, delicious beer…

After breakfast was served to the soldiers, the slaves were taken behind the fortress and fed the spoiled food from the day before.

The army was so well supplied they could ship in fresh goods daily, it seemed; Elk had noticed the heavy wagons running back and forth from the direction of the Ulu.

They had enough.

More than enough.

They just wanted to treat the slaves like dirt.

Simply put, with all this fresh food coming in for the soldiers, Auxua didn’t stand a chance if Urgesh decided to starve them out.

That would’ve been the smart move, but the enemy had the power to breach those walls in seconds. And General Ashagyur had the will to do whatever it took to conquer the city fast.

So what are they waiting for?

Elk thought long and hard on his next move.

He didn’t have much time to save Antion and Rokhsa, but how was he supposed to pull this off alone? He hadn’t the slightest idea where they even were.
But still, he prayed.
Gods, he prayed they were alive.

You better still be here, brother…

As they ate their scraps, Elk noticed some of the other slaves pulling down their face wraps. Now he knew why so many kept their faces hidden.

Their lips had been sliced away, exposing gums and broken teeth, some with their tongues missing entirely.

He watched, frozen, as they gnawed at scraps, chewing without sound, spit trailing from their ruined mouths.

He felt sick just watching.

But he was starving.
So he pulled down his wrap and forced the food in,
even as revulsion climbed his throat.

He noticed some of them staring, no doubt wondering why his lips and tongue were untouched if he wore a face wrap like them.

He turned…and locked eyes with a tall, skinny slave watching him closely. Elk prayed to the silent gods the man would say nothing.

They were on the same side, right?
He hated Urgesh, too…right?

Elk brought a finger to his lips, silently pleading.

But the man didn’t speak Ashwaran. He just shrugged and returned to his lipless gnawing, maybe too broken to care anymore.

A few minutes passed.
No one else stared.

They just let him be.

Finally…

“Hai,” someone said behind him, tapping his shoulder.

Elk whipped around.
It was the same slave who’d been staring him down a few minutes ago.

“Hadilekh.”

Wait…Elk heard that tongue before.

It was Yeruan, from the land just north-west of Ashwari. Many travelers once came from that land, come to witness the faded glory of Ar Fira. Elk had spent enough time lurking in the market stalls to pick up a few words.

The famished man repeated himself, more firmly this time:

“Come on.”

The man motioned for Elk to follow the group; they were being prepped for their next grueling task. Just then, Elk caught whispers from another cluster of slaves as they passed.
It wasn’t Ashwaran.
Not Kresian.
Or even Yeruan.

But still…he’d heard that kind of talk from somewhere.

And suddenly, he remembered something.
Something from the battle.

At the time it meant nothing, just more shouting over the blood. But now, after hearing the real Urgesh tongue screamed in his face all morning, it hit him:

The enemy in Ar Fira hadn’t been speaking Urgeshi.
They weren’t Urgesh at all.

The enemy had sent slaves to fight in their place.
Forced laborers. Conquered peoples.
Thrown into the fray like cattle, always meant to die first.

No armor. No real training.

Just bodies thrown at the walls of Ar Fira.

Only the sheer number of them had weakened the city…only for Urgesh’s real warriors to sweep in and finish the job.

Their group was led back into the fortress for work detail. An officer oversaw them, barking orders and directing slaves where needed.

Only…Elk was never given a job.

What now?
Follow pick someone and follow them around?
Slip into the fortress and start looking for Antion?

He was too caught in his thoughts to notice someone waving from across the yard.

“Ey! Anu!”

Elk turned.

Raumose was waving at him.

No, not Raumose, but his brother, Anum-Thros.

The scar across the man’s jaw told him everything.

“Tu’ali hunlil.”

He stumbled forward and let himself be led through the fortress. Inside the cooler halls, Elk watched soldiers and slaves rush past with clear purpose, while he walked on uselessly, an outsider among them.

The enemy commander led him down a dimly lit hallway, lined with shadowy doorways on either side, stretching on in the deep dark.

The rooms were nearly pitch-black, cold and silent. Elk shivered as the chill seeped into his bones. It felt less like a hallway…
And more like a dungeon.

“Harash asa?” Raumose’s brother spoke as Elk blinked in confusion.

“Na? Ashkarai?”

That word again.
Ashagyur had said it last night.

Ashkarai was the northern name for Ashwari, a catch-all for the deserts, valleys, and oases across the Ulu.

Elk had heard it before, years ago, when a merchant from a far-off land visited their city.

He nodded at the commander in quiet understanding.

“Good. Get these rooms cleaned up. Throw everything outside the walls.”

With that, the man walked off, leaving Elk alone in the dim, cold hallway. Still…at least he hadn’t been recognized.

All that remained in that frigid hallway was silence. No sound penetrated these thick stone walls, a chilling barrier against the world’s noise and light.

He searched for a way to light the rooms.
Nothing.
He backtracked toward the entrance, scanning the walls and tables for a torch or lantern. Near the adjoining hallway, he peeked out just as two guards passed, escorting someone between them.

A woman.

He yanked his head back, heart pounding.
But for a moment…
No. It couldn’t be.

And yet, he swore he’d just seen someone he never thought he’d see again.

She was being escorted through the fort’s interior.

Right past him.

And for the briefest second, their eyes locked. The guards didn’t notice. It happened too fast. But something in her face lit up. Recognition.

But she said nothing.
And then she was gone.

Elk crept after them in silence, peeking around the corner to track their path. They crossed the courtyard and entered a lone tent.
Moments later, the guards walked out.

The coast was clear.
No voices. No movement. Just sunlight baking the empty court. His mind was already made up.

He stepped out into the hot morning sun; so harsh, so blinding, after the cold silence of the stone halls.

In no time, he reached the tent and peeked inside…

“Elk!”

“Ro!” he gasped, his voice catching as relief flooded through him.

He rushed in and threw his arms around his brother’s better half. He couldn’t believe it. Here she was, right where Antion said she would be.

How did he know…?

She didn’t look hurt. And she was being fed, at least. And judging by how tightly she held him, she still had her strength.

“Elk, what are you doing here!?” she asked, confusion and terror plain on her face.

He couldn’t blame her.

“Gods, Ro, another time,” he promised, “I just…I saw you walk past…I had to…”

“Just tell me…is my Anty alive?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

A tear slipped down her cheek and met the beginning of a smile.

“We came to get you out,” Elk said. “But Antion’s hurt. Bad. He’s being held somewhere in the fortress.”

“What!? He’s here!?”

He nodded.

“We got in last night. Disguised as the enemy. Commander Raumose and I…and Antion was our ‘prisoner.’ The plan was to trade him for you.”

Saying it aloud now, it sounded too stupid to ever work.

Then again, it was Raumose’s plan all along…

“Look, the commander…” Elk dropped his voice, “he was one of them the whole time. Urgesh. And now…”

He looked her dead in the eyes.

“We have to get out of here before it’s too late.”

Rokhsa froze, wide-eyed. They stood in silence, the weight pressing down like a stone. It was time to come up with something.
Something real. Something fast.

But what?

“Maybe I can get them to bring Antion here,” Rokhsa said, nodding with shaky confidence. “I’ll tell them I can heal him.

“You? A healer?” Elk raised a brow. “Remember when you tried to fix my leg and instead –?”

“– Oh, shut up.”

But it made her laugh.
For a moment, they smiled.
Faint. Fleeting. But real.

“If I can get him here,” she said softly, “maybe you can get him out. Save yourselves…”

Her gaze dropped to the floor.
But he was having none of it.

“No. We all leave together.”

“Where would we even go? Auxua?”

Elk shook his head again.

“The city won’t last. We head for the river. Catch a boat to the sea…and we won’t stop until we reach the west.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

It was the only thing he dared promise. He gave her one last hug, whispered goodbye, and slipped out undetected.

On the way back to the dungeon, he found a torch left burning in some forgotten corner. He carried it carefully into the cold hallway, walking slower now, wary of what waited in the dark.

He peeked into a few of the rooms. The torchlight flickered over the dried splashes of old blood. No mess he could clean.

But deeper in, a sharp stench crept into his nostrils.
Acrid. Foul. It grew stronger with every step.

By the time he reached the back, the smell was choking.

In the final room, he stopped cold.

Five bodies lay crumpled on the floor. Scorched, lifeless, as cold and spent as the torches in the corner.

They looked like a family. Burned beyond recognition.
That was his best guess, based on…

Monsters!

From the neck up…they were gone.
Heads sawn clean off.

He staggered back, bile rising.

Was he really about to do this? Desecrate the dead?

He couldn’t move. He was…scared? Scared to touch them?

How many lives had he taken in combat…and he couldn’t face a still corpse in the flesh?

The enemy commander had ordered him to drag them out beyond the walls, leave them for the vultures…and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

He cursed Urgesh, their commander, their general, and their whole wretched existence.
But he did as he was told.

He started with the father, the heaviest.

All he could do was drag the scorched body out of that putrid chamber, down the hallway, and into the light of that wretched day.

The courtyard was now swarming with soldiers,
training with bows, striking with blades, blocking with shields, running drills across familiar ground, running laps from one corner to the next.

All familiar grounds for Elk, only now, he was on the outside looking in.

They saw him struggling under the weight. But no one stopped. No one cared.

Their indifferent stares followed him as he dragged the corpse past their drills, out toward the empty fields beyond the city of tents.

The ground turned rocky as he moved farther out. A jagged mound rose ahead, jutting from the earth like a scar. He crested the ridge, cold, dead corpse in tow, and…

It caught his heart by the throat.

A giant, shallow pit yawned before him, overflowing with mangled bodies. Torn limbs. Shattered skulls. Rot-black wounds gaping like mouths that had to scream.

Flies swarmed in black clouds over the carnage, buzzing relentlessly in his ears. The heat turned the air thick and dripping with decay.

Blood and gore caked the dirt and sand, mingling with shattered bone and torn flesh; a silent, grotesque tapestry of horror.

It was too much.

He turned away, eyes clenched shut…but the tears slipped through anyway, tracing silent rivers down his cheeks to the dirt below.

All alone now, with only the dead for company, he lost himself…and he cried.

Cried and cursed himself.

Cursed and silently screamed.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at two solitary palm trees standing beside the pit of death. They swayed gently in the breeze, green fronds waving lazily, beautifully oblivious to the darkness festering at their roots.

He let out one final sob, dragged himself upright, and hauled the father’s body between them. It wasn’t the way Ashwari honored their dead. The view was terrible, and it was incredibly lonely.

But at least it was peaceful.

He laid the father to rest, then walked back for the mother. Then their son. Then their daughter. At last, he carried the youngest; a small child cradled gently in his arms, as if he dared not wake them.

He laid the child between their parents, and stepped back.

The whole family now rested beneath the palm trees. It must have taken only a few hours, but it felt like his whole life had passed him by.

He took a step back, whispered a quick prayer for their souls, and wiped away the last of his tears. Then he began the long walk back to the fortress.

Along the way, he let himself daydream.

If he ran now, straight to Auxua, maybe he could outrun the arrows and spears. Maybe he could dodge the arrows, the chariots. Maybe, by this time tomorrow, he would be halfway across the West Sea.

But the thought was a cruel indulgence, and an impossible task. He could still feel their eyes on him, watching, even here, in this dead patch of land beyond the fortress.

Instead, he forced himself back toward the enemy stronghold, back toward certain death…back toward the only family he ever had.

He would never leave his brother behind, but still…

What did you get us into, Anty?

The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent as Elk slipped back through the gates into the courtyard. He did his best to blend in with the other slaves, their movements slow and deliberate.
Not people, just livestock in motion.

But one officer spotted him.

Storming over, the man barked something unintelligible, then shoved a sword, shield, and sidearm into Elk’s arms without warning.

“Ami elshem,” the officer growled.

Then he sauntered off.

Unsure of what to do, Elk followed, gear in hand. But when the man turned and saw him trailing behind, he struck Elk hard across the mouth.

Warm blood pooled in his mouth. His head throbbed. But he kept his eyes down, swallowing both pride and blood.

“Na! Tor eshe ami elshem!”

Just as the officer raised a hand to strike Elk again, Raumose’s twin materialized from nowhere.

A chilling pattern…

“Q’yuda unai?”

“Bah-shay, densu,” the officer stammered.
His tone shifted instantly, rage crumbling into nervous respect.

“Wakif hir alan.”

Elk didn’t understand the words, but the sharp gestures, the pointed glances in his direction…he understood enough.

Anum-Thros was dressing the officer down.

Low. Controlled.

His voice never rose, but it left no room to argue.

Finally, the officer muttered something under his breath, snatched his gear back from Elk, and slunk off, tail tucked between his legs.

Anum-Thros huffed, then turned. That piercing gaze swept Elk from head to toe, lingering just a moment too long…

Then, without a word, he whistled and jerked his head toward the fortress.

Follow.

They moved in silence, their footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone walls. This time, Anum-Thros led Elk past the dungeon hallway.

The damp chill soon gave way to the scorching sunlight in one of the courtyards…the same one where he’d found Rokhsa.

Still in stride, Anum-Thros whistled at another slave, who quickly fell in behind them as they approached the priestess’ tent.

What now? Elk groaned to himself.

Inside, Rokhsa sat hunched over a bed, tending to her broken man, the one and only…

Antion lay sprawled across the cushions, more corpse than brother. Surely sleeping…but in this place, death was a breath away.

Was Anum-Thros going to make him throw Antion away too?

“Move aside, musa. You’ve had him long enough.”

No…

He was too late.

“No! He’s still too hurt! He needs more rest!”

Rokhsa’s cries fell on deaf ears.

She threw herself over Antion’s body, clinging to him as if she could shield him from fate. But Raumose’s brother came without mercy, just like the horde he commanded.

“Kudih.”

Take him.

Elk and the other slave had to pry her off, her cries of mercy ringing in their ears as they struggled to lift Antion’s dead weight.

He stirred, barely.

Whether from their rough hands or Rokhsa’s pleas, it was impossible to tell. She sobbed and she pleaded, holding on to him until the last moment.

Unfortunately, they were stronger.

Antion’s head rolled weakly against his chest as they carried him out; one limp arm over each shoulder…just as they had first carried Antion to his final fate.

They followed the enemy commander through the fortress halls, careful not to let Antion fall onto the cold, unforgiving stone.

Elk’s heart sank as they turned left into that dim, narrow corridor. The same one he’d prayed they’d avoid.

The shadows thickened as they ventured deeper, each step dragging them closer to his worst fear.

And then…there it was.
Waiting.

The room at the very back of the dungeon. The same room Elk had cleaned out. The charred remains…scorched beyond recognition.

Forever extinguished from this waking world.

They made him prepare his own brother’s torture chamber.

“…are…you…?” Antion’s voice cracked like dry paper.
Barely a whisper.
His glazed eyes flicked up to Elk’s.

Elk froze. His heart slammed against his ribs so loud he swore they could all hear it.

If Antion, even in his delirium, spoke the truth out loud, if he called him by name, then this room would become their tomb.

Please, Anty…shut up!

Elk and the other slave lowered Antion to his knees in the far corner, his body crumpling under its own weight. A sharp gesture from the enemy commander sent them to the opposite wall, where they stood in silence.

Watchers in the dark.

Anum-Thros turned and stalked toward the crumpled heap that was Antion. His footfalls were unnervingly soft, like a predator just before the kill.

Just then, the real Raumose silently entered the room. Anum-Thros must have sensed him; he tilted his head back without turning.

The twin brothers exchanged the faintest of nods, their eyes raking over one another, measuring their own reflections.

The resemblance between them was uncanny, and terrifying. Not just in their faces, but in the way they moved, the controlled precision of their stance, and the twin fires in their eyes.

These men were not mere warriors.

They were destroyers.

And Elk was trapped in here with them.

When the brothers finally moved, it wasn’t to embrace. When they spoke, it wasn’t in greeting. As far as Elk could tell, there was no brotherly love between them at all.

Raumose spoke first: “Kafki qanai?”

Anum-Thros smirked.

“We can speak your preferred tongue if you want,” he said, speaking in Ashwaran.

Raumose rolled his eyes.

