The desert wind howled, grains of sand lashing at Arasha's face as she pressed forward.
The horizon warped, blurred between gold and shadow until the storm rolled in like a living wall.
The air itself screamed.
She pulled her cloak tighter, searching desperately for cover until a narrow crack in the canyon wall revealed itself, jagged but deep enough to shield her from the raging storm.
She slipped inside, heart pounding, the roar of sand muffled to a dull roar. Darkness closed in around her.
That was when she heard it.
Whispers. Thousands, no—myriads of voices, overlapping, weaving through the crack in the stone.
Not a language she could recognize, yet not meaningless either. They pressed against her ears, her skull, like a memory too faint to recall.
Arasha pressed a palm to the cold rock, closing her eyes to steady her breath.
What are you trying to say? But the voices never resolved into clarity, only circling her like phantom echoes until, at last, the storm died away.
When she emerged, the desert was no longer the same.
The sands glittered like crushed sapphires, glowing faintly under a sky of shifting green.
The air itself shimmered, bending light in strange ways, as though she'd stepped beyond her own world.
Arasha steadied her steps, pressing deeper into the alien beauty, until at last she came upon an oasis.
The pool was mirror-like, its waters rippling with colors not found in nature—violet, silver, molten gold.
Arasha knelt at its edge, letting the cool touch of the water soothe her cracked lips and dry throat.
Then came the sound. A crystalline chime, like glass struck by wind.
Arasha turned.
A deer emerged from the shimmer of the oasis—its body translucent crystal, antlers refracting the strange green light above.
It tilted its head toward her, eyes like cut gems, and without a sound, it stepped away, pausing only to glance back as though beckoning.
Arasha rose, following.
They walked for what felt like hours, yet the landscape never changed—endless dunes of blue sand under the shifting sky, stretching on and on until all sense of direction faded.
Just as doubt began to whisper in her chest, the sand betrayed her.
It gave way beneath her boots.
With no time to react, Arasha plunged downward, swallowed whole by the sapphire dunes.
Her cry was smothered in rushing silence until she hit solid ground—not sand, but carved stone.
She gasped, pushing herself up, only to find she was no longer in the desert.
A vast shrine stretched around her, its walls etched with patterns that pulsed faintly with blue light.
Pillars rose into shadow, and at its heart stood a figure cloaked in the same shimmering blue as the sands themselves.
His eyes, when he lifted them to her, glowed a pure, unearthly azure.
"Welcome, child of steel flame," the man intoned, his voice deep, solemn, and resonant as if the shrine itself spoke through him.
Arasha steadied her voice, though the weight of the stranger's gaze pressed heavily against her chest.
"Are you the shaman the others once spoke of?" she asked.
The man chuckled, low and deep, shaking his head.
"No, not shaman. I am but an observer… a spectator, nothing more. At times, a guide. And today, my role is to tell the tale you seek."
He turned, gesturing with a slow sweep of his arm toward the shadowed depths of the shrine. The light of the runes shimmered brighter, pulsing as though alive, an unspoken invitation.
Arasha followed, boots echoing softly against the cool stone. Each step made her heart heavier—she did not know if she was ready for answers, yet she could not turn away.
Within, the chamber grew quieter still, as if the air itself had been stilled to listen. A low hum lingered at the edge of hearing, like the heartbeat of something vast.
The man produced a cup of water, clear yet glowing faintly with an inner radiance.
He held it out to her.
Arasha accepted, though she did not drink. Instead, she cradled the vessel between her palms, her gaze locked firmly on the cloaked figure.
The man's smile was faint, knowing. "So cautious. Wise."
His gaze softened, and his voice lowered, carrying a weight that seemed meant not only for her ears but for the very stones of the shrine.
"You wish to hear of the tale that made all threads of fate break free from the Primordials' meddling. The tale that mended what was once sorrow-ridden into something capable of love and joy."
Arasha bowed her head slightly, but her tone remained steady, resolute.
"Please, get to the point. I have someone dear waiting for me, and his patience is already tested by my absence."
Her heart stung as she thought of Kane—of his eyes, restless with fear every time she left his sight. Would he ever forgive her for keeping him waiting yet again?
The man's smile deepened, tinged with sadness rather than mockery.
"Direct and steadfast… as expected. Very well. But know this: I cannot reveal the whole of it. Part of the story must remain in shadow. That is the price, for truth unbound comes at its own cost."
Arasha inhaled, slow and steady, forcing her shoulders straight.
Then I'll take what I can. If it leads me closer to understanding the hollowness inside me, and why the rifts are gone… then let the shadows remain.
She lifted her chin. "Please proceed with the tale."
The man's eyes gleamed like twin shards of sapphire fire.
