A world away, where the sun beat down upon golden dunes and the air shimmered with heat and the scent of spices, Kazuyo Jamal Hiroyuki opened his eyes.
The vision faded, but the afterimage of a man wreathed in impossible, calm sunlight remained burned against his eyelids. The Sun-Bearer. Shuya Matsumoto. The name came to him on a whisper of cosmic intent, a gift from the World-Spirit in its moment of unshackling.
"He is real," Kazuyo murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of his chambers.
His room was a testament to his station within the Golden Kingdom of Kusha'zan. Walls of sun-baked clay were hung with vibrant tapestries depicting the history of the Lion-Folk, the dominant race of this region. A great circular window, open to the night, framed a sky dusted with alien constellations and the silhouette of a colossal, sleeping sphinx in the distance. The air was cool, carrying the distant sound of drums from the city below and the scent of lotus blossoms.
"Master Kazuyo?" a soft, melodic voice inquired.
He turned. Three figures emerged from the shadows of the chamber, their forms illuminated by the soft glow of floating orbs of enchanted amber.
The first was Neema, a warrior of the Lion-Folk. Tall and powerfully built, her tawny fur was marked with ritual scars of honor, and a magnificent mane of dark hair framed a face with fierce, golden eyes. She wore golden armor over a practical linen tunic, a khopesh sword at her hip. Her loyalty was as solid as the earth, her protective instinct a constant, warm presence at his side.
The second was Zahra, a human descendant of the old pharaonic bloodlines. Slender and graceful, her eyes were kohl-rimmed and held the wisdom of the desert stars. She was a sand-mage, her fingers often tracing patterns in the air that summoned whirlwinds of enchanted silica. She was his strategist, her mind a labyrinth of ancient lore and cunning plans.
The third was Amani, a spirit-talker from the southern river tribes. Her skin was the color of rich mahogany, and her hair was braided with cowrie shells and golden beads that chim softly when she moved. She could hear the whispers of ancestors on the wind and commune with the ba—the soul—of the land itself. She was his seer, his connection to the unseen world.
They were his council. His confidantes. His harem, in the eyes of the Kusha'zan court, though he saw them as partners in the impossible task fate had assigned him.
"The vision was true, then?" Zahra asked, her voice like shifting sand. "This 'Sun-Bearer' has freed the World-Heart?"
"He has," Kazuyo confirmed, standing and stretching. His body, lean and corded with muscle, was clad in loose, white linen trousers and a vest of fine, golden chainmail. "I felt it. A scream of pain that suddenly became a sigh of relief. The blight in the north has been calmed."
Neema grunted, crossing her muscular arms. "A mighty deed. But what does this mean for us? Our fight is here. The Scourge of the shifting sands does not care for the troubles of northern spirits."
"The Scourge is but one," Kazuyo said, his gaze turning to the great map carved into a table of obsidian. It depicted the entire continent, from the frostbitten northern realms where Shuya was, down to the sprawling savannahs and deserts of the south. Twenty locations were marked with pulsing, blood-red gems. The Thrones of the Demon Kings.
"The World-Spirit showed me. The Sun-Bearer and I… we are two sides of the same coin. My Nullify cancels all energy, all magic. It is the silence after the song. His light… it is the song itself. It affirms, it reflects, it grows. Alone, I can stop any one of the Kings. But I cannot defeat all twenty, and I cannot heal the land they have poisoned. He can."
Amani stepped forward, her shell-braids chiming. "The ancestors whisper of a great balance, Master. The balance between Being and Not-Being. You are the void that allows for new creation. He is the creation that fills the void. You were never meant to fight alone."
"He seeks you," Zahra stated, not asking. She traced a line on the map from the now-calm Blighted Spire, southwards, across the Serpent's Spine mountains. "The Spirit would have guided him. He will come."
"Then we must prepare for his arrival," Kazuyo said, a determined glint in his eyes. "And we must continue our work. The Scourge grows restless. It knows its time is short."