“Fine. So, you bring him down here, thinking he’ll talk under torture? Should’ve left him with the priestess.”

“He’ll talk to me…brother.”

Raumose simply shrugged.

“Do it your way then. And when that fails, just have these two come get me. Big brother will get the job done.”

Anum-Thros didn’t miss a beat.

“We haven’t needed you so far.”

They stared each other down until Antion groaned behind them. Anum-Thros glanced over and shook his head.

“So…he claims to know where it is?”

“He did.”

“And you really brought him all the way from Ar Fira?”

“I did.”

“And that’s where he says it is?”

Raumose nodded.

And yet…you brought him here.”

“To keep him alive –”

“– To keep him away from me,” Anum-Thros sneered. “That’s why you met me in open battle, isn’t it? Hoping to take me out in the fight? Fucking glory hound…”

The enemy commander just scoffed and stepped aside. Without another word, he walked over to Antion and slowly knelt beside him. For a moment, he said nothing.

He just stared.

Then he smiled.

“Lucky me,” he mocked, “you are officially the second Arfiran I’ve had the pleasure of keeping in such good company. Answer my questions, and you might stay there. Trust me, it’s better than the alternative.”

Antion remained silent.

Anum-Thros’ smile tightened…then vanished.

“Where is the Silent River?”

Elk stiffened. Did he hear that right? The Silent River?

As in, the one from the stories?

“Where is, the Silent River?” Anum-Thros repeated, his voice climbing with each word. “I’ve searched every city, every temple, every grain of sand, every fucking rock in this cursed land!”

His voice cracked like thunder against the stone walls.

“I will tear Ar Fira to pieces. Rip up every floorboard. Dig up every inch. I will destroy everything! Now tell me…where is it!?”

Anum-Thros straightened, gaze steady, waiting for the cracks to form in his prisoner’s resolve.

But Elk had already gone numb.

Was this war, this entire campaign, really over a legend?

Then came the strike.

Anum-Thros smacked Antion across the face. Hard and sudden, no ceremony. Elk almost stepped forward…

…but then reality caught up.

What else could he do but watch his brother die?

“Tell me, where is it!?”

Antion mumbled something Elk couldn’t hear.
“What do you mean it’s not real!? Your commander, my own brother, told me you knew where it was! Now, who’s lying!?”

Another slap across Antion’s already battered skull.

“Tell me, who’s been lying to my face? My brother? Or you, huh? MY OWN FUCKING BROTHER…or you…”

Antion was too delirious to answer, so Anum-Thros struck him again, the sound echoing through the room.

“Are you listening? I asked you a question. Who’s been lying to me? My own flesh and blood brother? Or you? Him or you?”

Another blow. Another grunt of pain.
Elk’s fists clenched…

“– Another lie! Great! Better get them all out now!”

Antion doubled over, wheezing, and Elk heard it – that awful gasp – and it tore through him.

The demon grabbed Antion by the hair, dragged his face close.

“Just. You. Wait,” he hissed, venom dripping from each word.

Then he shoved him back against the wall.

Anum-Thros turned back toward Raumose.

“What, don’t approve?” he jeered. “If you have a better idea…”

Raumose’s voice was ice.

“Yeah, I do actually. While you’re flexing on half-dead prisoners, I try to understand them first, get to know them. Only then, when you know your enemy, can you defeat them.”
“As always with the sage advice,” Anum-Thros mocked. “What else you got?”

“Well,” Raumose’s gaze shifted to Antion, then back to his brother, “he happens to know our little priestess.”

“Oh?”
“In fact –”

Don’t say it, you son of a bitch…

“– they’re lovers.”

“Well now,” Anum-Thros uttered, “this’ll make things easier…”

Raumose huffed and turned away, leaving the dungeon. His brother followed, and the other slave trailed behind.

Elk stayed rooted in the shadows. Breath shallow. Heart hammering. He waited. Eyes straining against the dark…until he was sure.

No footsteps. No voices. No one coming back. Just him, alone…with the broken remains of his only brother.

The silence pressed in until a dull ringing filled his ears.

Then, and only then, did he crawl from the shadows and kneel beside Antion’s crumpled body.

“…Anty.”

The sound of his own name must’ve cut through the fog. Antion’s eyes fluttered open, weak and glassy, but focused just enough to see Elk crouched in front of him.

To see him like this…

“Hey, buddy,” Elk said softly, forcing a shallow smile.

A faint, breathless “Hey” was all Antion could manage.

“Listen,” Elk began, voice low but steady, “I’m gonna get you out of here soon. When the time’s right, we grab Rokhsa and go. You just have to hang on. No matter what he says. No matter what he does. Do you trust me?”

A feeble “Yes” escaped Antion’s lips.

Elk risked a smile. Just the tiniest one.
Lest the gods of misfortune take notice.

For hours, he stood vigil, thinking their new plan over, mapping escape routes, gauging the chances…the consequences.

Once or twice, he braved the dark hallway and peered out as people raced past, too busy to notice a shadow watching from the gloom.

Slaves, soldiers, superiors.

They all had their master’s tasks. Even the born-and-bred Urgeshi warriors; they were all on someone else’s time and coin.

They pitched someone else’s tents, cooked someone else’s food, sharpened someone else’s blades…invaded someone else’s land, in someone else’s name.

Forget it.

For the first time all day, Elk had a moment to breathe.

Time dragged. Nothing happened…

 

Finally…he returned.

His footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate, as he passed Elk without a glance. Dead set on his new prisoner.

He knelt beside Antion’s slumped form and stirred him awake. His voice, calmer than before, still carried a dangerous edge.

“Antion, isn’t it? Good evening. I know your name, but you don’t know mine.”

He stood back up.

“I am Anum-Thros, Commander of the Royal Urgesh Army, second only to our great Parsh, Ashagyur. And since you’ve already met my brother…welcome to the family.”

He began circling Antion’s crumpled body, his boots scraping softly against the stone.

“My brother deceived you. Deceived your whole city. Can’t feel good…”

Elk did everything to hold himself back, repeating over and over:

I gonna get you.

You and your traitor brother.

Anum-Thros had his back turned, oblivious to the burning gaze fixed on him. Elk could sneak up, rip the enemy’s own sword from it’s sheath, and run him straight through in less than a second.

And yet…he couldn’t move.

And what chance did he really have?
This was no ordinary man. This was a killer, one with more years of experience than Elk had spent alive?

“If you’re so desperate to plow our fields for your magic beans,” Antion rasped, letting a flicker of fire break through, “what the hell are you doing here? Huh? Ar Fira’s that way.”

“Plow it. Burn it. Salt it. I don’t care.”

Anum-Thros straightened, ready to leave.

And whenever I do find it, wherever I find it…I won’t have much use for you…”

He leaned down one last time.

His voice dropped to a venomous whisper.

“…or your priestess…”

With that, he turned and strode out of the dungeon, his boots echoing like distant thunder.

Moments later, another soldier entered with a plate of food for Antion. He barely glanced at Elk before waving him off, shooing him from the chamber.

The silent dismissal stung, but Elk knew better than to resist.

He cast one last glance at his brother’s slumped form before stepping into the hallway. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. He hated leaving Antion like this…

At the end of the corridor, he paused. He thought of Rokhsa. His chest tightened at the idea of checking on her, but the risk was too high.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked the other way. By the time he emerged into the open air, the sun had nearly set.

Exhaustion draped over him like a shroud. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and likely wouldn’t eat again until morning, but he refused to break.

Don’t worry, Anty. We’ll be free soon enough.

“Omshi!” the officers barked.

Yeah, yeah, I know the drill…

Elk fell in line with the others, heading for the beat-up shelters on the outskirts of the tent city, the run-down bedding reserved for the lowest slaves. They crammed into the hot, stuffy tents and promptly collapsed into sleep.

Sleep tonight. Escape tomorrow.

It was all he could tell himself as he forced his mind to shut down. Tomorrow would be a new day…

Elk jolted awake to the sounds of chaos tearing through the fortress grounds. The shouts, the pounding footsteps, the sense of dread; all filling the air.

His heart thundered as he scrambled over the packed bodies, desperate to see what was happening.

The morning heat hit him as he burst from the tent, thick with dust and sweat. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard.

His eyes scanned frantically…until he saw it.

Clear as day.

– THEN –

 

 

Chapter 15

yesterday

 

Anum-Uk was in a daze.

For eight years, his greatest fear had been discovery by the Arfirans, exposed as the imposter he was, the friendly face found false.

In the first few years, he’d awaken each morning wondering if today was the day he’d be dragged away in chains, made to pay for his treachery.

But in those days, the Urgesh Empire had barely made a splash in the world beyond the northern realms, their waves yet to reach even the far shores of Ashwari.

And so, as the years piled on, the supposed Superior Commander of the city – “Raumose – slowly grew accustomed to the Arfirans trusting him with their very lives.

The time he served in Ar Fira’s guard had aided his mission perfectly. He quickly surpassed the other soldiers, swiftly rising to command the city’s entire army…but little did they know he’d already spent years strategizing and fighting for the most powerful force in the world.
Little did they know just how perfectly suited he was for the role of Superior Commander.
He already was one.

Under the noble Parsh Ashagyur, he had unleashed the Royal Urgesh Army upon every kingdom and state, crushed every independent city, and subjugated every free soul in the lands between Ashwari and Urgesh.

Douthu. Aradu. Khirrat. Saqal. Khutai.

All united under the new empire.

One upon which the sun would never set.

Anum-Uk and his superior laid no stone unturned, no field unburned, and not a soul alive that did not know their names.

And he was proud of it.

To the southwest of Urgesh, the rugged mountain kingdoms of Hurad blocked the path to Kresia. To the south, the scattered states of Yerua still resisted.

And far to the southeast lay the forbidden land of Ashwari, whose thousand-mile legends promised untold wealth just waiting to be taken.

After that, the world would be theirs.

And yet, despite where he was going, Anum-Uk never forgot where he came from.

He and his younger brother were born on the banks of the Khutan River, west of the Urgeshi heartland, in some nameless village, in the forgotten land once called Madari.

Their father, Sen-Anum, was the village’s chieftain. From the beginning, the weight of expectation had rested on their shoulders.

But for Anum-Uk, the firstborn, he was next in line to become chief…only, that never happened. He was barely eighteen when Urgesh began its campaign in the region, barely a man when they came for his village.

Anum-Uk remembered that day as the first time he truly believed he was going to die.

Instead, he was offered a job.

Parsh Ashagyur himself came to the village, handpicking only the strongest warriors. He saw something in both brothers, killer instincts honed by a life of hunting, surviving, and killing for their people.
But in Anum-Uk, he must have seen something more. He took him under his wing. Taught him the art of war. In just ten years, the empire tripled its borders and became the largest in the world.

By then, Anum-Uk and his superior were inseparable, forged by countless battles. They trusted each other more than anyone…more than Anum-Uk ever trusted his own brother, who had always been promoted just beneath him.

Was it any wonder why the Parsh chose him for Ar Fira?

Ashagyur had him trained in espionage, covert ops, codes, and even charisma. All so that Anum-Uk – newly named Raumose – could embed himself in the Arfiran military and rise through the ranks.

Along the way, he had exposed every weakness, every fault, every conceivable way to starve the city, besiege it, and ultimately capture it intact.

After all, that was what the Parsh wanted: his prize.

For years, Anum-Uk fed him information, buried in unbreakable codes no one even thought to search for.
And all the while, he waited.
Eight long years.

Ashagyur believed something lay buried beneath the Ashwaran sands, something capable of changing the fate of the world.
Something forgotten by time.
Forgotten even by the gods.
Something only he knew.

How he knew, Anum-Uk was never told, yet he faithfully served his Parsh all the same. To him, Ashagyur was not a man who walked men, but seemingly with the gods themselves.

For such a man, Anum-Uk left behind his world, his home, and the last of his family…wondering when, or if, he would ever see them again.

He remembered the first time he laid eyes on Ar Fira: the great green edge of the oasis, the high temples, the vast lakes catching the sun, and the distant mountains rising like guardians.
He remembered walking up to the Arfiran commander, bold and unshaken – he, Arkhad, and Nebis, the third spy – joining the city guard on the spot.

They immediately outperformed everyone.

But Raumose’s skill eclipsed them all, and it wasn’t long before the city hailed him as its greatest fighter. Soon after, he was given full command of the city guard.

Only one man dared oppose his rise: Daiyek, leader of the ah-Karg. When Daiyek’s suspicions grew too dangerous to ignore, his bloody hand was forced.
It was never his intention to go that far. But in the ah-Karg, leadership was earned through strength…and sealed in blood.
With Daiyek gone, Anum-Uk claimed command of the fiercest warriors in the land. Fearless and fanatically loyal, they followed him without question.

With them at his side, nothing stood between him and the Empire’s mission.

And then everything changed again.

Anum-Uk began to feel something he hadn’t expected: the weight. Of the lies. The names. The faces. The trust.

He had come to know the Arfirans, but not as enemies; no longer. And that changed things in ways he wasn’t ready to admit.

For when he gained an empire, he lost a people.

So he pushed the Arfirans to their limits.

He made them hate his guts.

But he did it to give them all a fighting chance. They had their walls. Their food. Their numbers. Their pride.

They should have held.

A lot of things should have happened that day.

All this time, Ashagyur had the means to level entire cities, and Anum-Uk never had a clue. Ar Fira should have been able to withstand a siege for months, but in the end, he vastly underestimated the Parsh’s power.

What manner of dark magic did he really possess? And what kind of man would unleash that kind of destruction upon the world?

Anum-Uk only wanted answers.

After their arrival in the fortress last night, Anum-Uk suddenly found himself transported a decade in the past.

Old faces. Old ghosts.
The party they crashed had reunited him with forgotten friends. His new quarters, though lavish, felt alien.

Still, the promise loomed.

Ashagyur had told him they would talk in the morning, a conversation Anum-Uk had waited too long to have.

He tried to sleep. He couldn’t.
His mind wouldn’t stop.
He lit a candle and paced the room, the flickering light casting long, twitching shadows as he relived not just the past two weeks, but the past two decades.

He let his thoughts burn out like the candle.

But they refused to finish their course. So he went looking for the Parsh right then, in the dead of night.

Anum-Uk walked the dark, quiet halls of the fortress, guided only by weak moonlight bleeding through narrow windows.
The wall-mounted torches offered little else, but he remembered the path well enough. The last time he was here, he was scouting.

That was five years ago.
Not much had changed since the new owners took over.

He spotted a soldier guarding a corridor.

“Ay ali Parsh?”

The soldier escorted him outside to Ashagyur’s tent where, it seemed, the Parsh had no more use for sleep than he did.

After eight long years, Anum-Uk had almost worried his Urgesh brethren might forget him. But after his dramatic return only hours ago, they’d have a hard time forgetting his face now.

Especially since someone else shared it…

He ducked into the Parsh’s tent and was immediately struck by heavy, unfamiliar scents. They conjured visions of far-off lands, mysterious corners of the world that teased his senses, daring him to guess their origins.
It made him wonder how far those spices had traveled to arrive here.

“Sala, Anum!” the Parsh called. “Asb er khet.”

“Ba, el asb khetme.”

“Come in, come here,” the Parsh beckoned, grinning from his fine, fur-draped seat across the tent. “I’ve been waiting for this…”

Raumose gave a dry chuckle, lowering himself into the seat with a wry smile.

“And I’ve waited long enough.”

Everywhere he looked, untold riches gleamed, silver and gold stacked in obscene abundance. Statues of local gods loomed taller than any man. Treasure chests overflowed with coins and ingots.
Shields and bows of dark, lacquered wood lined the walls, their edges tipped in gold, inlaid with green stones that flickered in the candlelight like watching eyes.

In one corner, a hoard of gold sat smugly, catching the light like it knew what it was worth. In another, the marble head of a dead king stared from atop a dresser, its crown still intact, its eyes replaced by two piercing blue stones.

“It’s just a bust,” his Parsh chuckled. “I haven’t decided what to do with the real head yet.”

Anum-Uk could see that Ashagyur was still drunk from the party, so he took an extra second to absorb all the wealth sitting around them, and he was transfixed.

