A perpetual light engulfed Akash, blinding and suffocating, as he crawled forward through its intangible weight. His hands scraped against slick, wet stone, and he staggered to his feet, forcing his body upright. A faint gray glow pulsed ahead, a dim beacon in this impossible abyss. It called to him, not with words, but with an irresistible pull—an anchor in the sea of nothingness.
Whispers clawed at the edges of his hearing, indistinct and chaotic, like the rustling of dead leaves in the wind. "...always here…" they hissed, the words breaking apart into jagged pieces, swallowed by the constant, serpentine hissing. "Shhhhhh…" The sound surrounded him, drowning out all thought, leaving only the rhythm of his labored breaths and the faint echo of his heartbeat hammering in his chest.
He stumbled toward the haze, clutching his arm, pain wracking his body with every movement. The faint gray flickered again, almost like it was alive. Shapes began to form within its depths—shapes that slithered upward, rippling over broken armor and into Akash's vision like curling smoke.
The light blinked once more, pulsing, and then Akash plunged into it.
He emerged somewhere else entirely.
His eyelids fluttered open, and the hazy gray was gone. Before him rose walls—countless, shifting, crystalline walls. Their jagged surfaces folded inward and outward, fracturing reality into infinite dimensions. No two were alike. Each crystalline shard refracted something indescribable, an unnamable light that didn't belong to this world. Akash held his breath, instinctively knowing that even a single touch would cause them to crumble, as fragile as glass spun from the impossible.
Ahead, a staircase twisted in on itself, spiraling into a center that did not exist. The steps bled into one another, curving in ways that defied logic. It was as if they were both ascending and descending at the same time. In the middle of this bizarre geometry hung a lake—a pool of mist suspended in the air, its surface spinning in quiet, deliberate circles. Thin, twining threads extended outward from the mist, each thread writhing toward him like a living thing.
The whispers grew louder, slamming into his thoughts, their fractured tones coiling around his mind like chains. They were no longer incomprehensible. They were words now—jagged, sharp, and almost tangible, pressing into him like barbs.
Without thinking, Akash limped toward the mist, drawn by something he couldn't name. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the swirling pool, his breaths shallow and uneven. His body ached with exhaustion, yet his hand moved on its own, plunging into the mist's depths.
The whispers roared in response, a crescendo of sound that rattled his skull.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?"
The voice was smooth, condescending, and unmistakable. Akash's head snapped up, and there he was—Nakba. The shadow of a man perched lazily on a crystalline shard that had already begun to crumble beneath him. His hand rested on his cheek, his expression one of utter boredom.
"Leave," Akash growled, his voice hoarse. His hand shot instinctively to his waist, reaching for the resin-infused blade—but there was nothing there.
Nakba's grin widened, a flash of teeth that gleamed like a predator's. "Why would I? This is my domain as much as it is yours, little Angel."
"Then find someone else to torment," Akash snapped, struggling to stand. His legs felt heavy, as if weighted down by something unseen.
"Ah, but you make it so entertaining." Nakba rose effortlessly, his blackened hands hanging loosely at his sides. His footsteps echoed unnaturally as he walked across the crystalline ground, each step leaving faint cracks in his wake. "Centuries pass, and yet humans remain as tiresome as ever. Always fumbling toward some unattainable dream, always breaking themselves in the process."
Akash lurched forward, but his legs locked in place. Chains—speckled red like drying blood—had risen from the ground, entwining themselves around his limbs. They coiled tightly up his body, pinning him in place.
"Let me go!" Akash roared, straining against the bindings.
Nakba's grin only widened. He stepped closer, his head tilted, as if inspecting a specimen pinned to a board. "Why? You've made it clear you can't handle this on your own. Do you know how easy it would have been for me to save Fallen? To spare the Ukari from their fate?"
"You wouldn't have saved them," Akash spat.
"Now you're learning." Nakba's voice was laced with mockery. "You're right, of course. I would have killed Fallen first, then Vyn, then Lyra. Oh, and maybe I'd take a detour to Reem to raze it to the ground. That farmer's daughter you liked so much—what was her name? She'd be first." His grin turned vicious. "I wonder how long you'd last before breaking."
Akash's muscles burned as he pulled against the chains, his fury boiling over. "Get out of my head!"
Nakba chuckled, the sound low and cruel. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Your mind is far too cozy a place for me to leave." He crouched in front of Akash, his sharp gaze meeting the Angel's fiery one. "You wanted adventure, didn't you? I was there when you left Morgoi. I remember your words, how you burned with dreams of being a knight in shining armor."
Akash froze.
"Don't act so surprised." Nakba's grin stretched impossibly wide, his voice soft but cutting. "You summoned me with your ambition, your weakness. You don't even realize what's happening, do you? This blade you're chasing—this thing—you don't even understand what it is. You think you can control it?" He laughed, and the sound was like shattering glass.
The crystalline walls began to dissolve, their shimmering forms bleeding into colorless dust. Nakba rose, towering over Akash as the ground beneath them shifted, twisting into red sands that stretched endlessly in every direction.
"I am the Ruin," Nakba said, his voice reverberating like a bell tolling the end of days. "And you are my vessel, Angel of the Red Sands."
"I'll kill you," Akash said through gritted teeth, his body trembling with rage.
Nakba stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps. But for now, I think I'll let you struggle a little longer. After all…" His grin returned, sharper than ever. "What's the fun in breaking something if it's not already broken?"
The chains tightened around Akash, pulling him down, down into the sands. Nakba's voice followed him, soft and venomous. "You don't even realize what you're holding, do you? But don't worry—when you finally see it for what it is, I'll be there to rip it away."
Akash woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat, his breaths ragged. The faint glow of candlelight illuminated the small room around him, casting flickering shadows on the walls. His blankets were tangled around his legs, and his hands trembled as he raked them through his hair.
The dream was already fading, but Nakba's words lingered, like the faint stench of smoke after a fire.
"You don't even realize what you're holding..."
Akash's fists clenched. He didn't know what the blade truly was—or why it mattered so much to Nakba. But he would find out. And when he did, he swore, it would be on his own terms.