"The liberation—the unbinding of fate—was no single act, but a compilation of great deeds across countless threads. The catalyst… was an Arasha who endured beyond all others. He discovered a way to gather the good karma of every Arasha across the weave—all their virtues, their triumphs, their sacrifice—and used it as the foundation for godhood itself."
Arasha's breath caught. The glowing cup in her hands trembled faintly as her grip tightened.
An Arasha… me, yet not me. A fragment of myself I will never meet.
The cloaked man's voice deepened, resonant with gravity.
"Yet it was not his alone. Kane stood with him in that timeline. He bore his burdens, fought by his side, and together they endured grueling years until, at last, they succeeded. He ascended. But…"
The pause hung sharp in the air, a blade pressed against her chest.
The man's gaze softened, almost pitying.
"Such godhood demanded a price. To secure freedom for all the other threads, he severed his bond to those he loved. He gave up not only his memories of them, but his own red thread of love. By sacrificing his heart, he ensured that the other Arashas would keep theirs—till the very end of their lives."
Arasha's eyes widened, tears burning hot at the corners.
Her chest constricted, as though that long-dead sacrifice echoed inside her.
The thought of Kane—her Kane—cutting away his very love for her so others might keep theirs was unbearable. And yet… was that why the Primordials withdrew? Because love and fate are now untouchable at last, no longer theirs to bind or sever?
"That," the man said at last, "is all I can reveal. The rest must remain hidden. That is the boundary, the shadow that cannot be crossed."
Silence fell heavy.
Arasha lowered her gaze to the cup, luminous in her hands. A vessel of truth, and of sorrow.
Another me lost everything so that I could keep this love. So that the Kane waiting for me now could still look at me with devotion in his eyes.
Her throat tightened.
I must carry this. But I cannot burden him with it. Not when he fears losing me already. Some truths… are meant to be carried alone.
Her voice, hushed but sincere, broke the stillness. "…I understand. Thank you."
The man raised a hand. The shrine dissolved like sand in the wind, the runes flickering out like dying stars.
The next heartbeat, Arasha stood once more at the edge of the crystalline forest, its strange hues stretching endlessly behind her.
Her hand trembled—and she realized she was still holding the glowing cup. But when she blinked, it vanished, leaving only the warmth of its weight imprinted in her palms.
Tears welled unbidden, slipping down her cheeks. She pressed a hand over her heart, whispering into the desert wind,
"Thank you."
The desert air shimmered faintly in reply, like a blessing carried unseen on the breeze.
The desert winds clung to Arasha as she left the strange, crystalline lands behind.
The shaman's words still echoed in her mind, heavy as chains and yet fragile as glass.
A sacrifice of love.
A severed bond.
A god who chose to lose everything so others could keep their threads.
Her heart ached at the thought.
She pressed a hand over her chest, whispering inwardly, This life, I won't waste it. I'll make good use of the gift given. I'll stay by his side. Always.
The sands gave way to rocky passes, then to faint signs of green as the southern roads began to open before her.
Her aunt Valmira's estate wasn't far now.
Arasha took a breath, forcing a steadiness into her voice as she reached for the small crystal communicator.
"Kane," she spoke softly.
The response came instantly, his voice taut, restless. "Arasha? Where are you?"
"I'm close to Aunt Valmira's," she said, her tone carefully measured.
"The journey… took longer than I thought. I'll stay just a couple of days before returning."
But even as she tried to keep it even, the sadness in her chest seeped through her words. Weariness weighed her voice down.
Kane's hand clenched around the communicator. He didn't reply with words. The next moment, the air shimmered, light bent—and there he was.
"Kane!" Arasha gasped, startled.
Before she could speak further, he crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.
His embrace was tight, almost desperate, as though he feared she would vanish if he let go.
Her lips parted, then curved into a weary smile. She lifted a hand and gently patted his back.
"I'm fine," she murmured, her voice quiet, red-rimmed eyes betraying the tears she hadn't managed to hide.
Kane pulled back just enough to look at her, his own expression hard with worry.
"You don't look fine. You sound tired, and your eyes…"
His voice broke slightly, his hand brushing against her cheek. "Arasha, I can't just stay away when you sound like this."
Arasha let out a faint laugh, weak but real. "Stubborn as ever…"
"I'm not leaving you," Kane said firmly, his jaw set. "I'll accompany you the rest of the way. No arguments."
For a moment, Arasha thought to refuse—but then she remembered the vow she had made only hours ago, the promise to make use of this lifetime, to stay by his side.
Her eyes softened. She gave a small nod. "Alright. Come with me."
Relief flickered through Kane's expression, though suspicion lingered at her choice of words.
Still, he didn't press—he simply took her hand, grounding her in the present with his quiet strength.
Together, they turned south, the horizon opening before them.
Arasha's heart still carried the secret of sacrifice, but Kane's hand in hers reminded her of what mattered most: this moment, this bond, this life they still had to live.