It was enough for a man to live a thousand times over; it was enough to fund an army until the end of time…it was enough for a fool to spend it all on wasted ambitions.

“Admiring the bounty?”

Ashagyur nodded in his direction.

“You have to see this.”

He led Anum-Uk to a corner of the tent and began rummaging through a heavy wooden chest, groaning as he bent down.

That’s when Anum-Uk noticed: the Parsh had grown a belly. The Ashagyur he remembered was tall and powerful, lean, unyielding. A man of war. He had never seen him in anything but royal armor or battle dress.

Now…he was wearing pajamas. Soft and comfortable.

And…slippers?

And in eight years, he seemed to have aged eight more. Ashagyur must be nearing fifty now. But from what Anum-Uk remembered, the man hadn’t aged a day since the moment he took him and his brother away.

At last, the Parsh stood with effort and drew a sword unlike any Anum-Uk had ever seen. The blade looked forged of ebony, swallowing light like a void.
And yet, it was unmistakably metal. Just not any metal he knew. The hilt was white of sycamore, polished to the touch, almost too beautiful to belong to a weapon.

“I think it’s my new favorite piece,” Ashagyur said, admiring it.

But then, his eyes shifted, as if he sensed something in the room. A question, silent and heavy, hanging in the air, bouncing off treasures and broken oaths.

“So,” Ashagyur smiled, “my prodigy, my right-hand man…my son…he returns to me now. We only fought for ten summers. Trained for ten winters. Next thing you know, another decade flies by.”

The Parsh took a slow sip from his chalice.

“Now, after all this time, not only do I find you at my side again, but you return successful. You truly are my most loyal man.”

“Thank you, Parsh,” Anum-Uk said, bowing his head.

“But I know what you want to ask me…”

Anum-Uk tilted his head, waiting.

“…what took me so long?”

Still, he said nothing. Ashagyur sighed, placing the strange, lightless sword on the table between them.

“We’ve been expanding our borders on all fronts. A thousand miles in every direction. We now share borders with Engila to the north, the wandering tribes in the west. The Dagian continent is almost entirely within our domain, and soon, the same will be said for Ashwari.”

He paused, staring into his cup.

“I have conquered nearly every land,” Ashagyur said, “seen nearly every corner of this world, except this one. I don’t know how else to put it, except…we weren’t ready.”

“You…weren’t ready?”

The Parsh fixed Anum-Uk with a fierce, unblinking stare.

“Four years ago, I was finally able to launch a campaign into Uhrun, far to the north, lasting for two summers. Uhrun is a land of big skies and sacred mountains, of talented hands and sharp minds. A realm of death…but also life.”

“Parsh…?”

Ashagyur didn’t stop.

“While crossing those mountains, I heard legends of a river with a wide mouth and no voice, and the water collecting at the feet of God Himself…the undisputed House of the Lord.”

Anum-Uk searched his face for signs of drunken rambling.

But there was none. What he saw instead was the storm the Parsh never carried without a sword in hand.

He leaned in close.

“Inside,” the Parsh said, “the miracles of His work roam freely. His knowledge is written on stones that will never fade with time. Deep within, the very secrets of the universe collide.”

Anum-Uk sat still, speechless for a long moment, torn between awe and unease. Never had he heard the Parsh speak of such things before, for he was a practical man.

Above all else, a believer of hard truths.

His victories were tangible, and his rage was no less real when it struck. To hear him talk of such things now…

“Out there,” Ashagyur continued, “I was looking for the key to victory here in Ashwari. Without it, even with your priceless intel, the war still could’ve gone any way. Ashwari still remains strong. I needed my advantage.”

Advantage?

You mean your dark magic?

What Anum-Uk really asked was:

“So you found it out there?”

Ashagyur’s voice dropped.

“You tell me. Did your brother simply knock on the gates…or did he knock them down?”

Anum-Uk felt a chill crawl down his spine, a phantom memory of the force that could turn iron and stone to dust in an instant.

“So…you really think there’s something like that exists out here?”

Ashagyur leaned in over the table.

“I know it.”

But Anum-Uk still didn’t understand.

“Then what is it?”

The Parsh said nothing.

And in that silence, the truth began to take shape.

Anum-Uk slowly shook his head, finally seeing the full extent of how he’d been used. Planted inside Ar Fira not just as a spy…but as a seeker.

A devious plan at least a decade in the making.

Across the table, Ashagyur sat back, smiling as he watched understanding settle over him like dust.

“And you think it’s in Ar Fira?” Anum-Uk asked, voice low, half disbelief, half resignation. “Why?”

“Here in the desert, very drop of water is worth a fortune. Every sacred drop, guarded by a thousand thirsty souls. How am I to know which is the one I seek?”

By now, the Parsh’s eyes burned like twin fires.

“Still, even you must’ve heard the legends. Ar Fira of the furthest reaches. Ar Fira, the hidden jewel at the end of the world. Sounds like the perfect place to hide a well-kept secret, don’t you think?”

“If only you’d have told me what we were looking for, I could’ve…”

The Parsh turned his head without a word, and Anun-Uk knew that he had just toed the invisible line, so he left it at that. However…

“…I have one last question.”

“Ask away, my son.”

“…where’s my cup?”

They stayed up all night drinking wine, cracking jokes, catching up with each other, sifting through the piles of treasure for something with a backstory.

They reminisced about the early days, the empire’s rise, their old campaigns, the long-forgotten scrapes. Just like old times.

It was nearing dawn when Anum-Uk finally noticed just how tired he was.

“God, we need rest,” Ashagyur yawned, wide and loud. “Take the day. Relax. Sleep in. I’ll have some food brought up to you soon.”

“Thank you, but, I was wondering,” Anum-Uk said, pausing for breath. “What became of my prisoner? The Arfiran?”

“Your brother has him. But last I heard, he was still out cold from the beating you gave him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Anum-Uk hesitated, putting two and two together. “Should we get him to a healer? If he dies, we lose that lead. I think the Arfiran priestess might be able to help.”

Ashagyur gave a grunt of agreement. Then, he fell asleep right there, slouched in his throne of plush animal skins.

“Thank you, Parsh,” Anum-Uk whispered.

“……”

With that, he left the Parsh to his sleep.

He had a soldier escort him to his brother where, presumably, he’d find Antion nearby. The fortress was eerily quiet as they ascended to the second floor.
A long hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors. Officers’ quarters, most likely.

The silence pressed against him like a weight.

At the end of the hall sat two rooms, facing each other. On the left, behind thick cloth curtains, was surely his brother’s. On the right, with no curtain and only a lone guard standing watch: Antion’s.

Instead of checking in on his brother, Anum-Uk stepped toward the Arfiran’s room. Inside, a body lay sprawled on a makeshift bed; filthy, torn, like one meant for a slave.

Anum-Uk nudged the young man, testing for signs of life.

Still unconscious.

“Antion,” he whispered.

The Arfiran stirred but didn’t wake. His face was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving, heart hammering against his ribs.

With a grunt, Anum-Uk hoisted him over his shoulder, unsure whether he was carrying guilt, duty, or something else entirely.

No one stopped him on his out.

No one dared.

Intent on avoiding his younger brother, he made his way down through the fortress and out into one of the side courtyards where the priestess, Rokhsa, had taken up residence.

The morning sun stretched long shadows across ancient stone as he approached her tent, its entrance marked by incense curling into the cool air like a whisper.

At the flap, he dismissed the soldier who had followed him and stepped inside, Antion’s deadweight still draped over his back.

“ANTY!”

The priestess scrambled from her bed and dropped to her knees. Anum-Uk carried Antion forward and gently laid him down.

Rokhsa scurried past him, falling over Antion’s lifeless body, clinging to him with both arms. Her hands trembled as she felt the faint breath on her cheek, straining to catch every broken groan that escaped his lips.

“Thank you, my Lord!” she sobbed into Antion’s chest, never letting go of her man.

Anum-Uk just backed away and walked out, leaving the two birds to their nest. He could still hear her cries of relief echoing behind him…until he nearly ran into his own reflection.

His younger brother had found him.

What words could possibly fill this eight-year canyon between them? Were there any?

“Is he in there?” Anum-Thros huffed.

“Yeah. She’s taking care of him for now. The Parsh gave the go-ahead.”

“Right…” Anum-Thros muttered, “…fine…”

Fine.

Almost a decade since last they spoke, since last they cursed each other’s name, and all they had to say to each other since then was…fine?

Were they really going to continue this never-ending battle between brothers? Couldn’t they put it down, just once, and stand side-by-side?

“See you later…brother…”

And just like that, Anum-Thros walked away.

And just like that, Anum-Uk hated his brother all over again. He hated the source of their endless resentment too. Was it the bitter sting of being chosen for the mission instead of Anum-Thros? Of being the Parsh’s favored son? Was it the scar he left on his brother’s jaw when Anum-Thros picked their very last fight together?

It didn’t matter.

Because in the end, Anum-Uk ended up hating everything about his life anyway. So far from home, surrounded by people he was convinced was his enemy, on a mission that he no longer believed in…

Yeah, he would’ve traded places in a heartbeat.

He hated that he had to miss everything happening back home because he was here instead. He hated that fat, bearded bastard Ashagyur for ruining his life, for destroying his one chance to be happy in the village where his father grew up, and his father before him.

He hated that he hated his own brother, his one and only, and the fact that they both lost their home to the greedy and tyrannical.

He hated Urgesh…but in its place, he grew to love this land; with it, his new home, his new life.

And with that came a whole new man.

 

 

Chapter 16

Antion awoke to faint shouts echoing from somewhere outside. But he kept his eyes shut, never once moving from the cold dungeon floor.

Then everything went quiet. Even his mind.

Then, nothing at all.

– THEN –

The earth shuddered.

A deafening roar, like the sky being torn apart.

A shockwave slammed through the fortress, blasting dust from the cracks.

Something massive cracked above. Then fell.

His heart surged into his throat.

That sound.
The same sound that shattered Ar Fira’s gates.

He clawed his way upright, legs weak, vision swimming.
No guards. No torches. No one to stop him. Only stone. Cold, ancient, trembling.

The only way out this dark prison was ahead.

Forward…

A second explosion rocked the fortress again, more powerful than the last. It nearly knocked him to his knees, searing not just his insides, but his senses.

His eyes rattled in his skull.
His ears went deaf.
He tried to scream, but his jaw refused to move.

The fortress groaned, straining under the weight of the twin blasts. Even in the dark, Antion could see the dust choking the air. He could taste it on his cracked tongue.

His first thought was that the ceiling was going to collapse.

But it held for now.

His next thought was:

Run! Don’t die here!

He braced himself against the wall, dragging his feet forward, every breath a battle. Only one thought kept him going…

Her.

She lived in the space between his heartbeats, driving him forward.

But the dark had other plans.

He stumbled.

Grasped blindly…finding nothing.

It was a long fall back into that infinite abyss…

A hand caught his arm.

Just before the crash that would’ve ended it all.

It was still too dark to see the face.

“Elk?” rasped, coughing up blood.

“Try again, soldier,” came the grunt.

Gruff, familiar, unmistakable.

Antion didn’t ask. He just let himself be dragged from the dark and into the light…where chaos reigned.

The fortress was falling apart. Screams, shouts, the clamor of boots and iron. Panic stormed every corner.

Everyone seemed caught off guard.

Everyone…except one.

After all the lies. After all the betrayal. Raumose had come back for him. Relief clashed with rage, but there was no time for either.

“We need to leave before Auxua takes advantage of this!”

They ran through the courtyard, past scores of soldiers and officers running in every direction, none of whom paid the commander or his “prisoner” any mind.

Raumose dragged Antion toward a nearby tent and finally let him go. He landed hard, but caught himself on both feet. And just in time, because they crashed through the opening…

And collided with someone inside.

The figure yelped, stumbling back.

“ANTY!”

Rokhsa scrambled toward him, wrapping herself around his fallen frame. He clung to her with what little strength he had left, which wasn’t much.

But gods above, it felt real.
It proved it wasn’t just a dream.

She was here.

“What the –!?”

Elk, the same “somebody” they had crashed into, jumped to his feet, a dagger already in his hand. The same one Antion had smuggled in.

He didn’t hesitate.

He lunged straight at Raumose

But Raumose was faster.

He dodged, pivoted, and used Elk’s momentum to throw him forward, sending him tumbling across the tent floor.

“Stop!” Raumose pleaded, stepping back into a defensive stance. “We can’t do this!”

Elk was already up again.

Slower now, calculating, eyes blazing with fury.

“If we’re going to escape, we need to move now!” Raumose urged.

Elk was having none of it.

“You fucking traitor! I know what you really are!”

“Please, stop! This is not the time!”

Elk’s face twisted in rage and betrayal, his knuckles white around the dagger, like he could strangle the truth out of Raumose.

He opened his mouth, ready to spit fire.

But Antion beat him to it.

“Stop, Elk! You don’t understand!”

Not even Antion understood.

Elk turned to him, and for once, said nothing.

He looked at Antion like he was seeing a stranger. Like the only person left he trusted had just stabbed him in the gut.

That look – gods above – it was like dying all over again.

“Elk, please. We need to leave. Now…please.”

Antion softened his voice, poured every ounce of brotherhood into it. Hoping, begging, that Elk might listen. The rush and commotion of the outside world had grown silent, for in that tent, they were all in a world of their own.

Without admitting defeat, without willing to give them an inch, Elk seemed to relent a bit.

Just enough.

Seizing the shift, Raumose stepped forward.

“Come on,” he said, calm but commanding. “Everyone follow me.”

“– Wait!”

All eyes snapped back to Elk.

“What about the General?”

A beat of silence.
No one had an answer.
No one…except Raumose.

“Fuck him!”

And with that, he ripped open the tent flap…and nearly walked into a mirror. Anum-Thros stood just outside, one arm mid-reach, frozen.
His eyes widened in disbelief.

Before he could speak…

Crack!

Raumose grabbed him by the scruff, slammed his forehead into his brother’s face, and hurled the stunned commander back into the tent like a sack of grain.

The whole ground seemed to flinch when Anum-Thros hit the floor.

Out. Cold.

Elk stepped forward, dagger in hand, murder in his eyes.

But Raumose moved faster, shoving him back, planting himself between Antion’s brother…and his own.

“No! Please…”

His hands came together. Not in defense, but desperation.

That stopped Elk more than anything. He let out a breath like a hiss, threw up his hands in fury.

But he backed off.

The others had already noticed the resemblance. No one said it.

They didn’t need to.

One by one, they stepped over the fallen commander and slipped outside.

Antion paused at the threshold. He risked a glance back.

Anum-Thros lay crumpled on the floor, blood running from both nostrils, flooding his face.

But it was the eyes that got him.

Still wide open.

Still staring.

Still watching them go.

At last, they burst into the main courtyard.

Smoke swallowed the air. Thick, hot, choking. It stung their eyes, burned their lungs, and turned the world into a blur of ash and screams.

Thousands of voices clashed in the chaos, a cacophony of panic and fury that seemed ready to shake the very heavens loose.

Then they saw it.

A massive crater had swallowed an entire wing of the fortress. Stone turned to dust. Twenty-foot-high walls…

Gone.

Nothing but ruin now. And at its center, the blackened mouth of some unnatural wrath.

Antion’s blood ran cold.

A surge of enemy warriors had already poured into the yard, and the four of them were being pushed back. Back into the fortress, away from every exit.

Raumose scanned the chaos, searching for a way out before they were discovered. They had seconds, maybe less, before someone noticed them.

And how long until Anum-Thros came to?

The sun had vanished. Smoke choked the sky. It felt like the world had lost all warmth.

And for a moment, everything stood still. Even the wind refused to move. Soldiers froze in place. Eyes darted.

No one dared to speak, as if the very air might explode.

Then…from the direction of the city…

A low drone. Distant at first.
Then horns. Drums. Shouts. Screams.
The sound swelled, rising and rising, until it became deafening.

And then he appeared.

General Ashagyur stepped into view atop the front wall, cutting a stark figure in the dim light. Wordless, expressionless, he drew his jet-black sword and pointed it toward Auxua.

The signal was clear.

