In the heart of an endless desert, where the sun knew no mercy and the wind swept away the footprints of history, lay the ruins of a once-magnificent city: Syarkh.
Once proud and mighty in the middle of the Arabian plains, the city now lingered as a mere shadow of its past, buried beneath layers of sand and silenced by the absence of its people.
The cause was not time nor climate alone.
It was a terror made flesh: a colossal sand spirit in the form of a wolf a legendary creature known as Ruh'us Shamsi.
It rose from the depths of the earth, summoning sandstorms and the fury of the desert to drown city after city.
No one survived its howl. No one stood after its rampage.
But on that sweltering afternoon, with twilight fast approaching, someone defied the silence.
She was young, Sri Marianika, just eighteen.
Her short hair was striking: turquoise green shifting to violet at the middle, ending in a scorched orange at the tips.
Her body was wrapped in a hooded white cloak that shielded her skin from the searing sun.
She walked slowly through the lifeless streets of Syarkh.
The once-glorious buildings now stood as skeletal remains, half-buried in dust.
The desert wind carried a scorched scent that clung to the ruins, as if the city's history was being mourned by nature itself.
Sri stopped at the center of the city square, now barely recognizable.
She looked around, eyes scanning the ghost of a marketplace.
"A city cursed by fate," she whispered.
Her voice was nearly lost in the whispering sands, but clear enough to echo her unwavering resolve.
She knew the creature would come tonight.
As it always had.
City after city fell before dawn.
But tonight would be different.
Sri was no ordinary sorceress.
She was the Sorceress of Dawn.
The title wasn't given because her magic shone with the morning sun, but because she always stood between darkness and light.
Every time dawn arrived, her hunt was already done.
No demon survived past sunrise.
No battle was left unfinished.
Sri knelt, touching the warm sand.
Her eyes closed.
From beneath the earth, she felt vibrations imperceptible to ordinary humans—pulses of life not born of mortals.
"You're still down there," she murmured. "Breathing in your dark slumber."
When she opened her eyes, there was no doubt in them.
Only focus.
Only the intent to end.
The sky began to glow a deep orange.
Night approached.
Sri lowered her hood, letting the dry air touch her face.
Her hair danced in the wind, creating a striking silhouette against the broken cityscape.
"Come out, Sand Wolf," she said as she stood.
Her voice was calm, yet sharp.
"I won't wait until dawn."
And as if the desert itself answered, the ground began to tremble.
The wind picked up, swirling sands into a vortex in the distance.
From beyond the sandy horizon, a dreadful howl echoed a low, resonant growl deep enough to shake the chest and stop the heart.
Sand lifted into the air, swirling, forming a massive shape...
A wolf with blazing red eyes, its body forged from cutting grains of sand.
The giant towered above the ruins, its movements slow but holding the strength to crush a city beneath a single step.
Sri stood unfazed.
Both her hands rose slowly as magic gathered around her.
The air thickened.
The sky bore witness to the meeting of two forces.
The hunt had begun.
The desert wind tore against her body, sweeping dust and memories of the dead city of Syarkh.
But Sri stood firm amidst the storm, her body unyielding even as sand bit into her skin and the sky turned dark under the looming presence of the sand colossus.
From beneath her white cloak, Sri raised her right hand and in an instant, a streak of violet light flared.
A one-handed sword took form, its hilt a pitch black like the night that devours light, while its blade gleamed in dark purple hues, radiating a sharp aura as if it held a rage long restrained.
Then her left hand moved.
This time, a one-handed axe appeared.
But it was far from ordinary.
Triple-bladed, the edges were asymmetrical: the main side large and brutal, jutting outward; the upper point smaller but deadly sharp; and the rear blade wide, exuding dominance and raw power.
All its edges glowed in burning orange, like embers holding the screams of a thousand scorched souls.
Sri inhaled deeply.
She crossed both weapons beside her one pointing down, the other up.
Her stance widened, feet firm in the sandy earth, planting her resolve into the ground that had remained silent for too long.
Her eyes locked onto the beast.
The sand wolf loomed, its body coiling winds, and its eyes blazed like a sun birthed in hell.
Sri smirked.
"Let's begin, hungry wolf."
She raised her axe slightly higher.
"Today, you will hunt…"
"…or be hunted."
And with that, the storm paused.
Time itself held its breath.
Then the two, the Sorceress of Dawn and the Spirit of Sand, stepped onto a battlefield lit by nothing but the glow of magic and the shadow of fury.
Dawn had not yet come.
But blood would spill first.
The sand wolf howled. Its roar echoed through the scattered ruins of crumbling buildings. In the blink of an eye, a storm surged from its body, forming a violent vortex that blasted toward Sri, tearing through everything in its path. Sharp grains of sand whipped through the air like fine bullets, scratching stone and steel as if they were nothing more than brittle paper.
Sri darted away in an instant agile, swift leaping from one ruin to another. Her white cloak fluttered wildly, dancing through the chaos, dazzling the eyes of anyone who stared too long. But she wasn't fleeing recklessly she was circling, weaving between the pillars and arches of the ancient city, adjusting her position.
The storm chased her, wild and relentless. Sri glanced over her shoulder briefly.
And then, from her left, the sand monster appeared sudden, like a shadow pulled straight from the storm's belly. A massive claw swung at her, aiming to end the battle in a single, brutal strike.
But Sri's face showed no surprise. This was part of her plan—a cold, calculated trap.
"Now," she whispered.
With blinding speed, Sri twisted her body and slashed upward with her violet sword. The sharp blade cleaved cleanly through the wolf's clawed fingers. The beast's digits were severed—and instantly crumbled into a cascade of sand.
