[HIATUS] Dahin Chronicles - Book One - Edin Sea

The long and scorching sands of the Ridsun Desert were vast and endless. The dunes seemed to fight Ishvalo almost like the waves of an ocean. And as he swam through that ocean, he fought not to drown. Such fate may be his last. For all he knew, the black fire—the plague that is Nakoa—may swallow him whole. Or worse, change him. 

That was all he knew, that and his name. He didn’t know where he came from, what he was searching for, why he was here—he didn’t even know what the Nakoa really was!

All he knew was how it killed, how it ate away at the spirit and broke the laws of continuity. He knew how it left the victim only a husk.

The Nakoa, it burned through the plating, through the tissue of it's victims. It burned them so very deep, peeling their flesh, melting their bone, rotting their plating and tearing their veins, slowly replacing the shallow slop of a body with a deathly shadow of sickness and fire.

Luckily, he hadn’t seen any infected with that plague in miles. He was reassured.

Ishvalo slowed his trek along the Ridsun Desert, he felt the sky grow tired. Tired like himself.

Ishvalo draped his wooden legs across the sand, barely walking. He brushed the weed and sand off his bone plated face and antlers. With a touch of energy, he made a stop at what once was a temple.

He saw very little at the gates of said temple, all but a few small critters, Irahi. They were lying on the ground, lifeless, resting until the world’s remaining energy blessed them to come back. Today was their lucky day.

Ishvalo kneeled, reaching his hand towards the small constructs. A thin mesh of glowing, pearl-white elixir hugged the Irahi. They woke up.

That seemed to wake Ishvalo up enough, too.

He sighed, looked around the ruins, and saw carvings, tablets, paintings with people and creatures. People like... him?

Standing, just slightly obscured by dust and sand, was a painting with a tall, bone and bark plated construct much like himself. The same four-fingered hands. The same face. The same two, gazing eyes, backwards-pointing horns, and bone-plated mask. And even the Sunstone: the one thing that brought him here, brought him anywhere.

He tilted his head.

His chest: the beating gem in his chest began to warm up. His clawed hands ran like wind, and he felt this strange sense of something he hated, something telling him he did wrong, something telling him he failed.

And something telling him he was failed.

There was another familiar face. It was too blocked to see clearly, but something was recognizable. He touched the tablet, gently.

Then he heard a crack.

It was to his left.

He pulled out a tall, razor-sharp spear. That spear pointed at another being. Another, smaller person. His spear met face to face with a Tiki Gatherer, or so he assumed.

This historian or gatherer held both hands in front of him, eyes wide and his head ever so barely pointed upwards. His leg tapped the ground.

“Your name. Tell me,” Ishvalo carried a smooth, quiet voice with a subtle echo as if there were two of him. He continued, “without moving.”

“Weapons are not needed, Ta, I come in peace.” He smiled, keeping his leg still. Matao put his hands down. “My name is Matao. I am just a historian. I was searching for this temple.”

“Reason?” Ishvalo removed his spear, head tilted.

The Tiki lit up. His hands pointed generally at the ruins. He spoke as much with his hands as he did with his voice. “Well, this temple is one of the remains of the ancient times!′ Matao smiled from one eye to the other.

There was an awkward pause. They could even hear the small critters chirping.

“You do know the legends, correct?” More silence as his hands lowered once again. Matao continued his queries, “You aren’t from here, are you?”

Ishvalo nodded in whatever direction Matao did not understand. Ishvalo, he couldn’t remember. He searched, reaching his hand out, gazing side to side, calling out to something but not a single memory came. He still knew nothing.

Matao lowered his posture, he spoke. “You must be searching, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well Ta, we may have a common goal. I simply wish to find a city. If you help me, I will help you. Sounds like a deal?”

“What city?” Ishvalo’s head turned, his curiosity jumped, and he remembered vaguely what he was searching for.

“The lost city of Endrahi,”Matao whispered quietly.

And so, on Morrow’s Eve, a deal was made.