Urgesh soldiers moved as one, sealing the massive gates with iron clangs that echoed like death knells.

Auxua had been waiting for this.

They responded with terrifying precision, as if the drums had always been beating just beneath the earth, and now the ground itself was answering.

Antion turned to Raumose.

The commander gave a single nod.

“Let’s go!”

Raumose led them another way, toward another exit. Through tents half-collapsed from the blasts, past firepits scattered with embers, they cut across the smoky yard where chunks of shattered stone still lay.

Slaves ducked into the smoke-filled shadows as the ground trembled beneath distant stampede. Even the soldiers jumped out of their way as the four of them desperately advanced through the wreckage.

Still, Raumose moved with purpose, his steps guided by a route only he knew. He was leading them north, toward the Ulu River. No more than half a mile now.

He had prepared for this. He knew this.

They reached a narrow stretch of outer wall, an old stone tower stabbing the sky above. At its base, a heavy wooden door, barely guarded.

“Commander?” the man called, then blinked at the prisoners behind him.

He never got another word out.

Raumose slammed into him like a battering ram, crushing him against the tower door with a sickening crunch. Then, without pause, he shoved the body aside and wrenched the door open.

“Go!”

They burst through. Raumose followed last, slamming the door shut behind him. Ahead, through the haze, the river glinted like salvation.

And they ran like hell itself was hot on their heels.

Their legs burned. Lungs screamed. But ahead, the town on the riverbank shimmered, silently promising their only escape.

Then behind them – war.
The battle of Auxua exploded like thunder through the valley, crashing forward with relentless force.

They dared not look back!

The town loomed closer: low huts, livestock pens, smiths hammering, fishers mending nets. Peaceful on the surface. But the darting eyes of the townsfolk, the distant horns cutting the air.

Chaos was coming.

The waterfront stretched into the Ulu, weathered piers jutting out into the current. Boats bobbed gently on the river’s surface.

Antion caught Raumose’s look.

Boats!

“That’s our way out!” Raumose shouted. “Don’t stop for anything!”

They bolted down the road as fast as they could go, Antion’s body a furnace of fury and sweat, pain and adrenaline, love and hate.

He ignited them all.

They tore into the town at breakneck speed, weaving through startled villagers and vendors. Heads turned. Questions died on tongues.

The townsfolk had heard the explosions.

They knew what was coming.

But then –

“What is that!?”

A new sound rose ahead. Not like the thunder of war behind them. This was worse.
Silent, yet deafening.
Ominous. Relentless.
Dozens of ships breached the river’s horizon, their black sails slicing the sky.
And they were coming.
Straight for the town.
Straight for Auxua.
Straight for them.

They pushed upstream with the force of a thousand ravenous beasts, their hunger for conquest undeniable.
Urgesh’s reinforcements had arrived…and with them came the storm.

Black clouds gathered overhead, thunder growling behind like a warhound on a leash.
Was this dark magic?
Or the wrath of the gods themselves!?

Raumose turned, true fear burning behind his eyes for the first time. He drove them faster toward the river.
But they weren’t alone anymore.

The townsfolk had seen the ships.
They had felt the shift.
And now the whole town surged toward the waterfront, hoping to escape the slaughter fast approaching from the west.

They shoved through the crowd – angry men, wailing women – growing thicker with every step. Still, Raumose forged ahead like he was being chased through the reeds by hungry crocodiles.

“We’ll find something!” he yelled back, even if he didn’t sound convinced himself.

Urgesh’s reinforcements were nearly on them. Time was bleeding out. They needed a boat. A ride. Anything.
Even if they had to take it by force.

Rokhsa gripped Antion’s arm, pulling his broken, pounding body closer.

It’s gonna be okay, baby.

They risked a glance; her eyes wide as the moon, his ready to close forever. But he had made a promise. To protect her. And he wouldn’t break it again.

He poured everything into that one look: love, resolve, everything.
She returned it, and squeezed his hand even tighter.

“HEY! ANTY!”

They reached the docks with seconds to spare…and that voice cut through the chaos like lightning.
He froze. So did Raumose.

“OVER HERE!”

Vestheus was waving them down, standing near the very end of the docks, grinning like a madman, enemy armada rising behind him like death itself. Beside him, a small woman paced frantically across the last boat left on the waterfront.

Tefriti.

She jumped off the boat and yanked Vestheus back with the strength only a terrified spouse could summon. Still, the fool kept waving them over, even as she dragged him backward by the sleeve.

They made it. Just in time.

They all leapt aboard: husband and wife, Antion and Rokhsa, Elk and…someone else.

A silent man sat hunched at the bow.

Cloaked. Hooded. Motionless.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even look at them.

Raumose came last, untying the moor with a final heave and hurling himself onto the deck just as the sails snapped to life, catching the hurtling winds coming in off the storm. Together, they desperately steered their boat through the mess of rafts that now choked the waters.

The river stretched nearly half a mile wide, its currents frothing wild as the storm winds whipped the surface into a frenzy. The howling gales, once faint whispers, now roared loud enough to drown their breathless gasps.

Around them, civilians gripped weapons. Bows, a few rusted swords, and even wooden shields. If Urgesh’s reinforcements followed them downriver, this would be the fight of their lives.

“Look!”

Everyone tensed; bows raised, blades ready. But the enemy ships…pulled up beside the docks.

Not a pursuit, but a siege.

A collective breath passed through the fleeing boats, ragged, disbelieving. The town was spared. They were spared.

And best of all, Rokhsa was in his arms again.

He wasn’t letting go this time.
Not now.
Not ever.

For now, his family was safe. And that was all that mattered.

He exhaled a long, shaky breath.
For a fleeting moment, the nightmare felt…over.
The weight on Antion’s chest lifted, inch by inch, as the boat drifted farther from the fallen town. He tightened his grip on Rokhsa, grounding himself in the one truth that mattered.
They were alive.
They were together.
And for the first time in days, he let himself believe it was over.

“Everyone okay?” Raumose huffed, breathless.

A few quiet groans answered him. Everyone was still too stunned to speak…all except one.

“Elk?” Raumose called over.

Elk looked up slowly, like it took everything he had to move. His eyes were bloodshot, whether from smoke or fury, it wasn’t clear.

“Soldier,” Raumose raised his voice.

“…you’re not my commander…” Elk muttered.

“…what did you just say?”

“YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING COMMANDER!”

Elk surged to his feet, standing face-to-face with the man who had betrayed them all. Hopelessly outmatched in strength and skill, he stared straight back at Raumose.

“You were always one of them, weren’t you!?” he spat. “A traitor!”

“We had a plan, soldier, and we stuck to it!” Raumose fired back. “We have the priestess, your brother, and we struck a direct blow to the enemy in the process.”

Now it was Raumose who spit fire.

“You may not realize it, but we just single-handedly ended their campaign.”

“Wait, you guys blew up the fortress!?” Vestheus blurted from the back.

Raumose turned his head, slowly.

“Yeah,” he said, “that was us.”

Then back to Elk.

“I destroyed their entire cache of…whatever it was. Their secret weapon…it’s gone.”

He took a breath, finally grounding himself.

“I ended it. Now they’ll have to abandon Ashwari, even if they take Auxua. How does that make me a traitor?”

Elk started tearing at his eyes, but his stone face would not allow them to fall.

“I don’t know…ask him.”

Antion felt every pair of eyes swing his way.

“Me? I don’t –”

“– DON’T PLAY STUPID!” Elk roared. “You’ve known this whole time! Just admit it! He’s one of them!”

Raumose didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.

No more orders to bark.
No more lies left to spin.

His mountainous stature deflated as his shoulders fell.

“Admit it!”

Raumose said nothing.

“You know it, Ro. And don’t you DARE deny it, Anty!” Elk snarled. “The General embraced him like family. Oh, and his twin brother…for gods’ sake! He walked us right into that place like the FOOLS we are!”

Antion struggled to rise to his feet, but he begged with all his strength, “Elk, please. You don’t understand –”

“– Shut up! You’re a traitor too!”

“ELK!”

Rokhsa leaped to her feet between them, refusing to hold her tears back anymore.

“How can you say that to your own brother!?”

“Tell her, man,” Elk growled at Antion, “tell her everything.”

“Anty, heru…” Rokhsa’s soft voice let out, “…what’s happening?”

Those big, brown, beautiful eyes. Awash in terror. Drowning in sorrow…he could not lie to them. Her tears, her fears, they ate at his insides. He could not keep this up any longer. He had to come clean.

“Ro, you’ve got to understand…”

The words came out shattered. Quiet. But final.

“…I did it for you.”

Rokhsa nearly recoiled from his next words. He told her about Raumose. About Ashagyur. About the plan, the lies, the weeks of deceit and guilt.
Everything. All of it.

All the while, the commander denied none of it.

“I chose you,” he whispered, mere inches from her face.

He pulled her in even closer, her wide, stained eyes a mess of tears. He wanted her to say something. No! He needed her to say something. Anything to end this horrible gap of silence in between them, which spanned more miles for every second that passed.

“Anty…”

Her single word dangled between them like a lifeline, but before he could grab it…

“– SHIPS!”

To everyone’s surprise, the strange man who had stayed out of the conversation until now had stood up, eyes lit with alarm at the sight unfolding behind them. Everyone looked back toward the town, and what they saw sparked a new, ferocious fire under their feet.

Three ships had broken off from the main fleet that had just docked, and they were heading straight for the escaping civilians, including them!

“I don’t understand, why are they coming after us!?” Tefriti frantically shouted over the gaining winds.

Raumose just shook his head, never taking his eyes off those warships.

“No, no, no…”

“What’s going on?” Antion asked, not even hiding his distress.

Except he already knew the answer.

 

 

Chapter 17

Three ships from the enemy’s reinforcements, out of a dozen that had landed at the docks, broke off from the main force and begun their pursuit.

Unfortunately for Antion, they were caught in a maelstrom of boats and rafts that nearly brought the waters to a standstill.

The warships loomed behind them, massive, probably fifty feet from bow to stern. Slow at first, their immense black sails soon swelled with the raging winds that the storm unleashed.

A rain of arrows pierced the air, their whistling descent ending in a storm of sharp, rhythmic splashes, sending ripples through the panicked waters. For a breathless moment, silence fell. All eyes turned to the oncoming ships.

Then movement erupted again.

Sails were hoisted, oars dug deep, and terrified shouts willed the currents to reverse direction and carry them away to some empty shore that never knew the name of Urgesh.

Once again, Antion was running from an enemy too vast to fight, from a land being ripped from his hands. This was the final push to drive the Ashwarans from their home, but this time felt different.

He looked at Rokhsa, and she looked aback.

They squeezed each other’s hands as hard as their terrified, exhausted muscles would allow them.

But this time, he had her by his side.

“Do you have any weapons!?” Antion called out to Vestheus.

“Just these!”

Vestheus produced a rusty fishing spear and two old composite bows, both chipped and damaged, but still usable.

“I don’t have many arrows,” he added.

“That’s fine. Thanks, man.”

Antion grabbed one bow and tossed the other to Raumose. Between them, they had a literal handful of arrows. Hope dried up faster than a mud-puddle in the desert.

“What else do we have?”

Raumose answered, “I’ve got a sword and dagger. Probably won’t get to use them, but…better than waiting empty-handed.”

While their ragtag band of warriors and civilians scrambled to divvy up weapons, Antion and Raumose took cover behind the boat’s wooden wall.

We’re ready to fight for our lives, you motherless –!

– Another hail of arrows tore through the air, striking the water much closer this time. A few even slammed into fleeing boats, slicing across their sterns. Still no screams. Not yet.

They wouldn’t be so lucky a third time.

Then came the storm. As if chasing the arrows, the black clouds finally broke open, drenching the river in a cold, merciless downpour.
Rain lashed their faces, winds tore at the sails, and the boat bucked like a wild beast. Antion wiped the freezing water from his brow, peering through the chaos.

On a nearby vessel, he spotted a man with a bow in hand and a sword at his hip. The stranger looked back, eyes locking with Antion’s. They nodded.

Together, they raised their weapons and fired. Antion loosed his arrow first, and a dozen more followed.
Several found their mark on the lead warship. The sudden counterattack must’ve caught the enemy off guard; their ships slowed, clearly not expecting resistance, however small.

“We need to get off this boat!” Elk shouted over the downpour.

He pointed toward the left bank. Just sand, scattered rock, a few lonely huts, and farmland stretching into nothing.

“No!” Raumose barked. “They’d run us down in seconds!”
“Then what the hell do you suggest!?” Elk snapped.

“We need fire!”

“What!?”

Even Antion paused.

Fire? In this storm!?

Raumose began tearing through the supplies on board, ignoring the boat owners’ protests. Then he froze, grunted, and dragged two heavy jars into view.

“Olive oil?” he asked Vestheus, who nodded.

Antion’s eyes widened.
He understood now.

“What? We’re gonna light our arrows on fire?” Elk scoffed, but the terror behind his voice bled through.

“No!” Raumose breathed. “The river!”

His eyes screamed death, but the man himself grew calmer by the second. Antion watched him work fast, precise, brilliant. A man born for war.

Flaming arrows would never survive the wind and rain, but if they could spread oil across the river and set that ablaze? It might just buy them time to escape upstream.
It was reckless. It was mad.
It was their last chance.

“Is this it?” Raumose asked, slapping the oil jar on its belly.

“There’s also a couple small phials of tar somewhere,” Vestheus offered. “Might give us thick smoke, maybe enough to spook them.”

He returned with the phials. Tiny. Barely enough to light a campfire, let alone a river.

Raumose stared down at them.

“It’s not enough…”

A slow, regretful nod.

A deafening thunderclap split the sky, shaking the valley and sending ripples across the river. Its roar rang out like a warning from the gods, a harbinger of chaos yet to come.

Antion scanned the waters. Boats everywhere. People everywhere. Trapped. Terrified.
Because of us.

Not warriors. Not fighters.
Farmers. Merchants. Pilgrims. Families.
Ordinary people, caught in a storm that wasn’t theirs.

Of course!

“The others!” Antion shouted, waving frantically across the water. “Someone’s gotta have more!”

“Yes!” Raumose’s eyes lit up, already sweeping the boats.

This was a port town. There had to be oil. No way they were the only ones carrying some. It was a staple here, used for food, light, trade.

Someone had to have what they needed.

Without another word, Raumose lunged for the sail, steering hard toward the nearest boat. As they pulled alongside, they saw a small family huddled together; wet, weathered, and watching them approach.

The father gripped his bow; the mother clutched their younger children. Two older sons worked the sails.

“HEY!” Antion screamed across the water.

The father looked over, startled.

“WHAT!?” he screamed back.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY OIL!?”

“WHAT? YEAH!”

“THEN POUR IT BEHIND YOU! NOW!”

Another volley from the enemy. Arrows shrieked overhead, sails ripped, hulls cracked, and this time…people screamed.

The enemy had nearly closed the gap. Their third assault was paying off. A cluster of arrows thudded into their own boat, splintering through the deck just inches away.
Without hesitation, Raumose dove forward on all fours, yanking the enemy’s arrows out like weeds.

“We still need fire!” he growled between pulls, his voice ragged with frustration.

A fourth volley rained down.
This one was worse.
Screams tore through the storm. Raw, blood-curdling. Their boat was spared. But the one beside them wasn’t. The father, just seconds after lifting his jar of oil, took an arrow to the chest.
He collapsed without a sound.

His wife shrieked. The children bawled. And all around them, it was the same: grief, terror, and dying cries echoing through the rain.

Antion felt himself go numb.
Too tired to think.
Too broken to hope.

So this is how it ends…

After all they’d taken from him, Urgesh had come for the final thing: his life. He didn’t need another warning. The next volley would be their last.

Any second now.

He looked to Rokhsa. Then Elk. Then Vestheus and Tefriti.
Finally, his eyes landed on Raumose, still kneeling, soaked and shivering.

And then the commander fell back against the hull wall. Silent. Slow. Fishing something from his pocket.

What is he doing?

In his last moments, Raumose seemed too calm, too still. The vicious fire from before had gone cold, replaced by a strange, eerie calm.
Slowly, he pulled three small metal balls from his pocket.
Antion’s eyes locked on them.

