The salvaging of the supplies took considerably more time than we had initially thought it would take. What we had assumed would be a quick expedition of a few hours stretched into the better part of two full days. Arvid, ever the strategic thinker, decided partway through the process to build a sturdy shelter at the Oasis. His reasoning was sound and characteristically forward-thinking: it would provide refuge to traveling merchants or people who might get lost in their travels through the unforgiving desert in the future. This barren landscape had claimed too many lives already; perhaps this small gesture could save some.
They constructed the shelter primarily with wood salvaged from the Dergu camp, along with some sturdy beams they found among the ruins scattered throughout the Oasis. The soldiers worked efficiently, and they stocked the interior with supplies that future travelers might desperately need—water containers, dried food that would keep for months, basic medical supplies, blankets for the cold desert nights, and even some tools for basic repairs. It was a generous gesture, one that spoke to Arvid's character in ways that his reputation as a fearsome warrior-emperor did not.
It took four separate trips to transport all the goods we had salvaged back to our main camp. The sheer volume of supplies the Dergu had accumulated was staggering—they had clearly been planning for a long-term occupation of this strategic location. Each journey back and forth was exhausting in the relentless desert heat, but the soldiers worked without complaint, motivated by the promise of these resources making our onward journey significantly easier.
The bodies of the Dergu who had fallen in battle were dealt with according to Southern custom. They were hung on wooden spikes as a warning and a mark of their defeat, their bodies left to the desert scavengers. The man who had been roasted by Dergu—what little remained of him after that devastating fate—was carefully gathered, burned further until nothing but fine ashes remained, and respectfully placed in an urn. One of the soldiers, a solemn-faced man named Keras, had volunteered to deliver it to the dead man's wife when we eventually returned to camps.
"We have to name this place," Arvid announced after much of the arduous work was finally done. He stood near the newly constructed shelter, surveying the Oasis with an evaluating gaze. He was right, of course. This place didn't have a proper name that we knew of. We certainly couldn't continue calling it the Dergu stronghold anymore—that chapter had closed with blood and fire. Proper naming would do this place good, would give it a new identity. A new name for a new beginning, a fresh start unmarred by the violence that had occurred here.
"You know, I think this place was actually populated centuries ago," Arvid commented thoughtfully as he tied the last of the captured horses to the soldier in charge of leading them back to camp. "I was exploring earlier while you were treating the wounded, and I came across a building that looked surprisingly sturdy considering its age. It was built with bricks—proper fired bricks, not the mud-brick construction you see in temporary desert settlements."
"It had scorch marks all over it," he added almost casually, as if he hadn't just said something that made my blood run cold. "Deep, black scorch marks, like it had been burned in an intense fire many years ago. Centuries, probably, based on the erosion patterns."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart suddenly began pounding hard in my chest, the sound so loud I could hear it echoing in my ears. What was this feeling? Why did I suddenly feel like I had some inexplicable connection to this place? It was as if invisible threads were pulling at something deep within me, tugging at memories that weren't quite my own.
"Aiona?" I reached inward, searching for answers from the ancient presence that lived within me.
"Don't go there." Her response came quickly, too quickly. Her voice was laced with something I had rarely heard from her before—something that sounded distinctly like sadness. And perhaps regret, deep and profound.
"You lied to me, Aiona," I said quietly, more hurt than angry. "You told me you'd never been here before. You said you didn't recognize this place."
She let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to echo through my entire being, carrying the weight of centuries.
"Around a thousand years ago," she finally began, her voice barely above a whisper in my mind, "this place wasn't a desert at all. This entire region was fertile land, green and lush, with rivers that flowed year-round and forests that stretched to the horizons. It belonged to a prosperous kingdom named Heinnas. They ruled from the start of what is now the Grand Sand Desert all the way down to the southern shores where the ocean meets the land. It was a vast kingdom, powerful and wealthy."
She paused, and I could feel the emotion building within her. "It was the kingdom I cared for more than any other in all my long existence. And they treated me like a living deity, built temples in my honor, sang songs of praise to my name, and—" She stopped talking abruptly, unable or unwilling to continue.
"The same kingdom you burned down to ash," I filled in the sentence for her, my voice flat. The pieces were falling into place now, forming a picture I wasn't sure I wanted to see.
Despite the heavy atmosphere of our conversation, or perhaps because of it, I felt a sudden desperate need to see this place with my own eyes. "I want to see that building!" I told Arvid with what probably seemed like inappropriate excitement given the grim conversation I'd just had internally. But I needed to see it, needed to understand.
He nodded, agreeing readily with my request. He gave some quick instructions to the soldier who was preparing to lead the horses back to camp, then returned to my side. Together, we began our expedition into the past, walking deeper into the Oasis toward the ruins he had discovered.
