The city of gold and sand — Auremir.
And tonight was the night everything changed — for far worse… or far better.
This was where it all began.This is the starting point of everything that happend to be let loose in this city
The bazaar was alive, buzzing with a thousand voices. Merchants shouted prices. The smell of spiced meat and smoke hung in the air. Coins clinked. Children laughed and weaved between the stalls as music played somewhere in the distance.
Then a little girl, holding her mother's hand, stopped.She notices something up in the sky. She raised a trembling finger.
One by one, heads turned.
And then they saw him — the mad man standing on top of the old watchtower.
His clothes flapped in the desert wind. He spread his arms wide, a wild grin on his face.
When he was sure all eyes were on him, he screamed from the top of his lungs:
"Listen, you devils! It is Judgment Day!"
"There are no crops for the locusts to eat. None will grow in this cursed land of sand!"
"There are no frogs to swarm this place — because a fat, ugly one already sits on the throne!"
"No darkness will cover this land — because your hearts are already drowned in it!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Then recognition struck. From his ragged cloth, they knew who he was.
A Thalri.
A crazy old fool.
The first stone was thrown. Then another. And another. They clattered against the wall, falling uselessly as he kept speaking.
"The rivers will not turn red! They are already red — with the blood of my people. And you… you drink it!"
"Because you call yourselves God's people, you think God has taken a liking to you. That you will be forgiven."
He spat on the ground.
"I disagree. Something far worse is waiting for you."
He pointed to the crowd — to all of them. His hands trembled. Tears ran down his face.
"For my daughter…" he mumbled, voice breaking.
He pulled out a dagger.
"May it rain hell and chaos."
And before anyone could move, he dragged the blade across his wrist.
The man's body tumbled from the tower, hitting the stone with a sickening thud.
A mother pulled her child away as the adults swarmed the corpse. They kicked his lifeless body, spat on him, cursing until the guards finally arrived to clear the area.
The dagger — flung loose from the impact of his fall — bounced along the stone and rolled into a nearby ditch.
A man in a brown robe stooped to pick it up. His bag clinked with trinkets, charms, and bottles, the heavy load swaying as he crouched. He wiped the blood from the blade onto his robe, admiring it.
"A fine piece," he murmured.
"Hey!"
A guard spotted him, pointing a sword his way. "Who are you?"
The man turned, smiling easily. "Oh! I'm a perfume merchant."
"Did you see a dagger fly this way?"
He chuckled. "In this darkness? I doubt even a snake could see clearly. But perhaps you'd be interested in some of my trinkets? Other than perfume, I carry charms, rare oils—ah, and daggers too! Fine works from—"
"Stop yapping."
The guard scowled.
"Oh no, hear me out! How about this: if you buy a dagger from me, I'll throw in a bottle of perfume. Two for one! A perfect gift for a lovely wife waiting at home, don't you think?"
"Get lost!"
The guard cursed, kicking at the sand. "Tch! Could've bought me a drink with that dagger."
The merchant bowed his head, feigning defeat, then quietly slipped away into the crowd.
As he walked, he turned the dagger over in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship.
In the faint moon light, his eyes caught something etched into the metal — a single word, written in a language unfamiliar even to him.
Eras Undone