The following day, Kazuyo stood at the edge of the Mirage Oasis, the lifeblood of Kusha'zan. The great, sapphire-blue water was surrounded by lush papyrus reeds and date palms. But on the far side, the beautiful water shimmered against a wall of raging, blood-red sand. The Scarabae Dunes, the domain of the Scourge, a Demon King who took the form of a colossal, predatory scarab beetle that fed on hope and vitality, leaving only dust and despair in its wake.
A caravan from a nearby village was trying to flee the advancing corruption. Men, women, and children of the Antelope-Folk, their hooves kicking up dust, their faces masks of terror. But the blood-red sand was faster. It swirled around them, forming into monstrous, insectoid shapes with scythe-like claws.
"Neema, with me. Zahra, cover the retreat. Amani, shield their minds from the Scourge's whispers," Kazuyo commanded, his voice calm.
He did not run. He walked into the storm.
A sand-formed monstrosity lunged at him, its claws capable of shearing through steel. Kazuyo didn't dodge. He lifted his palm.
"Nullify."
The creature simply dissolved. The magic binding the sand together, the demonic will giving it purpose, was utterly erased. It collapsed into a harmless pile of red dust.
Neema roared beside him, a sound that shook the very air. Her khopesh was a blur of golden light, cleaving through two more constructs. She was a force of nature, but even her immense strength was a finite resource against an endless tide.
Zahra raised her hands, and the very dunes themselves answered her call. A wall of sand, fifty feet high, rose between the fleeing villagers and the main force of the corruption, buying them precious seconds.
Amani chanted, a low, rhythmic song. A gentle, green glow emanated from her, a barrier of spiritual peace that pushed back against the Scourge's psychic aura of despair. The villagers, who had been on the verge of collapsing in hopelessness, found new strength to run.
Kazuyo was the epicenter of a moving circle of nothingness. He was a walking void. Demon-born lightning crackled towards him and fizzled out. Curses spoken in forgotten tongues died before they reached his ears. He was the ultimate counter, the un-maker.
But he could see the true source. Deep within the blood-red sandstorm, a pair of baleful, green lights glowed—the eyes of the Scourge itself. It was testing him. Sending its minions to be erased, learning the limits of his power.
A massive spear, forged from condensed despair and sand, shot from the heart of the storm. It was faster than sound, aimed directly at his heart. It was an attack meant to kill a god.
Kazuyo saw it coming. He planted his feet, and for the first time that day, he brought both hands together, palms facing the incoming oblivion.
"Absolute Nullify Field."
The space in front of him warped. The spear, a concentration of demonic energy that could pierce a mountain, did not explode. It did not shatter. It encountered a field of absolute metaphysical negation and was unmade from reality. One moment it was a threat to existence, the next, it had never been.
The effort cost him. A trickle of blood ran from his nose. Nullifying such a concentrated attack strained even his immense capacity.
The green eyes in the storm narrowed, and then, with a sound like a million locusts laughing, the Scourge receded, pulling its corruption back into its dunes. The immediate threat was over.
Kazuyo stood panting, the golden sands slowly settling around him. The Oasis was safe. For now.
Neema placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It retreats. But it learned today."
"It knows I can stop anything it throws at me," Kazuyo said, wiping the blood from his lip. "But it also knows I cannot pursue it into its domain, not alone. My Nullify can defend a point, but it cannot cleanse an ocean of corruption."
Zahra and Amani joined them, their faces grim.
"The Sun-Bearer," Amani said softly. "His light could purge the Scourge's blight from the land. It could burn away the despair."
Kazuyo looked north, towards the distant, invisible lands where Shuya Matsumoto was undoubtedly beginning his own journey.
"He is coming," Kazuyo said. "And when he arrives, we will no longer be just defenders. We will become hunters."
He turned to his three companions, a fierce, hopeful smile finally gracing his features. "Prepare the royal barge. Send messengers to the Griot clans. Spread the word: The Null-Son of Kusha'zan awaits the Sun-Bearer. The balance of the world depends on our meeting."
The first move in their grand, continental strategy had been made. The Sun was moving south, and the Silence was waiting.