The wolf howled in pain, stumbling back in shock. But Sri gave it no chance.
She leapt high, her body arcing perfectly through the air. In her left hand, she held a three-bladed axe, inverted, its sharp ends pointed downward. As the wolf tilted its head back—either to howl or to counter—it would never know which came first. Sri was already above it.
With a short cry and perfect focus, she spun in midair.
One spin.
Two.
Three—like a massive gear cloaked in flame and fury—she dove downward with terrifying power.
Her axe struck the wolf's head with a thunderous crack, like the earth itself fracturing. And in that moment, the sand spirit's body shattered into pieces. Driven by the spin of magic and raw might, the sand wolf exploded into a burst of golden dust, scattering in every direction, veiling the sky in a fading golden mist.
Sri landed, one knee touching the hot sand, her axe buried in the ground, her sword still gripped tight.
Silence. Only her breath remained—steady, cold.
She rose slowly, brushing dust from her shoulder, then stared at the horizon.
"One more returned to dust," she said quietly. "And dawn has yet to come."
But it wasn't over.
From the scattered sands and shattered ruins came a deep, low sound—like a death roar dragged from the abyss of hell. The sand began to swirl again, gathering at a single point. The wind hissed, and the air grew suddenly cold as a new force cloaked the battlefield.
The sand wolf… was rising again.
Now larger. Denser. Its eyes burned with a dark, ancient gold. The sand of its body fused with black metal fragments and bone, drawn from the wreckage of Syarkh. From deep in its throat, a terrible howl echoed—one that pierced the night sky, aimed directly at the moon hanging among the dark clouds.
And the sky answered.
Black clouds rolled in, swallowing the stars one by one. Red lightning flashed within the storm, and the wind turned razor-sharp, shredding rock and ruin alike. The wolf had not only revived—it had summoned a far greater storm than before.
An extreme sandstorm began to form, circling the battlefield like a wall of death, whirling sand and debris like blades in flight.
Sri did not flinch.
Calmly, she faced the storm—her eyes, soft pink and glowing like coals buried in silent flame, showed no fear. Only serenity… and something deeper. Anticipation.
"As expected…" she murmured, her voice nearly drowned in the wind. "…You won't fall that easily."
With a slow motion, she shed her white cloak. The cloth caught the wind, lifted into the air, and drifted like the last bird leaving the battlefield.
Now her face was fully revealed. A scar cut across part of her face, from temple to below her left eye. An old wound—unfaded—a mark of an unforgettable past. Her short turquoise-green hair, tipped with violet and orange, flew wildly, as if defying the storm itself.
Both hands rose slowly.
"Magic Canceled."
A pure white aura burst from her body, enveloping her in a sharp light that burned the nearby sand just by proximity. All magic around her began to fade—the magical storm itself showed signs of breaking, as if unraveling beneath a power that denied magic's very foundation.
Then she lowered slightly, her weapons drawn to either side.
"True Blade. True Axe."
The violet sword in her right hand glowed with a dense, starless-night hue. The three-bladed axe in her left hand flared a blazing orange, like the embers of hell, trembling as if hungry for blood and ruin. The white aura around her spun faster now, forming a vortex that repelled the chaos around her.
The wind whispered through the storm, as if the earth itself was holding its breath.
Then, with a voice colder and sharper than a desert night's chill, Sri spoke:
"Come dance with me, Sand Wolf." A white light enveloped Sri Marianika's entire body.
And in an instant, she vanished.
Not disappeared... but moved. Faster than the eye could follow. Faster than the wind, faster than sound, faster than the logic of ordinary magic.
Only one thing could be seen: a streak of white light, circling the massive body of the sand wolf, leaving behind faint glowing trails like lightning lines spiraling through a storm. The wolf growled, spun, clawed, and leapt. But it was all in vain.
The light was too fast. Too light. Too precise.
"Aghhhrrrrh—!!" the sand wolf roared in confusion, its massive body seemingly toyed with. The pride of that ancient beast was being torn apart by something it could not see.
Then—
Crack.
The sound was almost inaudible. But its effect was absolute.
The enormous body halted. Its golden eyes widened.
Something had fallen to the ground with a dull thud.
Its head.
The sand wolf had lost its head. Its body remained standing for a few seconds longer, as if trying to comprehend a death that had come too swiftly, too silently.
Slow footsteps echoed through the storm that had begun to calm. The steps of a young girl—Sri Marianika.
Her face was cold. Her pale pink eyes showed no triumph, no arrogance. Only silence… and a will without emotion.
Before her, from the severed neck of the massive beast, a shimmering object rolled slowly… cling… cling… until it came to a stop on the cracked earth.
A small crystal orb, golden-brown in color—pulsing faintly like a dying heart.
Sri stared at it for a moment.
"Your core, isn't it?"
One sentence. Calm. Short.
Then… Crack.
Her foot came down on the crystal without hesitation.
The orb shattered. Fractures spread like lightning, and the shards emitted one last golden glow before crumbling into grains of sand.
The sand wolf, in its final roar that shook the desert and sky, dissolved into dust—drawn back into the barren land it once ruled. No more power. No more threat. Only sand… and silence.
Sri looked up at the sky, then down at her left wrist.
An old pocket watch dangled there, held loosely in her hand. Its hands moved slowly, but surely.
"Still eight hours until dawn," she murmured, before slipping the watch back beneath her brown vest.
The desert wind grew calm. The storm had passed.
But the dawn witch was not finished.
She continued walking eastward, leaving behind the desert of death. There were still monsters to hunt. Still darkness awaiting the light… before dawn touched this world once again.