The young shepherdess awoke still wrapped in a haze of drowsiness, and for a few moments remained motionless, contemplating the crimson glow of the sky that heralded dawn — a dawn already devoid of stars, as though the firmament had lost its eyes during the night.
Turning slowly, she noticed the embers still faintly smoldering, the dying remnants of the fire that had burned since the previous watch. The earth exhaled a warm scent of charcoal and ash.
On the opposite side, she observed the abandoned cloak that had served as her companion's resting place. It lay carelessly upon the ground, as though haste had devoured the human presence that had once been there.
It was then that Adar understood: she had slept alone upon that desolate mountain ridge.
She rose abruptly and, in an almost instinctive motion, gathered the satchel she never left to chance. She adjusted the quiver upon her back, took up the bow, and, with the same naturalness with which one dons one's own skin, grasped the staff in her other hand.
Then she departed.
Not far from there, she found her companion lying upon the rocky ground, gazing silently at the vast valley that stretched toward the fracture of the horizon.
She approached without sound, like a shadow among shadows, and asked:
— "What is happening here… and why are you not watching over the flocks?"
The boy turned. He was still very young — not more than fifteen years of age. His eyes were bright and alert, his skin fair, and his hair slightly reddish, as though stained by the rising sun itself. In his right hand, he held a sling with firm resolve.
With a voice weighted by unease, he replied:
— "Come… and see."
Adar drew near and, like him, lowered herself to the ground, sweeping the landscape with her gaze until the distance itself seemed to falter before her sight.
Far away, at the eastern edge of the valley, something was moving.
A dark mass, like a living cloud of dust, advanced slowly yet inexorably, swallowing distance as a silent tide.
Adar frowned and asked:
— "Is that a sandstorm?"
— "Advancing through a green valley? Impossible," the boy replied.
He then rose, and Adar, still unsettled, followed his gesture. Her gaze shifted toward the vegetation behind them.
That was when she noticed.
Upon every tree, upon every rock, birds of prey were perched — countless, of every species — motionless, as though awaiting a banquet already decreed by fate.
A sudden realization struck the boy like lightning.
He sprang to his feet with the agility of a cornered animal, seized her arm, and said urgently:
— "We must leave this place! We must return to Akkad at once!"
Adar hesitated, planting her feet as though the very earth sought to hold her back.
— "We cannot leave like this. We must gather the flock and—"
— "Adar!" he interrupted. "There is nothing left to save here. Come with me… I will explain on the way."
She still resisted.
— "Heber…"
But he had already learned too many stories to ignore such omens. Stories of vultures appearing before the shadow of death. Stories of armies that left behind nothing but silence and bones.
And more than stories: ancient whispers concerning the Rephaim — giant warriors, deformed by ambition and darkness, servants of Nimrod's armies.
It was said they were possessed by spirits that did not belong to the world of the living, and that no sword could truly defeat them, for their essence did not reside in the body.
They lived like armed shadows, devouring lands and men, always preceded by carrion birds announcing their passage.
And Nimrod… the conqueror.
Son of Cush, come from the southern lands with an army of young warriors trained to subjugate nations. Egypt and Phoenicia had already fallen beneath his march. Now his gaze turned toward the lands inherited by the sons of Shem.
Heber quickened his pace.
There was no time for explanations.
He seized Adar's wrist and forced her to run.
When they finally reached Akkad, their breath was already exhausted, and dread followed them like a second shadow.
Heber went straight to the house of Salah, his father, the city's chief counselor.
Seeing him arrive breathless, the patriarch asked:
— "Why do you return so early from the fields?"
Heber drew a deep breath and replied without hesitation:
— "Rephaim! A legion of them advances through the valley since sunrise. Even darkness seems to follow them. And carrion birds… countless of them… as though the world already knows what is coming."
Salah placed a hand upon his son's shoulder and fixed his gaze upon him.
— "Are you certain?"
— "Yes, father. These are the armies of Nimrod. They will not delay in encircling the city."
For a moment, silence grew heavy.
Then Salah straightened his posture.
— "I have seen this day in dreams," he said calmly, though his voice carried restraint. "We must act with prudence… and with speed."
He turned to a man beside him:
— "Tsadek, summon the elders. Let them gather immediately for an extraordinary council."
The man departed.
Salah then addressed his children:
— "Heber, go to your home and tell your mother everything. Do as she instructs."
And to Adar:
— "You go as well. Inform your father. Tell him to prepare."
They departed.
At that moment, Salah remained alone, as though the weight of an entire city had settled upon his shoulders.
It was no longer merely a man thinking — it was an entire civilization being measured against survival.
One of those present spoke:
— "Perhaps there is nothing left to be done."
Salah replied without hesitation:
— "This city is our inheritance. If we must depart, we shall depart. But if the decision is to defend it, then even blood shall sustain this soil."
The elders began to arrive — one by one, then in groups — until twelve ancient men, representatives of the great families of Akkad, had assembled.
Salah took the floor:
— "Honorable citizens… the hosts of Nimrod advance through the valley. Destruction approaches like an unrestrained storm. Soon they will stand at our gates."
A murmur swept through the assembly, restrained only by tradition, which demanded silence before the leader's words.
— "If we choose to flee," he continued, "we must do so now. If we choose to fight, then we must prepare for the final decision of our lives."
He sat down.
And silence fell like a weight upon them all.
After long deliberation, one of the elders rose.
His voice was grave and ancient, as though it emerged from generations buried beneath that very land.