Dawn broke like a wound.
The horizon bled orange over the dunes, painting the sand with light that did not warm. Nakala awoke to the sound of her own breathing — shallow, uneven, yet steady. Her body still remembered pain, but pain now felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
When she opened her eyes, the desert no longer looked like the world she'd known.
The wind carried whispers that bent around her like prayer.
Each grain of sand shimmered faintly, pulsing with a rhythm she could feel in her chest. It was as if the land itself breathed in time with her.
And then she heard her — the second heartbeat.
> "Do not fear the light," said the voice within. "It is beneath you now."
Nakala froze. "Who… who's there?"
> "You already know my name. You carved it with your blood."
A flicker of memory burned — obsidian light, the cracking of stone, the voice that had called itself the Black Sun. The goddess.
Nakala pressed a trembling hand against her chest. "Esh'ra…?"
> "Yes. And no. You are the flesh I wear; I am the fire that remembers. Together, we are something new."
The words echoed inside her skull like molten metal poured into glass. Her pulse quickened.
"I don't want this," Nakala whispered. "I didn't ask to be your vessel."
> "Nor did I ask to be buried in silence for a thousand years," the goddess replied, her tone calm but sharp. "Yet here we are — two unwilling survivors, bound by the same blood."
Nakala shivered. Her reflection flickered faintly on the surface of her tears — for a heartbeat, her eyes were not brown but black, ringed in gold light that pulsed like embers.
She clenched her fists. "If you mean to kill me, then finish it."
> "Kill you?" Esh'ra's laughter was soft this time, almost tender.
"Little mortal, you misunderstand. I cannot destroy what I have already become."
---
She stumbled to her feet, legs weak, the world still swaying beneath her. The ruins of E'balu stretched behind her — no smoke, no corpses, only empty dunes where homes had been. The world had wiped her village away, as though it had never existed.
A hollow ache filled her chest. "Where are they…? My people, my mother—"
> "Erased," said Esh'ra. "Not by my hand. Something else gnaws at the fabric of memory itself. I can feel it."
Nakala swallowed hard. "You mean… they're gone?"
> "Gone beyond prayer. Gone beyond even me."
The words struck harder than any blade.
For a moment, the mortal in her wanted to weep. But something colder — something divine — steadied her. She wiped her eyes, and the sand beneath her fingertips hissed where her tears fell, turning to glass.
---
Hours passed in silence. She wandered aimlessly, guided only by thirst and the low hum in her veins.
It was Esh'ra who first noticed the movement on the horizon.
> "We are not alone."
Nakala squinted. A figure stumbled across the dunes — tall, armored in dull black metal, crimson ribbons trailing from broken plates. At first she thought it human. Then the wind shifted, and she saw the horns curving from his brow, the faint heat shimmer that followed his steps.
A demon.
Instinct screamed for her to run, but her body refused. The goddess inside her stirred with quiet amusement.
> "Your enemies walk wounded," Esh'ra murmured. "Let us see what this world has made of its monsters."
The figure collapsed not far from her, sinking to one knee. His breathing was ragged, his left arm torn at the shoulder. When he lifted his head, his eyes glowed faintly — not red as stories claimed, but violet, bright with fever and exhaustion.
He looked at Nakala and froze.
"Human?" His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. "You shouldn't be here… they'll come back."
She hesitated. "Who?"
"The N'gai," he rasped. "The formless ones. They took my squad — twisted them into dust and memory. You… you shouldn't even remember this place."
Before Nakala could answer, his gaze fell to her chest — to the faint red light pulsing beneath her skin.
Recognition flickered in his eyes. Fear followed.
"Your aura…" he whispered. "That mark… that's not mortal."
He reached for his blade, but it crumbled in his hand, eaten by invisible decay. His breathing quickened. "What are you?"
Nakala felt the goddess rise inside her like a tide. The air grew heavy. The wind stopped. The sand darkened beneath her feet.
> "He asks the right question," Esh'ra whispered.
"Shall we show him the answer?"
"No," Nakala said, clutching her head. "Please, don't—"
> "Then I will."
Her vision burned white.
When she opened her eyes, the demon was on the ground, paralyzed, his face bathed in the glow of an unseen sun. Nakala stood above him — though she no longer felt entirely herself. Her voice came out layered, doubled, one mortal, one divine.
"Tell me, demon," she said softly, "what year does your world die?"
The demon stared up at her in awe and terror. "Who are you?"
"I am the end you forgot to fear," Esh'ra said through her lips.
A moment later, Nakala stumbled back, gasping — the glow fading. The demon remained on his knees, trembling, but alive.
Esh'ra's voice retreated, a fading ember.
> "Mercy. Interesting choice. I had forgotten what it tasted like."
---
As the sun sank and shadows lengthened, the demon managed to stand. He watched her warily, but did not attack. "If you wish to live, come with me. The veil cracks near the Red Divide. Humans and demons are both dying there — maybe you'll find your answers."
Nakala hesitated. Then, quietly, she nodded.
As they began their slow walk toward the dying horizon, the goddess whispered again, half amusement, half warning.
> "You walk with an enemy, Nakala. Every step you take with him will carve deeper into the story that will unmake this world."
> "Good," Nakala whispered back. "Then maybe I can write a new one."
---
That night, under the dying light of two moons, a mortal and a demon crossed the desert together — watched from afar by shadows that had no names.
The N'gai whispered among themselves.
> "The Black Sun rises again. The memory of death has returned."