The journey to Sularen was not a short one.
In fact, it was longer than Lysander expected.
The sun scorched their backs, the air thick and dry. Each step dragged on, each footfall heavier than the last. The land around them seemed to stretch on forever, a barren, desolate place that whispered of something ancient—something lost.
And yet, despite the heat, despite the silence, Lysander felt an odd pull in his chest. A calling.
The red shard, tucked in his coat pocket, hummed faintly. Every now and then, he'd feel its pulse—soft, almost like a heartbeat. His Fragment had grown silent after the encounter with Kael, but it was there, always present, always watching. Waiting.
Roan didn't seem bothered by the heat. She moved with a practiced ease, her eyes scanning the horizon as she walked. Her hand never strayed far from the hilt of her blade, a constant reminder that danger was never too far behind.
Mara walked beside them, a quiet presence. She hadn't spoken much since their meeting at the chapel, her gold eyes always distant, as though lost in thoughts of her own.
As they made their way across the endless desert, the wind kicked up, carrying with it the smell of dust and decay.
"I told you it wouldn't be easy," Roan muttered, her voice a little rough from the dry air. She wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced at Lysander. "You sure you want to do this?"
Lysander didn't answer right away. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, his mind still on the last words Kael had spoken. "They want to kill you."
Who were they?
And what did they want with him?
It was only when Mara stopped suddenly, her head tilting to the side, that Lysander snapped out of his thoughts.
"Something's here," she whispered, her voice soft, barely audible over the wind. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on something just ahead.
Lysander's heart skipped a beat. Something in her voice—something about the way she said it—made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It wasn't just the heat that had turned his skin cold.
Roan's hand went to her dagger. "What is it?"
Mara didn't answer. She simply raised her hand, palm open, as though reaching for something unseen. Slowly, carefully, she took a few steps forward. Her footsteps were light, almost imperceptible, as if she were trying not to disturb the air itself.
Lysander felt it too now. That strange sensation in the pit of his stomach—the pull of something ancient, something powerful, deep beneath the sand. He stepped forward, eyes scanning the ground, but there was nothing in sight. No sign of life. Nothing but the endless stretch of desert.
And yet…
A faint glow.
It was just a flicker at first—barely perceptible, like the glint of metal in the sunlight. But then it grew brighter, shimmering through the sand as if some buried light had come to life.
"Mara…" Roan began, but the girl was already moving. She knelt down, her fingers brushing the sand, and in a single motion, she swept it aside.
Beneath it was a stone. Black, smooth, and ancient, covered in strange runes that seemed to pulse with an eerie light.
Lysander's breath caught in his throat.
The Fragment reacted again. Not in the way it had before, when it had burned or guided him. This time, it was a deep, guttural feeling that filled him. A sense of recognition.
He reached for the stone, his fingers hovering just above it. As soon as they touched the surface, the world around him seemed to shift. The air thickened. The ground trembled beneath his feet.
"Mara, get back!" Roan shouted, drawing her blade.
But it was too late.
The stone cracked.
The sand around them seemed to churn and rise as if it had a life of its own. And from the crack in the stone, a dark figure emerged—an apparition wrapped in shadows, its form swirling like smoke in the wind.
It was tall—taller than any man Lysander had ever seen. Its face was hidden beneath a hood, and the rest of its body was an empty void, a silhouette that seemed to distort reality itself.
A deep, resonating voice filled the air.
"The past… it never truly dies."
Lysander's heart raced. His Fragment flared, its power rising like a tide. But the stone, now broken, was glowing brighter—and something inside him resisted it. He couldn't control it.
The figure stepped forward.
And with it, the desert seemed to swallow the sky.
---
Lysander gasped for air.
His heart pounded in his chest. His eyes snapped open. The world around him was dark, the oppressive heat replaced by an icy chill. He was no longer standing in the desert. The winds had died. The ground beneath him felt like stone.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere far older.
His Fragment had vanished, leaving a hollow sensation inside him.
Where was he?
The shadows shifted.
A voice echoed in the distance. It wasn't the figure from the desert. This voice… was different. Familiar. Warm.
"You've come a long way."
Lysander turned around, his breath catching in his throat.
There, standing before him, was a figure wrapped in tattered robes. But there was something about them—something so familiar, yet distant. They were covered in dust, their face hidden beneath a veil.
"Who… are you?" Lysander's voice cracked.
The figure lowered their hood, revealing a face he had seen only in dreams.
A woman. Her eyes were the same shade of gold as Mara's.
But the moment their gazes met, Lysander felt a shift. A pull. As if some ancient bond had been forged, then forgotten.
"I… I don't remember you," Lysander murmured.
The woman smiled. "But I remember you."
Her voice was soft, but it echoed in his mind, filling the emptiness. "The gods forget. The gods fall. But the children of the forgotten— they will always find their way back."
Lysander's head spun. "What do you mean?"
"I am the one who has waited. The one who watches. You are the Last Disciple. The one who will reshape the gods."
His chest tightened, his breath shallow. "The Last Disciple?"
"Yes," she whispered. "And you… you will awaken the world."
---
Roan's voice cut through the haze. "Lysander!"
He blinked, and suddenly, he was back in the desert. The shadows were gone, the stone shattered beneath his feet.
But the woman's voice still lingered in his mind.
Roan was standing in front of him now, shaking his shoulders. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Lysander looked around. His heart raced, his body trembling with something he couldn't explain.
"I… I saw something," he whispered, breathless. "Someone. She said I'm… the Last Disciple."
Roan frowned, glancing at Mara, who remained eerily silent. "This is getting more complicated."
Lysander didn't know what to say.
All he knew was that something was stirring inside him—something ancient. Something that had been waiting for him to find it.
And it was starting to wake up.