He had no idea what they were.

Raumose caught his stare and offered a quick, bitter smile. More ghost than grin. Together, they all drowned in the pouring rain, forever extinguishing Raumose’s plan before it even had a chance.

“If only we had that fire…” he muttered.

Then –

Movement.

The stranger, forgotten until now, sat up and crawled forward. His gaze locked not on Raumose…but on the objects in his hand.

Still hooded, he inched it back just enough to reveal an aged, weatherworn face.

“Where did you get those?” he croaked.

Raumose frowned.

“Does it matter anymore?”

The man’s tone sharpened.
“Where did you get those?”

Raumose hesitated. His jaw tightened. He didn’t trust the man, but something in that voice allowed no argument.

“…the enemy fortress.”

The old man nodded once.
“Come here.”

The stranger moved hastily, and Raumose extended his hand. He cupped Raumose’s with his own, shielding it from rain and prying eyes.

A series of clicking sounds could be heard, followed by a sharp hiss.

…click…click…hiss.

A thin fuse flared to life.

“Throw It Now!”

Raumose stood and hurled the device toward the lead Urgesh warship, barely a hundred feet out. The tiny ball arced clean through the storm, soon lost to the darkness…

Then –

The explosion ripped through the ship, shattering mast and deck in a blinding blast. The river screamed with it, deafened by the force, choked by smoke and blood.
Splinters and body parts filled the air, raining down in silence. Raumose stood frozen, stunned by what he’d unleashed.
They hadn’t known what to expect.
But not this.

Beside Antion, Rokhsa’s nails dug into his arm.

“Lord…” she whispered.

The lead ship split in two with an almighty CRAAAAACK, bowing at the center. The Ulu opened its jaws beneath it, and the two halves sank fast, dragged down into the river’s unforgiving depths.

The other ships slowed, pulling back to rescue survivors. But survival looked unlikely from here.

What power could do this? Something so small, yet so deadly? It had to be the work of the gods. No mortal craft could unleash destruction like this.

Raumose snapped them back to reality.

“Wait for my signal!” he shouted to Antion. “Then start pouring the oil over the side!”

A new fire burned in his eyes.
“We’re ending this. Right now.”

Antion mixed the tar into the oil as Raumose steered them toward the neighboring boat…where the dead father still lay, unmoving.

Their own boat grazed alongside it, harder than Raumose intended. But the other vessel didn’t resist, its sails were torn, its spirit broken.

“You.”

Raumose had turned to Elk. The tension flared, unfinished arguments still hot between them. But Raumose kept his gaze steady.

“Help me…please.”

Without waiting for an answer, Raumose vaulted over the side and landed hard in the other boat. He tied a rope between the two bows.

Then, gently, he dragged the father’s body aside, clearing a path for the family to cross without stepping over him.

He turned to the stunned mother and her children.

“You have to come with us,” he said, reaching out.

But they didn’t move.
Frozen in place.
Maybe they still believed their damaged boat was safer than the unknown. Raumose’s arm began to fall. He stepped back, ready to give up…

Then Elk appeared behind him.
He spoke, softly but firmly:

“Musa, tebe heruti, feru eri…please.”

The words hung in the rain.
Gentle. Familiar.

The mother nodded.

Slowly, shakily, she guided her children toward Raumose’s outstretched hand. Elk helped them across, one by one. Raumose, already moving again, began lining up jars of oil he’d salvaged from their boat.

He looked up at Antion, watching the whole thing unfold.

“Hold up!”

Through the rain and fog, a hulking shadow loomed ahead: a massive island cutting through the center of the river, splitting the waters in two.

“We’re taking the skinnier route!” Raumose shouted.

Working together, they steered the conjoined boats toward the right fork, the tighter passage. Once they were far enough in, they slowed to a near stop.
At Raumose’s nod, everyone moved.
Oil was poured over the sides from both boats, the thick liquid spreading across the surface like a trap waiting to be sprung.

When the last jar was emptied, Raumose turned back.
He gently lifted the father’s body and passed it to Elk’s outstretched arms, then leapt back to their own boat.

Antion stepped up with sword in hand.

He gave Raumose one final look.
Then, with a swift cut, he severed the rope.

The line snapped.

And just like that, their boat surged ahead; lighter, faster, free.

Just before they made their escape, Raumose knelt beside the stranger, who was already preparing another metal sphere.
Again, the man shielded Raumose’s hand, lighting the fuse with impossible precision, even under the relentless rain.

That sharp hiss returned.
This time, he let it burn a little longer.

“Loose the sails!” he cried.

Raumose hurled the device straight into the center of the oil-slicked river. And just as the sails caught the storm’s winds, the boat lurched forward, throwing everyone onto the deck.

The blast ignited the oil with terrifying precision. A wall of fire shot up, flames towering high into the rain-dark sky. Heat slammed into them like a wave. The air itself seemed to catch fire.

The added tar did its job; thick, black smoke churned up in roiling clouds. The stench of burning resin clawed at their lungs, gagging them. It stank to high heaven.

But it worked!

The flames, the smoke, the chaos; it was the hellish barrier they needed to make it out alive.

Antion recoiled from the blast, eyes clenched shut, but even with them sealed, the flames burned across his vision, painted vivid and searing on the backs of his eyes.

The explosion had scattered the oil further, forging a wall of fire across the narrow channel. Even the rain couldn’t quench it, only feed it; hissing and spreading the blaze like a living thing.

If Urgesh wanted to follow, they’d have to take the other route, a longer, winding path that veered away from theirs.

“I’d like to see them get through that!” Raumose shouted, half-laughing.

Everyone finally breathed again.

The tension, held since the chase began, seemed to collapse all at once. Antion sank to his knees beside Rokhsa, resting his head against her shoulder.
She held him close.

Across the boat, Elk sat with his back against the hull, face turned to the rain, eyes closed. Tefriti and her husband clung to each other, rocking gently.
The family huddled together, mourning the man they’d lost, quiet sobs barely audible over the rain.

Then Antion turned to the strange man…and found him staring right back. The man with fire in his hands.

He quickly looked away, trying to vanish into the floorboards. But Antion had already seen too much.

This day just kept getting stranger.
And now he wanted answers.

“Who are you?”

The man turned his head slowly. A faint, weary smile crept across his weathered face.

“I’m Beni.”

Antion’s eyes narrowed. He gestured toward Raumose, now slumped on the deck, drained.

“You knew exactly what those things were. So I’ll ask again: who are you?”

Beni sighed.

“I’m just a traveler,” he said quietly. “One who’s seen many strange things in this odd, old world. Maybe more than I understand myself.”

Raumose sat up, voice rough.

“Does that include weapons of mass destruction no one else in the world has access to?”

They should have been more suspicious of the old man. But he had lit the fuse that saved them. Antion’s mind churned.
Traveler or not, Beni knew too much for this to be coincidence. And nothing about today felt like coincidence.

But could they afford to doubt him now?

“Where did you see these before?” Antion asked. “What do you know?”

Beni exhaled, slow and weary.
He looked older now, maybe twenty years Raumose’s senior. Whatever fight he once had was buried deep.

“I’ve seen similar things before. Different designs but…always the same effect.”

“Where?”

Another pause. Another breath.

Just then, Vestheus stepped in.

“It’s alright,” he said gently, standing beside the old man. “They’re the ones I told you about.”

Beni’s expression shifted. Understanding flickered in his eyes. He looked at Antion, Elk, and Raumose in turn, as if he already knew them.
As if he’d been waiting to match names to faces.

“You three…”
His voice softened.
“…you’re from Ar Fira?”

They all nodded. Even Raumose…reluctantly.

“Have you been there?” Antion asked.

“I used to visit on occasion,” Beni said, chuckling softly. “First time, I was about your age…”

Antion and Raumose exchanged a wary glance.

“Ar Fira…such a shame what happened…”

Raumose cut him off, cold.

“Where are you from?”

Another sigh. Beni clearly didn’t these questions, but if he were Urgeshi, he’d be sweating by now, even through the rain.

“Why is it so hard to answer our questions!?” Antion snapped, voice sharp enough to make Rokhsa flinch.

Beni’s smile faded.
He stared at Antion. Disappointed.

“Because you bring war, son,” he said quietly. “And because…you don’t understand.”

The rain refused to let up. The skies would not calm.

And this man could not tell the truth.

“So many questions,” His eyes drifted, somewhere far from here. “…but some things are better left…”

He trailed off…then looked at them again.

“All my friends stay where the water collects.”

 

2 days ago

 

Anum-Thros was exhausted.
After inspecting the troops, he moved through the fortress with a relentless eye. Restocking officers’ quarters, clearing the dungeons, and most importantly, inspecting the inner armory that held a single sacred weapon.

Adamu Erdu, the Blood of God.

Four years ago, their army had swept through the Saqal Mountains north of Urgesh, crushing the mountain tribes one by one.
Though loosely unified, those tribes were fierce defenders of their ancestral lands, and they knew the terrain well.

For two brutal summers, Urgesh pushed deeper into hostile ground, sustaining heavy casualties from raids and ambushes.

And all on the promises of the Parsh, who convinced them of some great weapon that would turn them into an empire of the sun. With it, they could conquer any land in the world, no matter the distance. No matter the cost.

And it was simply hidden somewhere in the land of Uhrun, a land of fierce nomads and small villages, nothings and nobodies…buried beneath thousands upon thousands of miles of vast mountain ranges and deep forgotten valleys…

As if these highland savages could possess something like that, Anum-Thros had scoffed at the time.

They fought tooth and nail each summer, only to retreat in winter, scrambling over desert hills and green fields, scaling sky-piercing peaks, plunging into dark, forested crevices below.

During those long, miserable campaigns, Anum-Thros nearly lost his faith in the Parsh. More than once, he considered challenging him for control of the army.
Hell, he almost slit Ashagyur’s throat one night.

But then…a miracle happened.

Late into that second summer, they camped in an unpopulated valley near a dense forest, small, but rich in game and water. Enough for the men to rest. To survive.

Then Ashagyur vanished.
Three days. No word. No orders.

And for those three days, Anum-Thros nearly ended the whole damn campaign. He almost took the army home.

But on the fourth day, the Parsh returned, and he brought with him something that changed everything. After they secured the land up to Engila, Ashagyur shared it with Anum-Thros in private:

 

“Erdu is Lord. Erdu is Wisdom. He is uncreated and limitless, yet He breaks Himself apart, every day, so that we may receive the holy pieces of His glory.

We worship His words, His wonders, and His ways. We use His shining wisdom to light the path to worldly peace. And we use His heart so that we can love beyond what our mortal hearts could never hope to hold.

And now, we have earned His blood, so that we might bring all His gifts to the rest of the world. Adama, the Blood of Erdu, is the first of these gifts we bring to light.”

 

Since then, Ashagyur had opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, the heavens, and the universe itself. For that, Anum-Thros was eternally grateful.
With the blessing and blood of God, nothing was impossible. Even a blind man could see it.

Since they began wielding Erdu’s first gift a year ago, their army had become nearly unstoppable. Every victory assured. Every border secured.

City walls crumbled. Fortresses fell.
Untold peoples were brought under heel, all in the name of Erdu, the Almighty. And only after unleashing that first gift…did they share the second:

 

“Erdu teaches us that we are free to choose the path of light or the path of darkness. Light or dark – fadi aw’ hamq. We each have our own moral choice to make, and the responsibility to choose the right path. This is the Light of God, Nur Erdu.

But what happens when someone has never heard the blessed name of God? What happens when they cannot see the path for themselves? Could God descend from the heavens and simply show them?

Should He?

Is the gift of free will not enough? Or has Erdu been waiting for us to realize the truth all along? That we must carry His second gift in one hand, and the lives of sinners in the other. To be the bearers of His light…whether the world accepts them at first or not?”

 

They had leveled entire kingdoms and empires over the past two decades, but always gave others a chance to surrender, to redeem themselves.

With Erdu’s second gift, they spread the love of God through every conquered land, welcoming any who joined the empire in faith.

Those who refused had everything taken from them. Sometimes, that meant their lives. Other times, it meant relocation; entire peoples moved to the empire’s outer edges, to serve as buffers against foreign threats.

They were told that if they defended the empire, then they would prosper with it. And it worked.
Borders stayed strong. Enemies stayed out.
And the heart of Urgesh never had to bleed.

The same fate met the slaves taken from Uhrun and its mountains. They were resettled near Yerua and Hurad in the south, and once those lands fell, some were destined for Kresia, and others for Ar Fira.

And that’s where Anum-Thros found himself now.

Ar Fira was theirs. Its secrets would come to light soon enough.

For now, the rest of the Ashwaran campaign, after taking Auxua, would focus on resettling new populations in the cities along the Ulu and the Flatlands.
Only after that would he have time to explore this ancient land for himself.

Until then…

He sighed, pacing through the armory, past various casements and wooden chests. The faint scent of smoke and something rotten dogged his every step.

He had eyes on this room at all times. And still, he trusted no one. Because once the world found out what lay here, everyone would want a piece.
And they would do anything to take it.

That’s why Urgesh had finally abandoned the old ways.
No more disbanding armies after campaigns. No more going home for the winter.
They were now a permanent force, winters be damned.

Ashagyur made no allowances.
This campaign came first. Always. They would remain in this desert for a year if needed. Ten years. A hundred.

Because somewhere out here, beyond the endless dunes and restless spirits, lay something greater:

 

“The first gift I found when I had searched my mind, and I found one thing to be true: the world is as old as it is vast. It holds many secrets, but nothing is ever gone for good.

The second gift came when I had finally searched my heart, and I found a space for all living beings; those now and forever, those yet to exist, and those who never will…no matter the path they’ve taken.

You see, the second gift is two-fold: the first is awareness, the second is mercy. Destroy those who would destroy you, but allow those whose eyes have yet to be opened to see what God has laid before them. They must understand the second gift before they can accept it into their hearts.

And now, this third and final gift is only for those whose hearts have already swelled with the love of God. This third and final gift is far, far away from the holy lands of Urgesh, in a place of unending nothingness and insignificance and death. It is only fitting, too, for this final gift is life itself. Heaven on earth.

This third gift, this final gift, is Bayet Erdu, the House of God. It waits at the end of a great river gone silent out of respect for the holy house. Only the worthy may find it; only the worthy may enter it. The world may receive this gift in time…but only one can bring it forth.

This is the final gift from God, because if it doesn’t save humanity from itself…”

 

Nothing will, Anum-Thros finished in his head.

He thought back to those early conversations he had with Ashagyur, when their dreams of conquering the world in the name of God still felt fresh.

Now here they were, their empire stretching for a thousand miles in all directions, aiming for a thousand more. They ruled over tens of millions of souls across thousands of miles…and none of that mattered for a second.

Not out here.

Somewhere in this endless desert, hidden beneath sand and silence, sat the House of God. Perhaps God Himself waited inside, for “the one” to arrive.
To become divine.
A god among mortals.

And that one would be him.

Not Ashagyur, the false prophet.

Not his brother, who pretended to be above glory.

Not anyone else who lacked the ambition such as only he possessed, Commander Anum-Thros of the Royal Urgesh Army.

That alone made him more worthy than the Parsh, his brother, or anyone else. Anum-Thros had long since learned not to be taken in by Ashagyur’s charisma. He knew better than to trust the man’s well-crafted words; words worth less than the mouth that spewed them.

He despised his General to pieces…and yet, he craved the power he wielded. With a mere wave, Ashagyur could send him to the far ends of the empire, order him to prop up puppet kings, or crush rebellions and outlaw faiths before they could take root, tasks Anum-Thros had carried out more times than he cared to count.
He had personally executed over a dozen self-proclaimed prophets on the man’s whim. They came from different corners of the world, strangers to each other.

Yet somehow, they all said the same thing:

I walk with God, and I alone share His word.

Every “prophet” Anum-Thros put down was just another reminder that no one knew the true nature of Erdu. No one could understand His will. And no one spoke for Him.

Every so-called “word of God” that Ashagyur spit in his face.

That’s all it was.

Dribble.

