The rain had settled into a steady patter against the window, soft enough that Samuel barely noticed it until the sound became part of the room. He sat at his desk, one hand on the typewriter keys, the other curled loosely around a lukewarm mug of coffee.
The words came slower tonight. Not because the scene was difficult, but because his mind kept snagging on one of them.
Xirathul.
He stared at the name on the page like it was a stain that had bled through the paper from somewhere beneath.
He remembered exactly when he'd made it. It wasn't a dream, nothing mystical about it just a lazy afternoon three months ago. He'd been sprawled on the couch with a legal pad, jotting random syllables for a supporting character in The Ashen Rider. He'd liked the sharpness of "Xira." It reminded him of dust and heat and long shadows. "Thul" came from an old explorer's book he'd picked up in a thrift store Ultima Thule, the name of some half-imagined place at the edge of the map.
When he'd said them aloud together, Xirathul had rolled off the tongue with a strange, almost satisfying weight.
Back then, the character was simple a drifter who wandered into Caleb Riker's camp with a scorched coat, a gambler's grin, and a war rifle he never spoke about. A man with secrets, but mortal ones. Someone who'd disappear two chapters later, leaving only a rumor behind.
But that wasn't what this Xirathul was becoming.
The name had started cropping up where Samuel hadn't put it. First in an unrelated scene, tucked in the corner of a tavern sign. Then in the description of a wanted poster, its letters faintly visible beneath the ink of another name. Now, it was bleeding into Caleb's dreams dreams Samuel didn't remember planning.
He rubbed his temple. "Maybe I'm just tired."
The rain ticked harder.
He told himself it was just the mind playing tricks. Writers recycled ideas all the time without realizing it. Words slipped between the cracks.
Still… he couldn't shake the memory of when he'd first written it. The way his pen had glided, like the letters already knew where they were going.
He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and struck the keys again.
Xirathul stood at the edge of the firelight, his face half swallowed by the dark. "The desert remembers," he said.
The sound of the words lingered in Samuel's head far longer than they should have.