The mind of the dragon transformed into a human was beginning to align with his change. A logical sequence emerged in his reasoning: he could choose, despite the powerful impulse screaming in the depths of his mind. Yet the Meanings still offered no clarity on what the Gods truly were.
"Was I gifted with this inferior form by those Gods?" Kharvathar asked. He did not blink, staring straight at Uras. The pharaoh had no proof beyond a faith he desperately wanted to believe.
"There are ancient tales among my people—of how we were once graced by the heavens," Uras replied, even as he signaled the soldiers to retrieve Setarek's body and carry it to safety.
"When you arrived and rose above this land, the blinding light of the Sun God transformed you into the very thing you came to destroy," he continued, his voice almost dreamlike. The pharaoh allowed his belief to override the consequences those words might provoke: fueling the creature's rage.
Kharvathar looked upward. The sky was now clear and cloudless; the star's brilliance poured down upon him as though subjugating him. He did not blink, but met the light head-on. He longed to take flight and shatter it—but he could not.
"Your God made a mistake. As you can see, even in this form I can kill all of you," Kharvathar argued, his voice steady.
Uras'Diptsur swallowed hard and remained motionless as the creature's arm swept toward the distant destruction and the fallen soldiers.
"Indeed… But you also stopped. You listened to me. My God wishes you not to do this," the pharaoh countered.
Kharvathar frowned. To Uras, the expression was nightmarish: that human-like face, with its long hair but lacking eyebrows, made the menace feel even more alien.
"If your God forced me into this form against my will—as you claim—the best revenge would be to slaughter all his worshippers," Kharvathar declared. His primal instincts bled into his thoughts.
"Starting with you, their leader. Your God did not grant me the capacity to think—that is your conclusion. I granted it to myself. And my thoughts tell me to kill you." Kharvathar raised his arm. Uras' eyes widened; there was no escape.
Then, just before the blow could fall, Kharvathar's peripheral vision caught movement at the top of the stairs. A woman stood near the entrance of the great temple facing the open-air sanctuary.
Uras did not understand the sudden shift in the creature's attention, but he feared turning his back—afraid he would die without facing it. Kharvathar, meanwhile, studied the distant woman. His heart pounded. In a flash of memory, he recognized her: she was the one he had seen from the sky, just before he fell.
In the span of two heartbeats, Kharvathar crossed the crater's devastation—barreling past the remaining soldiers, hurling them aside—and halted at the top of the stairs before the entrance. The pressure wave alone whipped Neftraya's (pronounced Neft-Raya) long robes and hair backward, yet she remained perfectly still, eyes closed, hands folded over her abdomen.
Kharvathar observed the motionless woman, unafraid of whatever might come. He also noticed, on either side within the temple's threshold, kneeling figures in whitish-purple tunics and cloaks, heads bowed low.
"You," Kharvathar finally said. "It was you." He reaffirmed it. His face was a mask of restrained fury. He blamed her—he had seen her while aloft. For some reason, she also stirred memories of ancient humans. But his new, fertile mind now craved understanding before destruction. He asked:
"Tell me why. Are you a worshipper of the God who did this to me?"
Neftraya opened her eyes—straight and brown, slightly lighter than her dark brown skin. Her expression held more awe and contemplation than fear.
"I am, and I am not. I worship something of which the Lord is also part…" she said. A faint smile touched her brown lips as she met his gaze. Kharvathar could not comprehend how something could be and not be at once, yet the Meanings allowed his mind to grasp the paradox.
"Give me one reason not to kill you," he commanded. If she had been the intermediary of his fall, she deserved death—it was simple to him.
"I was the intermediary of your fall, but I can also be the intermediary of your return to greatness," she replied, turning her body and gesturing toward the interior of the temple. "Simply follow me, please."
Neftraya never broke eye contact with his yellow gaze. Kharvathar considered for a moment. If she caused his descent, she would know how to restore his ascent. After that—"kill her, kill them all," the inner voice urged.
"Very well," Kharvathar agreed, looking at the human woman. "Your life depends on your usefulness."
"I have always known that, my lord," she replied.