"What are you doing?" Aiona asked me, and I could hear genuine panic creeping into her voice. "I don't want to go there. Please, Rhia, anywhere but there."
"Why?" I pressed her gently but firmly. "Because... because—" was all she could manage to say, her usual eloquence deserting her completely.
"Aiona," I said with quiet determination, "you told me yourself that I'm you and you are me. If we truly are one being, one soul split across time, then why don't we embrace each other's mistakes and sins as our own? We need to face our fears head-on and embrace our weaknesses, acknowledge them instead of running from them. Running away from the past doesn't solve anything—it only ensures that the pain continues to haunt us."
She finally fell silent after that, and I took that heavy silence as reluctant agreement, or at least resignation.
We walked past the beautiful water-gathered lake that formed the heart of the Oasis, its surface reflecting the harsh desert sky like polished glass. We continued much further into the green sanctuary, past date palms and desert flowers that somehow thrived in this impossible place. As we moved deeper, just as Arvid had described, sturdy ruins began to appear beneath our feet. These were the foundations of buildings, ancient and weathered but still clearly visible. The stonework was sophisticated, speaking to a level of architectural knowledge and craftsmanship that had been lost to time.
As we climbed up a small rise, we encountered a series of stairs carved directly into the rock. They led upward to an unfamiliar architectural structure unlike anything I had ever seen before in either the North or the South. The design was elegant and alien, featuring curves and angles that seemed to defy conventional building practices. And just as Arvid had said, it was heavily scorched. The entire building was stained black from an ancient assault, the stone itself transformed by intense heat into something darker and more sinister than its original material.
"What is this place?" I mumbled to myself, though I was beginning to suspect I already knew the answer.
It was like a relic of the past, a physical mirror reflecting a time a thousand years before today. A window into a world that no longer existed, destroyed so thoroughly that even the desert had reclaimed it. As we drew closer to the entrance, my heartbeat began to thunder again in my chest, so loud and forceful I was surprised Arvid couldn't hear it. I took a deep breath to steady myself and slowly stepped inside the ancient building.
What I saw within can only be described in one word: astonishing.
The interior, despite centuries of abandonment and the damage from fire, had been remarkably preserved by the dry desert air. And dominating the entire space was a massive statue of a dragon, rendered in stone with such lifelike detail that it took my breath away. Every scale had been individually carved, every curve of muscle suggested beneath the stone surface. The artisans who had created this masterpiece had been extraordinarily skilled, capturing not just the physical form but somehow the very essence of dragonkind.
The statue's curved horns, spiraling upward in an elegant pattern, immediately gave away the identity of the mighty dragon depicted here. This wasn't Rulha, the dragon of legend from the old stories. No, this was her—this was Furaniona. The last dragon. Aiona.
There was an elaborate altar erected directly in front of the statue, its surface still bearing faint stains that might have been offerings from a millennium ago. The statue itself was utterly breathtaking, and I found that I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. Despite being nothing more than carved stone, it somehow felt alive, as if the dragon might draw breath at any moment and turn those stone eyes upon us.
"You were worshiped," I said aloud to Aiona, the words echoing in the ancient temple. She didn't answer, maintaining her painful silence.
I could easily imagine what this place must have been like in its prime. I could picture people walking in with reverent steps, their faces filled with awe and devotion. They would have offered prayers in hushed, respectful tones, burned fragrant incense that filled the air with sweet smoke, and presented various offerings—foods carefully prepared, fresh flowers gathered from the Oasis gardens, ripe fruits carried from distant orchards—all laid before this magnificent statue in tribute to their living deity.
And she had burned them all down. Reduced everything and everyone to ash.
Why? The question burned in my mind. Just why would she do such a thing?
For the Aiona I had come to know over these past months, it felt so completely out of character, so contrary to everything I understood about her. She was wise, patient, often melancholic but never cruel. Why would she commit such an atrocity? What could possibly drive her mad enough, desperate enough, hurt enough to burn down an entire kingdom that loved her? What kind of pain or betrayal could motivate such complete destruction?
From everything I could see around me, these people had never disrespected her. In fact, they had been the complete opposite—they had adored her, worshiped her with genuine devotion, built magnificent monuments in her honor. She had been their living deity, the center of their spiritual lives, perhaps even the foundation of their entire culture and identity.
I tried to imagine what it must have felt like for them in those final moments. Imagine praying to your god for protection, for mercy, and having that same god descend upon you with fire and destruction. Imagine getting burned alive by the very deity you had worshiped your entire life, whose praises you had sung, whose temples you had built and maintained. That must have felt like the ultimate betrayal, a breaking of the most fundamental trust that could exist between mortals and the divine.
The thought made me physically ill.
So I asked her directly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over us like a shroud.
"Aiona, why did you do that? What happened here?"