Every lie from the Parsh was another arrow buried in Anum-Thros’ back. He let them stay there. Not out of fear, but patience.
Because, one day, he’d rip them out and fire them back, and bring down the mighty Parsh through his own deceit.

Ashagyur believed he had a loyal follower in Anum-Thros.

He believed himself immortal, above even death.

He was dead wrong.

 

 

Chapter 18

yesterday

 

The sun rose, followed by the men. That great, burning ball looked out over a lush land that clung to the river’s edges, gentle sprays of dust coming in off the surrounding desert.

Its light touched the cool waters of the Ulu, making them sparkle like diamonds. It reached across the many farmlands and fields nourished by the fertile soil and life-giving river. Upstream to the east, the city of Auxua caught the rays in a similar, dazzling display.

Elsewhere, the light grazed over yellow desert and black rock in all directions, promising another day of searing heat and boiling air.

Everywhere the sun looked, so too did he.
And he had nothing but contempt for what he saw.

These foreign lands made him sick, and he knew he would not feel well again until they crossed back to the realms he knew well.

The cities here stank just as much from the animals as they did from the people. People whose only meaning in life was to serve desert spirits and reminisce about ancient kingdoms long dead.

If any good came from this blasted land, it was the knowledge that it sat so far away from home; because nothing good ever came from a place like this.

These people, they clung to their rivers and oases like scared little birds, too afraid to leave the nest and confront the real world.

But then, just last night – of all the people it could’ve been – the desert spat out his older brother.

And then he knew that this land was truly cursed.

He never thought he would see his brother again…but he knew Anum-Uk couldn’t be killed that easily.

The years had stolen some of his strength and speed, but not the hellfire still burning in his eyes. It was a dying trait in their village. And in the end, it would die along with them.

Only they carried that fire now.

Anum-Thros set the thought aside and moved on with his routine. He always rose before the others, eager to get a head start. This week would be busy.

He made his usual rounds: checking equipment, running drills, reviewing the plan, keeping tabs on his leads…

Speaking of.

It was still early when he caught sight of someone carrying said prisoner through the side courtyard. They hadn’t seen him. He paused, watching them slip into the priestess’s tent.

A cry rang out from within.

“ANTY!”

Anum-Thros stepped closer and listened. The priestess was sobbing over the boy’s limp body. Then the tent opened, and someone stepped out.

It took the two brothers a split second to recognize each other.

“Is he in there?” Anum-Thros huffed.

“Yeah. She’s taking care of him for now,” Anum-Uk said. “The Parsh gave the go ahead.”

“Yeah…fine…”

What more was there to say?

“See you later…brother…”

Anum-Thros walked away, leaving his older brother in the dust. Whatever. He would’ve collected the Arfiran in a few hours anyway. Let the poor bastard enjoy his last flicker of peace while the dungeon was still being prepared.

Then make him beg to go back.

 

today

 

No knowledge gained, but nothing lost.

No, the only thing Anum-Thros lost that night was sleep.

He still hadn’t pulled the location of the Silent River from the Arfiran. Maybe next time, a bit more finesse. A bit less fury. But give up?

Not a chance.

He was just getting started.

Anum-Thros rose from bed, crossed the stone floor of his private quarters – preferable to a tent, always – and stepped onto the balcony.

To the left: the wide river.
To the right: endless green.

And below?

His men…shouting.

Shouting?

The shouts grew louder, more frantic.

What was –

A thunderous eruption tore through the world.
The entire west wing of the fortress detonated.

Not collapsed, not crumbled, detonated.

Stone, timber, and flame burst outward in a hellish cyclone. Debris rained down on screaming men. The western perimeter wall caved in under the blast.

A wall of heat slammed into him a heartbeat later. Thick, black smoke vomited into the air, swallowing the fortress whole in a choking shroud.

The light vanished. The sound was everywhere.
He shut his eyes on instinct as the shockwave punched through the compound, rattling bone and stone alike. The balcony beneath him lurched like a ship rammed broadside.

Then came the second blast.

Larger.

Closer.

Angrier.
It didn’t just tear through stone.

It howled through the air, ripping it open.
BROTHER!!

It was the only thought still standing in his mind, a lone pillar amid the collapse of all else. He opened his eyes, but they refused to focus, still too dazed to make sense of a world gone mad.
Staggering forward, knees buckling, stomach churning, he nearly collapsed, but caught the balcony rail and held fast.
A surge of pain and nausea crashed through him. He gritted his teeth and steadied himself.
Then he ran.

Out the door, down the hall, past dazed and bloodied men on the stairs. He tore straight for the dungeons.
Dimly lit. Cold as death.
No prisoners.

“Alhna!” he cursed.

He bolted outside, weaving through a sea of soldiers and slaves. A tide of panic swelled around him, but he forced his way through.

The priestess’s tent; that’s where he had to be!

He reached out…but the tent flaps opened before him. Framed in the entrance stood his older brother.

Here they were again.

But this time, it was Anum-Uk who shattered the moment. He slammed his forehead into Anum-Thros’ face and yanked him into the tent, throwing him down, hard.

Was he dying? Or had the air simply fled his lungs?
Didn’t matter.
All he saw were the Arfirans standing over him. One clutched a dagger, raised, ready to end him.
But then.

“No! Please…”

Anum-Uk’s voice.

He stopped them.
His brother…had spared him?

Why!?

H Had the traitor grown a heart out in Ar Fira?

Good for him.

Anum-Thros would rip it from his chest soon enough.

He caught one last glimpse of them as they fled the tent, and then…
Nothing.

The fortress burned.
The world screamed.
But he was already gone…

 

What felt like hours was only minutes before he woke again. Alone in the tent, he rose and staggered outside.
Soldiers still rushed about, but the chaos had begun to organize; most were now armed and armored.
Then he heard it: cries rising in the distance.

Faint at first, now unmistakable.
They were coming from the direction of the city.

“OKSHAH!!” his men shouted.

Auxua…

Had the city come to seize on his brother’s sabotage? Or had it all been planned from the start?
Anum-Thros cursed himself as the weight of the deception settled in. His brother’s shaken return, the hollow words, the prisoner’s promise.
All of it, a ruse.

And it made him…smile.

He couldn’t help it. A low, bitter laugh escaped as the fortress burned around him, ignited by the fire Anum-Uk still carried inside him; a fire even these dead sands couldn’t snuff out eight years on.

Adamu Erdu.

With one lit fuse, his brother had turned their greatest advantage into their worst disaster, paving the way for Auxua to strike back to reclaim what was once theirs.

The treachery, the strike…the sheer fucking nerve.

Almost admirable.

Almost.

But where could he have gone?
The city? Maybe. But he had to know Urgesh would crush it soon. He was too smart to stick around.
The desert? Possible. Plenty of places to hide, and plenty worse ways to die than by Anum-Thros’ hands.
Which left the river.
Everything west of Auxua was Urgesh’s. That meant he was heading upstream. Eastbound. And hauling ass.
His big brother actually thought he could get away!?

His men roared around him like the trained killers they were, surging through the fortress yards like Erdu’s divine wrath. The Royal Urgesh Army was already taking shape.

Leather-plated soldiers. Officers in iron-scaled cuirasses. Spears and shields in every hand, archers along the outer walls, ready for the assault. All eyes forward.

Nothing more he could do here.

Anum-Thros turned and crossed the courtyard toward the west wall. From the shadows stepped one of his men.

Fearing no reprimand from his commander, the man saluted Anum-Thros. He showed no fear despite the battle raging just outside the walls.

He stood a head above most men, more ferocious than five put together, when he needed him to be. Above all else, he was loyal…and only to him.

He hailed from the far eastern Khirratan province, the Land of Nothing. Nothing grew there, and nothing ever lasted long, but it reared some of the toughest warrior clans the empire had ever seen.

This one was no exception. He called himself Shaku. That’s why he was Anum-Thros’ second.

“Commander?”

Others stepped out from doorways and shadows. His elite. Handpicked killers. Ten of the fastest, strongest, smartest, deadliest men in the empire.
And they answered to him alone.

Ashagyur had no knowledge of this unit, and that ignorance was power. With these men, Anum-Thros wouldn’t just command them; he’d command the entire Royal Urgesh Army one day. The greatest force the world had ever seen, under his authority.

“Mount up! We’re heading for the river!”

Within minutes, they were clear of the fortress, riding hard for the riverside town. None of the horses were missing from the stables, which meant his brother was on foot.

The trail would be fresh, but every second wasted brought his brother closer to escape. Anum-Thros would not allow it.

Out on the western horizon, a dozen reinforcement ships came sailing up the Ulu. Dark rain clouds loomed close behind, like shadows cast by the fleet itself.

Anum-Thros frowned. He hoped the storm wouldn’t get in his way…until he noticed how the clouds seemed to follow the ships.

As if God Himself were driving them.

Up ahead, the town was in chaos.
The madness spooked their horses, slowing their advance. They tried to calm the animals, but the civilians’ panic turned it to futility.

“Leave them!” Anum-Thros roared.

They dismounted and hit the ground running, following their commander in relentless pursuit.

He knew the docks well, having ridden through this town countless times to oversee shipments. They shoved forward, cutting through the masses.

When brute force failed, drawn blades cleared the way.

Some townsfolk fled to the hills. Others leapt into boats and rafts, pushing upstream, sails cracking in the sharp winds of the coming storm.

The town emptied as Urgesh reinforcements poured in, a remorseless tide of iron and fury. By nightfall, there would be no Auxua left to speak of.

Anum-Thros turned back to the river. His eyes scanned boat after boat, but his brother was nowhere in sight. Too many boats. Too many faces.
The river had already swallowed him whole.

“Shak!” he barked.

He pointed to the lead warship. Without a word, Shaku nodded and led their squad aboard. They climbed quickly, slicing the moorings and kicking the ropes into the water.

“What’s going on!?” the captain demanded, hand on his sword.

“Commander Anum-Thros, Superior Officer,” he snapped. “We need ships. And any men you can spare.”

The captain hesitated, scanned Anum-Thros’ grim expression, before bowing.

“Take what you need, Commander.”

The captain turned to his crew and barked the order. Three ships were readied at once. Signal flags shot up. Warriors armed with bows took position along the rails.

Good.

They’d need to cut through the civilians somehow.

The river boiled beneath the swarm of boats, like drowning rats clawing against the current. Rafts slammed and scraped together, churning in the current, but there was no escaping.

Not this time.

“LOOSE!” Anum-Thros bellowed.

The captain relayed the order with a sharp gesture. Arrows hissed skyward, then fell like rain. Most struck water, but that didn’t matter.

The panic hit its mark.

Terrified screams split the air. Boats careened off course, slamming harder into each other. Some capsized. The chaos gave their warships room to surge forward.

“ANOTHER, CAPTAIN!”

The captain turned to Anum-Thros, eyes heavy with unspoken doubt. He didn’t need to say it.

The civilians are within lethal range now.

“You heard me, captain.”

Orders were orders. A second volley flew. Some arrows struck true. No casualties, but the screams up ahead told him it was working.

They were gaining.

Rain began to fall. A light drizzle, then a sudden, punishing torrent. The thunderclouds bore down like a curse, shrouding the fleet in storm and shadow.

Freezing wind slashed through the air.

The sky turned black.

The Lord must’ve known: one brother would die on this river today.

Not I!

“AGAIN!”

But before their arrows could fly, the civilians struck back. A ragged volley arced through the storm, chaotic, desperate, but it forced his men to duck and pull back. Their advance faltered.

“KEEP GOING! DON’T! SLOW!! DOWN!!!”

The civilians’ desperate volley bought them seconds; nothing more. Anum-Thros surged forward, unshaken.

Not even the storm, lashing his face and blinding his vision with sheets of rain, could slow him.

“AGAIN!”

A fresh volley tore through the tempest like a black rain of death. Sails shredded. Hulls splintered. Screams cut through the storm.

The river turned into a graveyard. Drifting bodies, shattered boats, blood in the water. Anum-Thros leaned forward, eyes scanning the wreckage. Sailors. Civilians. The dead and dying.

But no Anum-Uk.

“AGAIN!!”

Another volley flew. Screams rang out from up ahead. Boats breaking apart, now floating coffins, dragged fresh corpses back downstream.

Anum-Thros was just about to shout the next order…when a small metal object landed behind him with a soft, solid thud.
It hissed. Smoked.

Everyone turned. Confused.

But he knew.
Recognition struck like lightning.

He dove for the front railing just as the world exploded. The blast split the deck with a deafening CRAAAAACK!

The nearest soldiers vanished in white fire, vaporized. The rest were shredded. Limbs, timber, and screams all flung skyward in a single, mutilated symphony.

The ship convulsed with a bone-deep shudder, splitting clean across the middle. The halves thrusted violently upward, as if accusing the very heavens.

Anum-Thros clung to the railing, soaked and screaming, fingers burning as the rain lashed him raw. Furious.

Terrified.

But he dared not let go.

The dark waters of the Ulu churned below, rising hungrily to claim the wreckage. Its inescapable pull grew stronger by the second, until, finally, his strength gave out.

He let go of the railing and slid down the splintered deck, plunging feet-first into the river’s murky depths. For a single breathless moment underwater, there was silence.

No screams. No fire. No war.
Only darkness.

He opened his eyes. Nothing…except for the massive shadow of a sinking wreck drifting past, dragging the dead down with it.
He kicked hard, thrashing upward, fighting the current and the pull of ruin. Finally, he burst to the surface.
Rough hands grabbed him, hauled him onto another deck.
He collapsed, soaked and gasping…but he was alive!

Other survivors were being dragged from the river as he staggered to his feet. Shaku gripped his arm, steadying him. His eyes, blazing with pain and fury, were hard to meet.

Something was wrong. Anum-Thros turned, counting quickly: Rahai…Abul…Thorn…Swahat…

Eight…two missing.

He opened his mouth to speak…
But another explosion cut him off.
The ship rocked violently as fire tore through the air. Ahead, a towering wall of flame erupted across the river, casting a hellish glow against the storm-darkened sky.
Through the blaze, Anum-Thros spotted a lone boat veering down the right fork, vanishing into the mist.

Smart…brother.

Once more, he smiled.

Smiled and cursed himself.

Leaning against the side of the ship, he stared down the empty horizon that had stolen his kill.

“Do we follow, Commander?”

Anum-Thros clenched his jaw.

Charging through the fire meant risking sails, and lives.
Waiting meant giving his brother more time.
Returning empty-handed? Not an option.

“Take the left! While we still have the wind!”

The ships veered toward the wild bank, where tangled brush and towering trees hemmed the river’s edge. The split stretched endlessly ahead, vanishing into storm and mist.

No one spoke, but doubt clung to them like the rain.

They tore up the Ulu at breakneck speed, battling the wind, the narrowing river, and the weight of failure itself.

Visibility thinned by the minute.

Still, Anum-Thros pressed on.

He would chase his brother to the ends of the earth if he had to. And only when he lay collapsed and broken would Anum-Thros allow him to rest in peace.

Or in pieces; the choice was his.

This was the promise he had made his brother long ago.

And now, he would finally deliver.

 

The storm seemed to be weakening, but it kept pace with them upriver, growing darker with every passing mile.

The river split twisted on, narrowing with each bend.

But they never stopped.

“Look!”

Anum-Thros snapped his head toward the shout. Ahead, the end of the island that marked the river’s fork came into view. Its tapered point vanishing around the next bend.

The two channels were about to converge.

He stood and crossed the slick deck, crouching beside his second-in-command.

“Commander,” Shaku tipped his head, offering the slightest nod of respect.

“How’s everyone holding up?”

“Good, sir.”

A lie.

Anum-Thros glanced around, noting the pale faces of his men. The deaths of Bula and Hunter weighed on them. Hunter had been caught in the explosion, while Bula had disappeared beneath the churning waters.

They had never lost anyone before.

Not one of their team.

Now two…in a single morning.

Anum-Thros leaned in, locking eyes with Shaku.

His voice a quiet, dangerous whisper.

“We’re going to catch him. And when we do…”

His gaze dropped to the small, blunt hammer on Shaku’s belt. It was never forged for war, but he’d seen that tool end more lives than any sword or spear he’d ever handed this man.

