The fire had withered to soft embers. A thin layer of ash coated the camp like pale snow, and the night felt stretched — long, watchful, listening. Above them, the sky had not shifted. No sun. No moon. Just that endless hue between dusk and oblivion.
Zayn sat a little away from the others, idly tossing pebbles into the fire's glow, his charm muted under the thick veil of exhaustion. That was when he felt the pulse. A faint vibration in the pouch strapped to his hip — not loud, not urgent — but deliberate.
He pulled out the orb-shaped communicator: a smooth black sphere with thin grooves that pulsed crimson with life. He tapped it gently. The surface shimmered and then split open like liquid glass, projecting a tall, crimson-tinted hologram above the firelight.
A horned figure formed, cloaked in deep metal-black armor with firelight dancing on his shoulders. His eyes burned like two suns trapped in sockets of shadow. Even in flickering light, his presence distorted the air — like reality bent slightly when he appeared.
Chief Procas. "Zayn," his voice crackled like molten stone. "Report."
Zayn stood up instinctively, his posture respectful — but his smirk was still there, faint and crooked. "Camp secured. No rebel movement spotted in Olcor sector. All quiet."
The demon's head tilted. "Your eyes are flawed. Our aerial scouts intercepted a worshipping party near the northern ruins. A temple. Primitive. Blasphemous." "Worship?" Zayn blinked. "To what?"
"Does it matter?" Procas's voice sharpened. "Faith is poison. If it spreads, rebellion follows. Your orders are clear: cleanse the site. Burn any believer to ash. There must be no gods in a world ruled by lords."
Zayn hesitated. "And if they surrender?"
"Then they die on their knees."
The orb dimmed and fell silent. The projection faded into smoke. Zayn exhaled and glanced at the others. Only Nyra was looking at him — her eyes unreadable as always.
By morning, the wind had turned colder. Grey dust rolled across the hills like fog, swallowing the landscape. The five walked in a loose line, each with their own rhythm.
Kael, leading — heavy footsteps, brutal presence. Lilu, humming softly beside him — childlike and light, but strangely focused.
Riven, staring into a device that blinked with symbols unknown to Earth.
Nyra, silent, her cloak fluttering like black wings.
And Zayn — trailing behind, the communicator orb now dim and cold in his pocket.
"So," he said eventually, "we're going god-hunting now. You think this one will actually fight back?" "If he's smart, he'll run," Kael replied without turning. "If he's faithful, he'll die."
Lilu skipped ahead slightly. "What do people even pray to these days? The sky's broken, the water's poison, and the stars are gone."
"That's why they pray," Nyra said quietly. They crossed dead hills and valleys where the trees twisted like tortured roots. Half-buried ruins dotted the land — remnants of the old world, or perhaps of older sins.
After hours of walking, the temple appeared — sunken into the mountainside like a forgotten wound. Its once-grand pillars were cracked and leaning, the entrance covered in ash and thorn. What remained of the stone carvings showed strange symbols — not demonic, not human.
Something… older.
"Creepy," Lilu said. "I like it."
Kael grunted. "Place looks dead."
"No heat signatures," Riven muttered, checking his scanner. "No movement. Nothing."
Zayn nodded. "Quick sweep. Then we report back. Easy mission."
Inside, the air was thick and dry — like breathing in smoke. Dust hung like mist, dancing in thin shafts of weak sunlight slipping through cracks in the roof. The walls were decorated with symbols too faded to read, as if time itself had tried to forget them. Footsteps echoed in the vast, empty hall. The group fanned out — searching, scanning, waiting.
"Looks abandoned," Zayn said, brushing a hand along a cracked statue. "Like the rest of this world." Kael kicked over a broken vase. "Waste of time."
They turned to leave when Nyra froze. Her head tilted — listening. "...There's something."
The others stilled. From behind the rear wall, a faint scratching. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… desperate.
Kael moved fast, shoving aside a collapsed wooden panel to reveal a small hole beneath the altar. Hidden inside was a man — thin, gaunt, barely more than bone and breath. His eyes were sunken, his skin ashen.
Human. He stared up at them in horror.
"Please—don't—don't hurt me…" Zayn knelt beside him, slowly pulling a canteen from his belt.
"Relax. We're not here to burn the place. Not unless you give us a reason." The man hesitated, staring at the water like it was heaven.
He took a sip. Coughed. Cried. "You're… not like them."
Lilu crouched beside Zayn. "Like who?" The man's eyes darted toward the cracked wall behind him.
"They...they worshipped here. The old ones. The forgotten ones."
His breathing slowed.
"We prayed… because someone had to remember. But then the fire came… and the shadows… and they…" His voice broke.
"If you want to see… go past the wall… after the wall ends..." And then he was gone.
No final breath. Just stillness. Silence hung heavy.
"What the hell does that mean?" Zayn asked softly. No one answered.
The fire outside crackled weakly.
Above, the sky darkened — not with night, but with a presence none of them could name. The temple suddenly felt colder.
"We shouldn't have come here," Nyra whispered. "Too late now," Riven said.
They stood there, around the fallen man, as dust swirled in the air — and somewhere far off, something ancient stirred awake.