The storm came quietly that night, like a sigh from the heavens.Kael sat outside the tent, the relic wrapped in layers of cloth beside him. The wind carried fine grains of red sand that glittered faintly under the moonlight. The others slept, their breathing drowned by the faint hum of the camp generators.
But Kael couldn't sleep.
Something about the artifact refused to leave his mind — not its appearance, but its pulse. It wasn't mechanical, yet it beat like a heart. Each throb was faint but deliberate, as though it waited for recognition.
He unwrapped it again.
The black sphere reflected no light. But when his fingers brushed the surface, faint veins of light shimmered — gold, then blue, then white. A hum rippled through his chest, and for a brief second, his heartbeat matched its rhythm.
Then — a whisper.
"Hē-tu…"
The voice came from nowhere. It wasn't heard with ears; it was remembered, as though it had always existed in him. Kael froze, staring into the orb. The whisper repeated, softer this time, the syllables resonating deep in his bones.
He pulled his hand away. The light died instantly, and the desert returned to silence.
Kael's breath quickened. His name… no, not quite his name — but something like it. Hētu… an ancient tone. A root word. He'd read it before, somewhere among the crumbling scrolls of the monastery ruins — a word meaning cause, origin, or principle.
He wrapped the relic again and stood up.Sleep would not come tonight.
By dawn, the storm had passed, leaving the desert smoothed into pale dunes.As the team packed for departure, Kael's mentor — Master Dorran — noticed the younger man's distant stare.
"You didn't sleep."
Kael shook his head. "There was… something."
Dorran chuckled, his voice rasping. "There's always something in the desert. Mirage, echo, or madness."
Kael hesitated. "No. It spoke."
Dorran stopped, the old man's eyes narrowing slightly. "What did it say?"
"One word. Hētu."
The silence stretched between them. Dorran looked away toward the dunes."That word shouldn't exist in your tongue," he murmured. "Not anymore."
Kael frowned. "You've heard it before?"
The old man didn't answer. Instead, he turned to the horizon, his cloak flapping in the wind. "There are things buried deeper than sand, Kael. Deeper than memory. Whatever you found — keep it hidden. Even from those who claim to protect knowledge."
That evening, as they rode the crawler convoy back toward the city, Kael kept the relic in a sealed compartment. The engines rumbled beneath his seat, and the dunes rolled endlessly outside the window.
He tried to meditate, but each time he closed his eyes, he saw the light veins again — gold, blue, white — flowing through darkness.And then came visions.
A tower of glass rising from the ocean.A crimson sun shattering into fragments.And a voice, echoing from behind it all — "Cause and return are one."
Kael jolted awake. Sweat traced his temples. Dorran slept soundly beside him.No one else stirred.
But outside, far in the sky, a cluster of faint lights blinked — silent, deliberate, moving in formation.Not stars.Not satellites.
Something else was watching.