“Your brother’s death won’t go unpunished,” Anum-Thros promised. “For Bula.”

Shaku turned. His dark eyes, stormy and unreadable, mirrored the wrath above. His grip on the hammer tightened, knuckles bone-white against the leather.

More dead brothers would pile up before this war was over, least of all his own. Anum-Uk was unmistakably at the top of that list, right above Bula and the rest of their fallen brethren.

This, Anum-Thros swore on his life.

“– Look! Boat!”

 

The past hour had been nerve-wracking and utterly draining. The boat was pushed forward only by the howling winds and soaking rain that filled their sails. But the constant need to check over their shoulders left them ragged.

The river narrowed, the banks creeping ever closer, while the island at the center swelled like a looming shadow. Antion’s heart sank each time they seemed bound for shore, only to breathe again when the next bend revealed a clear path.
The rain lashed without mercy, soaking them to the bone. The wind howled, drowning their voices. Thunder cracked, and water pounded the hull like a death drum.
Nowhere felt safe.

Not the river.

Not the boat.

Not even the silence between them.
Outside, the storm raged.
Inside, another one brewed.

But though it all, Antion never left her side. He held Rokhsa’s close, his arms a shield against the chaos. She took his hand and placed it over her heart. Beneath her chest, her heartbeat raced with a terror she couldn’t hide.

He squeezed her hand, as if he could pour all his love through his fingers and into her trembling soul.

He just hoped enough of it sank in.

It must have, because then she turned to him and smiled.

It wasn’t a happy smile. More of a I’m scared but I’ll be brave if you’re brave kind of smile. She didn’t have to say it, and he didn’t have to respond.

The message was mutual: I love you.

Soon enough, they cleared the split in the river, and the island disappeared behind them. Antion noticed Raumose leaning against the hull, just staring out across the Ulu.

The rain still fell in thick sheets, and a fine mist rose from the river’s surface, making it near impossible to see beyond the wooden rail.

Now that the river had widened, the shores were lost to the freezing rain. They could barely guess which way to tack the sails, relying only on the feel of the currents pushing against the bow.

And from the mist…came impossible shapes.
Silent, monstrous creatures, writhing and lunging from the waters. Antion had to keep telling himself they weren’t real.

But one shadow in particular came lurching forward, swimming without motion, closing in without ever quite arriving.

And still, it inched closer from behind.

Even Raumose straightened.
He turned back to Antion.

The colossal shadow sharpened, its edges forming the outline of a massive hull. Like a dead spirit rising from the depths, a giant warship emerged from the mist, followed by another.

Raumose stumbled back from the railing, collapsing against the opposite wall, eyes locked on the ghost ships.

His voice broke into a whisper: “No…”

The warships slid up alongside their tiny boat, and in a flash, two dark figures dropped onto the deck.

Archers lined the towering rails above, silent and still, bows drawn, specters of death, ready to rain judgment.

One of the figures pulled back his hood.

Raumose stared. Antion blinked.

It was Anum-Thros.

He and the man beside him wore billowing battle dresses, short swords at their hips, triumph in the stance.

Anum-Thros stepped forward.

“Hello, Antion,” he said.

He was smiling.

The bastard was smiling.

Then he turned to Raumose, dropping all pretense.

“…brother.”

Raumose kept his mouth shut.

He sat slumped on the deck, silent, defeated. Anum-Thros’ iron-toed boot suddenly slammed into his chest with a brutal thud, sending him sprawling. Raumose clutched his sternum, breath shallow and ragged…

But not a single sound escaped his lips.

“I gotta say, brother,” Anum-Thros mocked, “you almost had me there. I almost started to think I couldn’t catch you…”

He raised his boot again.

Another kick.

Raumose folded, head nearly striking the deck.

“But here we are…I caught you.”

Raumose didn’t cry out. Instead, he coughed… then chuckled. Anum-Thros’ smirk vanished.

He grabbed Raumose by the scruff and began to pummel him; fist after fist, blow after blow. By the end, Raumose had fully collapsed on the deck.

His broken body lay motionless on the deck, the rain pooling around him in crimson streams, never to move again…

Anum-Thros straightened. His eyes scanned the pale, terrified faces staring back at him…until they locked onto her.

“Remember me?”

Rokhsa stood face-to-face with the devil himself. And just the thought that he knew her – that he touched her – sent Antion over the edge.
Rage exploded in his chest, drowning every rational thought. He charged without thinking.

Anum-Thros simply side-stepped Antion and shoved him into the waiting arms of his companion. The warrior caught him with iron fists.
Two crushing blows to the ribs.
One to the gut.
Antion dropped hard.

His head cracked against the deck. Through the fog, he saw Anum-Thros dragging Rokhsa toward the warship.
It broke his heart all over again.

I’m sorry, baby…

As soon as Rokhsa was hauled onto the enemy ship, the victorious predator turned to the helpless party below.
He sized up Vestheus and Tefriti as he walked by, looking them over, getting close to their faces. Tefriti shrank back, trembling hands clutched tight to Vestheus’ arm like a lifeline.

Her sobs turned to shallow gasps as Anum-Thros loomed.

“Shhhhhh. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he tutted.

He reached toward her face, but she recoiled, pressing tighter against her husband. Anum-Thros chuckled, gently patting Vestheus across the cheek before moving on.

Then he came upon Elk, dagger in hand, clutching it tight, too scared to use it. Anum-Thros slowly pried it from his fingers.

“Not bad craftsmanship,” he muttered, almost to himself, inspecting the blade. “For desert trash.”

He dragged the tip lightly across Elk’s belly. Elk flinched, but Anum-Thros moved on, trailing the blade across the others as he passed.

Cold iron whispered against damp fabric, drawing no blood, leaving only shivers in its wake.

And he loved it.

Anum-Thros stepped forward, addressing everyone onboard. He looked each of them in the eye, though most stared down, unwilling to meet his razor-sharp gaze.

“Friends,” he called out over the pounding rain, “forgive our trespass. It was never our intention to include civilians…”

He paused, letting his stare bore into their faces.

“…but after everything that’s happened, surely you understand that we must question every, well…witness.”

Then he began counting off:

“The fortress, the surprise assault…my ship.”

That last word came through clenched teeth, venom dripping like the rain.

He turned to Beni, pressing the dagger’s tip against the old man’s belly. He balanced it there, one finger on the hilt.

“But I’m afraid we’re all running out of time.”

With his free hand, he gripped Beni’s shoulder…and slowly, carefully, ever so gently, pushed the blade forward.

The iron bit in.

The old man screamed, raw and desperate. He collapsed backward, but Anum-Thros followed him to the ground, never breaking eye contact, driving the dagger in one agonizing inch at a time.

Tefriti buried her face against Vestheus’ chest, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Elk looked away, fists clenched and trembling.

The children whimpered within their mother’s embrace, but their muffled cries couldn’t drown out the sickening sound of flesh parting under iron.

Even Antion, still conscious on the deck of the boat, could only watch, paralyzed by disbelief and pain.

When flesh met hilt, Anum-Thros finally let go.

Blood pooled around the wound, mixing with the rain that streamed over Beni’s broken body. The enemy stood, leaving the dagger where he left it.

His companion stepped forward, eagerly twirling a short, heavy hammer in one hand. But Anum-Thros raised an arm. And even the mad bull obeyed.
No words, no barked order. Just one outstretched arm. Enough to rein the beast back.

Anum-Thros leaned over the unconscious Raumose, petting his head like he would a dog.

“He doesn’t understand…but you do…”

He was staring at Antion the whole time, who lay crumpled only feet away.

“So close, aren’t you? You wielded it well, Raumose…The One Who Brings Fire with the Storm.”

He shook his head in mock disgust. Raumose stirred once, groaned, and let his head fall back down on the deck.

Then Anum-Thros stepped over to Antion.

He crouched beside him, whispering just loud enough:

“If you EVER want to see her again…then you’ll make sure my brother finishes what he started.”

With that, he clapped Antion on the shoulder and stood, disappearing into the dark storm above. Antion’s chest ached; not from the blows, but from the sight of Rokhsa slipping farther from his grasp.

Rain pelted his face, mixing with blood and sweat. Shadows swirled…voices faded into the roar.

And from the hollow void…a whisper.

Calling his name.

This time, Antion answered…

Chapter 19

An eerie calm settled over the river that night. The storm had passed long ago, unable to chase them down the Ulu forever, no matter how angry it was.

Beni, too, was gone.

After hours of agony, he had finally succumbed to his wound. They did not bury him, nor did they throw him overboard. This was not out of disrespect for the dead, but a matter of respecting the living.

It was what Beni wanted.

His body now lay beside them in the cramped boat, their last means of escape. Around them, the land sat silent land, bathed in the fractured light of the moon.

Their nightmare – Anum-Thros – had vanished with the storm. The two had retreated downstream together, leaving behind their shared legacy of terror and death across the waters.

One stole Antion’s sanity.
The other stole his world.

His flesh-boiling rage had long since cooled into a despair so deep, it left him hollow. Rokhsa was gone.

In her place lay a dead man…the perfect analogy for his life. Even Beni’s final promises seem to have died with him.

They had no options left.

Just. Keep. Going.

Vestheus came over and sat down beside Antion, his concern plain in the furrow of his brow.

“Hey.”

“……”

“I’m so sorry, Antion,” Vestheus murmured, steady but soft.

“……”

“When’s the last time you prayed, son?”

“…I guess it’s been a while.”

“Let us recite the Lord’s Prayer, yeah?”

“…okay.”

Together, their voices rose as their heads bowed.

Their prayer spilled into the night:

 

“Hear us, Great One, Father and Creator,

Lord above and below, you who bless all.

Hear us, Golden One, hear us pray in the times,

In peace and war, we praise your name.

You heal us when we are sick.

You guide us when we are lost.

You love us though we do not earn it.

Khenet, Lord over all,

Glory be in your name.”

 

It didn’t make him feel any better. It didn’t even convince him the Lord was listening anymore. No…Antion realized the gods had abandoned them.
Or maybe they’d died long ago.

He just didn’t have the strength to say it to Vestheus.

“Don’t give up, son. You have not been forgotten.”

“Hmm…thanks…”

Vestheus sighed, then moved to sit beside his wife.
Tefriti whispered something in his ear, and he nodded.
She looked back at Antion once more. Her eyes were so full of sorrow, he had to look away. But it didn’t stop his own from welling.
He fought hard to blink them away.

I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.

That man’s wretched face flashed through Antion’s mind…the same face sitting just across from him.

He looked at Raumose, still beaten half to death.
He looked too much like the man who’d stolen his life.

Antion had to fight the urge to finish the job.

Instead…Antion curled up against the cold hull, clutching at warm memories from life before the invasion. If only he could go back to when his biggest worries were training, and wooing Rokhsa…

Well, he wouldn’t be here now.

His thoughts eventually drifted back on Beni.

He had clearly recognized the weapons that Raumose had stolen, but he also recognized that they weren’t the enemy. That was why he shared something incredible:

 

“All my friends stay where the water collects.”

“What does that mean? You’re from out west?”

“No. I was born in this land.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you.”
“Then why tell us this?”

“Because I want you to find it…”

“But you won’t tell us where?”

“Because you would never find it, not in a thousand years. But…there is a man named Amasi, in the village of Imen-Netsu…along this river, far east of here…hundreds of miles upstream. He is a merchant in the region. Ask him, and he’ll take you.”

“But what if he won’t?”

“He will…if you have me.”

 

Antion looked over at Beni.

He didn’t move, didn’t stir, but even in death he was still trying to help. Wherever the man had come from, his people had the knowledge, and the means, to travel freely throughout the world.

During such travels, Beni was among the first to witness Urgesh’s new, devastating power. A sudden, unnatural transformation in their warfare…one that began just two years ago.

Beni had been “in the field”, as he put it, for years when he saw the enemy’s new kind of warfare, annihilating its way from city to city, kingdom to kingdom, to the horizon and beyond.

He was nearly chased back home. He might’ve made it too…had he never crossed paths with Antion and Raumose.

Perhaps it was pity.

Perhaps he knew his time was coming.

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight at all…

But they weren’t going to waste their last chance.

Antion’s gaze drifted to the hushed river ahead as Raumose, recently risen, moved to adjust their sails. Thankfully, the winds always blew east, even against the current. The gods had fashioned the Ulu to be a mighty highway, taking travelers anywhere they needed to go.

And without oars, it was their only way forward.

Raumose, still bruised and bloody, sat down beside him with a heavy thud and groan, whispering something unintelligible.

Antion barely acknowledged him.

After that…nothing.

The rest of the cold, lonely evening passed in silence. They huddled against the hull as darkness pressed in, stretching the night into miserable eternity…

 

The next day began bright, like any other.

For a few precious seconds, Antion’s grief hadn’t caught up to him. For a breath of a moment, he forgot. But then it hit him all over again.

The full weight of it fell with the sun; rising from the north, burning overhead, before dipping below the southern horizon.

That night, he went to sleep cold and hungry. They all did. It couldn’t be helped. They just had to wait. The boat rocked beneath him, unsettling his empty stomach.

Still, the pain reminded him, bruised and broken though he was, he was alive.

Another “blessing” from above?

 

Morning came as silently as the river.
Just like the day before.

Raumose, still asleep beside Antion, shifted slightly, likely caught in a bad dream. They had both fallen asleep with their backs against the boat’s rigid hull.
Not comfortable, but it worked.

Antion nudged him. Raumose jolted upright, his swollen face painted with groggy alertness. When he saw Antion, he let out a sigh.

“Gods, my back,” Raumose muttered, rubbing his shoulders, stealing a glance at Antion…like he was debating whether to say more.

Antion felt it too, that deep, spine-long ache. This boat was about as comfortable as sand was thirst-quenching.

They stirred the rest: Tefriti, Vestheus’ wife; the widow, lost in her grief; and the warrior, his brother.

Elk…I’m so sorry.

Of course, he couldn’t say it to his brother’s face, not while courage failed him. He was still ignoring Antion, so it didn’t matter anyway.

So, Antion sank lower beside Raumose, who must’ve seen the pain in his eyes.

“Just give him some time,” Raumose whispered, like he could read Antion’s mind.

“Yeah, I know,” Antion murmured back.

Silence piled on the deck in heavy handfuls, thicker than any of them could bear. It clung to the air, full of fear, regret, and words left unsaid.

“So…my family…”

Raumose stared at his hands, as if they alone carried the weight of everything they had endured.

“Hey, you don’t have to say it…” Antion offered.

A sigh of defeat.
“…but he won’t just quit.”

They looked at each other, both knowing why.

“He knows what you took. The fortress, the river…if he even suspected that we knew something before, then…then we just removed all doubt.”

Raumose slowly shook his head, but Antion wasn’t done. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“He told me to make sure you finished what you started. He’s still after whatever’s hiding out here…if it’s even real.”

“Except he doesn’t know where it is,” Raumose pointed out.

Antion nodded.

“He wants us to lead him straight there.”

A prickling unease crawled over him, like the desert itself was watching them. Vast, silent, all-seeing.

“Then we’ll get there first. If it’s something my brother wants, I want it more.”

They agreed without another word, then rose to meet the day. But no one else seemed eager to face the world just yet. Still, Raumose addressed the group.

Like it or not, they had no choice but to listen.

“So…I guess we all have a decision to make,” he said. “We’re heading to the village of Imen-Netsu. After that, we go our own ways. But if anyone’s coming with us…”

His gaze flicked past Antion.

“…then you need to know right now, that this’ll only get more dangerous. From here on out, I can’t promise I can always protect you…”

Raumose’s words faltered toward the end…but then, something shifted in his tone. His words sharpened.

Rang fiercer.

“But I can promise this: if there’s something out there that can save our people, we’ll find it.”

Absolute.

“This I swear.”

Unshaken.

For a moment, Antion could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of the old Raumose. The one he’d known before all this.

All things considered, a welcome break.

“Anyone who wants to come is more than welcome.”

But no one moved.

No one spoke.

No one wanted to follow Raumose anymore.

All eyes turned from him, refusing to meet his gaze, which softened as he realized he was truly alone in this.

He was stuck on a tiny raft, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who no longer trusted him.

“…I understand.”

“Wait –”

Everyone turned.

The widow, quiet until now, finally spoke.

“I didn’t think there was anything out there,” she said softly, hesitating. “Just wasteland…and wild country.”

Her brow furrowed as her fingers traced the edge of her sleeve.

“I mean, who’s even out here?”

“That’s not exactly true,” Vestheus said. “I’ve seen cities and villages along this river for hundreds of miles. Fewer cities, sure, but still…”

Raumose cut straight to the point.

“Do you know where Imen-Netsu is?”

A solemn nod.

Vestheus glanced at Antion.

Then, slowly:

“I’ve been there before.”

“Can you take us there?”

Another look at Antion. The tension hung on the silence.

“I can.”

“Thank you,” Raumose said.

Vestheus said nothing. He returned to his wife’s side and began tending to her. Raumose took the hint and stepped away.

Everyone else onboard was giving Raumose the same cold distance, and Antion couldn’t blame them.

Every single one of them was witness to Anum-Thros’ terrifying presence, in this very boat. And the resemblance to the man standing here now?

Unmistakable.

Everyone saw it.

No one knew what to do with it.

Antion saw it in their wary glances, in the way they keep their distance from Raumose, as if proximity alone might make them traitors too.

They even looked at him differently now.

But Antion knew Raumose had changed.

He couldn’t hope to convince the others, but he knew that no friend of Urgesh would’ve fought back with such fire.

The plan at the fortress nearly worked too; even Antion was fooled. But the General lived…and Rokhsa was gone…forever…

And Auxua probably fell anyway…

Actually, the plan turned out to be a disaster, unraveling with every step they took. Still, the enemy’s entire supply of dark magic had been destroyed; single-handedly.

And Urgesh had taken a surprise hit from the Auxuan army. Maybe…just maybe…they were retreating from an Ashwaran victory.

Or maybe the enemy had already occupied the city, drawing up plans to sail further east, led by none other than…

When would they be safe?

Antion sighed and turned to the river.

A small fishing village came into view on the right bank, so small he could count the huts on one hand.

It wasn’t Imen-Netsu.
It might not have even had a name.

It passed by without a whisper.

Empty. Dead.

Most likely, the villagers had fled when they saw the refugee tide flowing upstream. Their war had reached the borderlands of Ashwari now, a stark reminder of how far its shadow had spread, snuffing out life and leaving only silence behind.

They sailed quietly up the Ulu in their small boat, carried only by the now-gentle western winds. The river pushed them toward their only hope of survival.

That morning’s breeze, soft as it was, still carried the ghost of the storm before. Less a memory. More a warning:

Never return this way again.

 

By midday, everyone was famished.

The food stored on the boat was nearly gone; meant for two people, not ten. No more bread. No more meat.
Just stale crumbs…and rotten hope.

They needed food and water, but no money between them. Even if they found a merchant out here, they had nothing to offer.

Nowhere next to nothing…

“Imen-Netsu is still a few days away, right?” Raumose asked.

“Yes, but –” Vestheus tried.

“– Then we don’t have a choice.”

“But it’s wrong.”

Raumose looked to Antion for support.

Antion frowned. He didn’t want to get in the middle of this. The others sat silently, gaunt faces lowered. Too weary to argue. Too uneasy to agree.

“Let’s just do it already,” Antion muttered, settling it for everyone. “Before we talk ourselves into something worse.”

Raumose nodded as Vestheus slowly retreated, outvoted by the boat. It was decided: the next village or farm that crossed their path, they’d raid for food.

Antion prayed that whatever they found was long abandoned, like everything else.

A few hours later, they spotted something. A single hut along the Ulu’s bank, surrounded by barren fields that had once grown something edible.

The shoreline was clogged with shrubs and bulrush; the perfect cover. Antion and Raumose disembarked after Vestheus promised they’d wait right there.

Bows in hand, they crept through waist-high water, the cold seeping into their bones. The brush whispered against their legs as they moved, each step careful not to splash.

He signaled:
Low.
Slow.
Watch the right side, and –

– STOP!

Raumose’s fist shot up.

They froze in their tracks.

Up ahead, they heard movement inside the hut. They approached from the rear, unseen and unable to see in.
But they could hear it.

Scratching. Sniffing.

The sounds were more animal than human.

Definitely not human.

Raumose looked back, feigned wiping his brow. Antion shrugged, exhaling a half-sigh of relief.

But neither lowered their bow.

They split, circling opposite sides of the hut, moving slow, careful not to spook whatever was inside. At last, they reached the doorway.
They peeked in.

But the sunlight behind them blinded their view of the dark interior…just as the thing inside charged.

A sharp cry shattered the silence.
Antion flinched as a sand-colored blur burst past him, claws scraping the doorway. The desert fox vanished into the brush, leaving only the echo of its yelp behind.

Raumose gave a weak smile.

“Forget it. Next time.”

Inside, the hut was empty.
Dust clung to the stale air, settling on bare shelves and stripped walls. Not a scrap of cloth, a broken bowl.

Nothing.

The emptiness felt ancient, like no one had lived there in years. Raumose’s smile slowly faded.

“…next time, take the shot.”

 

A few more hours downstream, they came across another rundown homestead. Someone had left behind a hidden basket with a bit of hard bread and sundried pickings.

Not nearly enough to feed one belly, let alone ten.

The women and children ate first.
The men divided the scraps.
It wasn’t much.

But it was fair.

By day’s end, they’d raided nearly a dozen empty farms and houses. Every last one had been picked clean long before they arrived.

It was clear now: the villagers had seen the refugee tide rising and fled with it. The war was chasing them all upstream, leaving behind only dust and silence.

It felt like they were the only people left in the world.

That night, as they sat in heavy quiet, Vestheus finally spoke:

“It suddenly struck me that our destination may have suffered the same fate.”

Raumose didn’t look up.

“You don’t know that,” he quietly growled.

Vestheus turned to Antion and gave a small shrug.

“I know we don’t have many options left, but there’s one thing we haven’t considered.”

Everyone looked up.

“We could hike north. Straight to the Soma.”

The Soma, narrow and winding, divided Ashwari from the northern lands. Along with the West Sea, it pinched the land of Terkos, forming the only bridge between Ashwari and the realms beyond.

Raumose crossed his arms.

“We couldn’t be further from the Soma right now.”

“True,” Vestheus allowed, “but there’s an old road from Imen-Netsu. It passes a few towns. A week on foot, maybe more, but it opens up our options.”

Raumose gave a tired wave.
Vestheus pressed on.

“Well…we could sail to Engila, just past Khirrat and Uhrun.”

Raumose raised an eyebrow.

“Both of which belong to Urgesh.”

Vestheus squared his shoulders.

“But Ashwari doesn’t just cease at the first turn north. The coastline just keeps going, for thousands of miles, I’ve heard. Who knows what lies in the far east.”

Raumose sat there in the silence, contemplating Vestheus’ words, who patiently waited for a response.

It just wasn’t the one he expected.

“I agree.”

“Yeah?” Vestheus blinked in surprise. “Uh…good. So we’ll take the north road when we reach town. The next one shouldn’t be too far –”

“– You go ahead,” Raumose cut in. “Go north. Go east. Doesn’t matter. They’re both safer than here.”

Raumose nodded at Antion.

“We’ll go wherever the merchant takes us. We will see this mission through.”

Vestheus’ eyes flared, but he calmed himself with a long breath. His beard twitched. There was anger there…and something else. Fear?

“Well then,” he said, quieter now, “I guess I’m coming with.”

“What!?”

Tefriti shot to her feet, her face flush with anger and disbelief.

“Why!?”

“Because…he’s going.”

His finger pointed straight at Antion, who froze.

“What about me?” Antion blurted. “You still think I’ve been chosen or something? Come on, man!”

Vestheus didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Elk.

“Are you coming too?”

Elk looked at Antion with dark, unreadable eyes, then let out a heavy breath and buried his head in his hands.
Antion’s chest tightened.

Still, he forced his chin up, telling himself it would all work out. That he wasn’t going to lose the last family he had left. Not now.

Not after everything.

Vestheus retired to his wife’s side, who began their argument at once. Their half-whispered shouts carried across the water all night.

 

“We are not taking a single step back into that blasted desert. Mark my words.”

“– You know me, my love. You know when I’ve received a sign. I’ve had THREE in the last month alone.”

“I don’t care how many you had…I only have you.”

“– But then, who will carry out the will of the gods?”

“Let someone else, heru. Please.”

“– I’m not asking you to come with. I’d be the worst husband in the world if I put you in any more danger.”

“No, you’d be the worst husband in the world if you think you can leave me like this…and I’d be the worst wife in the world if I let you walk into that same danger alone.”

“– You’re not the worst…you’re the best.”

“I love you.”

“– I love you.”

 

Antion lay awake for what felt like forever, just listening. Not that he had a choice. But he did choke up when he heard those last few words.

I love you.

He used to have something to love. And now, he was running the other way, tail between his legs. But he reminded himself of their new plan, their last chance.

One last chance…

It was the only thing keeping him going, the hope that Beni’s plan wasn’t a trap, or worse…a fantasy. He needed to believe that Beni’s truth was the real truth, absolute and unshaken.

He wanted to believe.

He had to.

If he had to…he would march into the cursed land of Urgesh and rip the cage around Rokhsa apart.

And then he would come for Anum-Thros…

 

Sleep brought no peace, only blurry visions dipped in sorrow. By morning, the burning sun and gnawing hunger made him feel like he was dying all over again.

There was no food to eat, no water to drink, and no more strength to raid empty farmsteads. Their energy was all but drained, yet everyone perked up when Vestheus shared a quiet hope:

“I believe we’ll reach the village by this evening. Maybe even sooner.”

“How do you know?”

Vestheus waved his hand across the barren land, where the cracked earth stretched endlessly, broken only by the rocks and riverside brush.

“I remember this…” was all he gave them.

Still, it was the first piece of good news in what felt like forever. Antion silently rejoiced with his stomach, teasing himself with thoughts of roasted chicken, spicy rice, and cold brew to knock it all back…all luxuries that felt like distant dreams.

He’d learned not to trust hope; it had a way of leading to disappointment. Still, his stomach betrayed him, clinging to the promise of Imen-Netsu.

What if Vestheus’ fears came true and the town was long abandoned, just like everywhere else?

That morning, he tried forgetting about dying just long enough to figure out how to save Rokhsa…but no plan came to mind. Then, he thought about what to say to Elk, how to bring him back.

But again, no plan was good enough.

Antion was caught in a miserable loop: too drained to think, too restless to stop thinking. He would have gone back to sleep, but their little boat offered no shelter from the sun, and slowly roasting on the deck like a slab of meat didn’t sound appealing.

He wanted someone, anyone, to talk to. But Raumose was too lost in thought, Vestheus too wrapped up with his wife, and his brother too busy hating him. That left no one.

Antion sank back against the inside hull, unmoving, as the hours dragged by. By the time the sun had crawled halfway across the sky, he’d accomplished nothing.

Nothing but waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting…

“– Look!”

Antion shot up as Vestheus pointed ahead. His gut told him to brace for the worst. But then he saw it: a lone fishing boat bobbing in the water, two men on deck waving them down.

“Hello there!” Vestheus called out.

“Hello yourselves!” the men shouted back.

“Is Imen-Netsu still ahead?”

“Aye, a few more hours east. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. Uh…”

Where Vestheus hesitated, Raumose stepped in before the silence stretched:

“How are things there?”

“Lots of fresh faces, lots of panic. Place used to be quiet, but now everyone from the west is flooding in. All heading north, toward the Soma.”

“You know what they’re running from, right?”

“Hopefully not you!”

With that, they kept going, eager to reach the village, get something to eat and drink, and maybe, finally, a decent night’s sleep.

Those last few hours may have crawled by down that weary river, but the anticipation of making landfall made it all worth it.

All Antion wanted was to walk away from this massive headache, just for a second. Find a tavern. Drown himself in comfort drinks. Then collapse into a cool bed so deep he might never climb out…

And then, at last, Imen-Netsu appeared on the horizon, its unnaturally neat houses and mud-brick buildings rising like a mirage.
Antion saw it first.
He said nothing.
But inside, he was howling at the skies!

Reaching the docks of Imen-Netsu still took some time, but the wait was well worth it. The moment they stepped ashore, the villagers welcomed them with open arms.

Several locals even hopped aboard to help their group off, starting with the family. One woman asked if they planned to keep their boat or sell it, depending on whether they were joining the others heading north.

“You’ll buy our boat?” Vestheus asked. “Seriously?”

“The merchants in the region have generously pitched in to help the community,” she replied. “We can offer a very fair sum of silver and supplies.”

Antion and the others gathered what few belongings they had before the boat was hauled away downstream, joining the growing collection of recently sold rafts along the riverbank.

Once off the dock, they were guided down the main street. Vendors lined the road, practically giving away supplies: wrapped preserves, jugs of water, fresh clothes, backpacks, food, and footwear.

And the air!

It was thick with life, the scent of worked leather, curling incense, grilled meats and vegetables, cinnamon and blackcurrant, flower and wood.

A world apart from the stagnant air of the open Ulu, where hot, muddy water and rotting reeds clung to every breeze, heavy and unmoving for miles.

Despite all the loss, no one here asked for anything in return. Kindness, rare as it was in the wasteland, still thrived.

Raumose came over as Antion gathered a meal of warm food and cold water. He carried Beni’s body, now wrapped in the sails of their boat, slung over one shoulder. His steps were careful. Respectful. Heavy.

“Alright, let’s find this Amasi and figure out a plan,” he muttered to Antion, his voice low and cautious. “Grab me something too?”

Antion gathered a second portion, but before he could hand it over, Elk brushed past and snatched the food, stuffing it into the new pack one of the merchants had given him.

“Whoa, wait!” Antion stammered as he tried to turn his brother around to face him, but Elk tore his shoulder away. “Where are you going?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Why? Can’t we talk, brother?”

Elk hesitated…just barely.

His head turned, just a fraction.

“There’s no talking to you, brother. Believe me…I tried.”

“Please, just stay a while,” Antion begged.

“I’d rather strike it out on my own than rely on someone like you.”

Elk’s voice shook, but he didn’t stop.

“You think you can do no wrong with this noble calling of yours, but you don’t care who you hurt to get what you want. You kept me in the dark about the commander. Why? So I couldn’t talk you out of your stupid plan?”

“Wait a second –”

“– You were going to leave me in a city about to be overrun, just so you could get your woman back. But I didn’t call you out then, because I thought love just made you blind.”

“But –”

“– And I didn’t say anything when I followed you into that fortress and watched as you were tortured for something you never even had.”

Elk finally stopped and turned.

For the first time in days, he met Antion’s eyes.

“But now you’re telling me there’s some magic solution to all our problems in the middle of the fucking desert and I just can’t!”

The whole world fell silent.

Their argument had drawn an audience, but Elk no longer cared. He didn’t care about keeping his voice down. He didn’t care to keep his tears back either.

“I just can’t anymore. Not if this is what it means to be your brother.”

Elk’s voice cracked with brutal finality.

“You did this. Not me.”

“I don’t want this!” Antion pleaded.

“But you chose it.”

“I didn’t choose anything!”

Elk’s voice dropped.

Not a shout.

No fiery accusation.

Just the quiet, hollow truth:

“You did when you chose him over me.”

Elk finished packing and walked away.

Antion just stood there, watching as his brother slipped into the slow trickle of refugees fleeing the Ulu River Valley. He kept watching for minutes, eyes locked on the flow of bobbing heads as they meandered off into the horizon.

And then he felt it.

Somewhere up there, in that of strangers, his brother, his best friend…his family…broke the horizon.

And disappeared forever.

At least he’ll be safe…

Well fuck him for leaving!

…why did he leave…?

Antion just stood there, too lost to focus on anything else. Just then, a tap on his shoulder brought him back to life, back to a world where his brother no longer existed.

Alone.

“Antion…I’m sorry…” Raumose said softly, “but we need to go.”

“…I know…”

He turned his back on his brother for the last time and walked away.