The soft hum of the spaceship's engines filled the cabin, a steady rhythm in the vast silence of space. Amon and Perses sat across from each other, a chessboard between them. The dim glow of the console lights cast long shadows over their faces.
Amon moved his knight, his expression calm yet focused. "So, you're saying you don't remember anything at all?"
"No, nothing," Perses replied, tapping a piece with his wing. "Move my pawn to attack your knight."
Amon scoffed. "You're an idiot. Who the hell gets memories from fighting?" He shot Perses a look, as if he were the biggest fool in existence.
Perses huffed, feathers fluffing up. "Listen here, brat, my gut tells me to fight."
Amon smirked, sliding his bishop across the board. "Checkmate."
Perses stared at the pieces, his beak twitching. "Dammit! Why do I always lose?"
"Because you're blind to what happens behind the scenes." Amon leaned back, arms crossed, a smug look on his face.
Perses let out an annoyed squawk before flapping onto Amon's shoulder. "So, how many days until we get to… Setar? Cetar? It's been four months."
"It's Xetharis, you idiot," Amon corrected, shaking his head. "And we might arrive today or tomorrow."
Before Perses could respond, a chime echoed through the ship, followed by a mechanical voice.
—Attention. We have arrived at our destination.
Amon turned toward the reinforced glass panel, his breath catching.
Outside, a massive yellow sphere loomed in the darkness of space. Sandstorms raged across its surface, forming endless vortexes of golden dust. Faint arcs of crackling energy pulsed along the atmosphere, casting an eerie glow.
Perses whistled lowly. "Well… that looks fun."
Amon's lips curled into a smirk.
This was Xetharis—a Forsaken World and the resting place of the Forbidden Legacy.
---
Amon entered the control cabin, fingers moving swiftly over the holographic console. The coordinates were already set. With a final press of a button, the ship lurched forward, dashing toward the golden mass in the void.
The shields flared as they pierced the planet's atmosphere, buffering the violent winds that battered the hull. Golden dust obscured everything outside, a blinding haze of swirling grit.
Then, just as suddenly, they broke through.
The ship descended into clear skies, revealing jagged mountains stretching like the spine of an ancient beast. Below, a vast desert spread endlessly, shifting dunes forming an ocean of shimmering gold.
With a dull thud, the ship landed atop a rocky plateau overlooking the desert expanse.
As the hatch hissed open, a gust of dry, scorching wind rushed inside, carrying the scent of sunbaked stone and something faintly spiced.
Amon stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the coarse sand. Heat waves shimmered in the air, distorting the horizon. He pulled his desert scarf over his face, shielding himself from the sun's relentless glare.
Unlike others who relied on spatial storage artifacts, he carried a single, well-worn backpack slung over one shoulder—a necessity due to his condition. His sleek black outfit hugged his frame, high-knee boots pressing firm imprints into the sand. At his waist, a bandaged sheath rested, two feathers rustling against the wind—Perses, concealed and dormant for now.
Ahead stretched the grand capital of Xetharis—Ankhari. The largest city on this forsaken world.
---
Towering sandstone pyramids gleamed under the sun, their smooth surfaces adorned with intricate carvings. The streets below teemed with life.
Market vendors shouted beneath colorful silks, selling glowing gemstones, rare artifacts, and fruits unknown to the rest of the universe. Children ran barefoot through the alleys, their laughter echoing between towering structures. Roaming scholars in flowing robes debated animatedly, while armored warriors patrolled the thoroughfares with watchful eyes.
Priests draped in linen paraded through the streets, carrying golden sun discs as they chanted in a deep, melodic tongue.
In the distance, an enormous palace of polished obsidian and gold loomed over the city, its spires piercing the sky. Winged beings—humanoids with hawk-like wings—soared between its towers, their movements precise and practiced.
At the heart of the city stood a colossal ziggurat, its steps leading to a temple entrance flanked by massive jackal-headed statues carved from solid black stone. The structure radiated an ancient presence, its aura heavy and foreboding.
Above the temple, a massive banner fluttered against the desert winds, emblazoned with the sigil of an eastern dragon—a serpent of legend, its body coiled around an eclipsed sun.
Perses flapped his wings, perching on Amon's shoulder. "Are you sure the legacy you're looking for is here? I mean, this is just a Forsaken World."
Amon's gaze lingered on the ziggurat. "It may seem that way, but trust me—the legacy I seek is not simple. Even I don't know what it truly is."
Perses ruffled his feathers. "Great. So we're wandering blind. Fantastic."
Amon smirked. "We'll figure it out."
Xetharis held secrets, and Amon intended to uncover every last one.
He descended the plateau, the heat pressing against him like a living thing, and started walking toward the outer gates.
As he approached, two lizardmen guards blocked his path. They were massive—each standing nearly eight feet tall, their scales shimmering with an iridescent sheen under the harsh sunlight. Slit eyes regarded him with suspicion, clawed hands resting on curved, wickedly sharp polearms.
"Outsiders require clearance," one of them hissed. "State your business."
Amon smiled beneath his scarf, fingers slipping into his pocket. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled out a pouch– pulsing faintly with inner radiance.
The lizardmen's pupils dilated, forked tongues flicking out instinctively. A thin trail of drool dripped from one guard's mouth as his clawed hand twitched toward the stones.
"Vorax of grade–1" the first guard muttered reverently.
Amon tossed the pouch into the air, watching their heads follow its arc before catching it again. "Enough to buy my entry?" he asked smoothly.
The second guard swallowed hard, eyes darting to his companion. A brief hesitation. Then greed swiftly won over duty.
"100 coins of it gets you inside," the first lizardman rasped, extending his scaly palm.
Amon didn't argue. He let the pouch drop into the guard's waiting grasp, watching as the creature's claws curled around them possessively. The moment they secured their prize, the guards stepped aside, their polearms no longer barring his way.
"Welcome to Ankhari, traveler," the second guard said, his tone significantly friendlier now.
Amon gave a curt nod and strode forward, boots barely making a sound against the sun-scorched stone.
As he passed beneath the massive gates, Perses stirred on his shoulder, his voice a whisper in Amon's mind.
"Bribing your way in? I thought you were above that."
Amon smirked, gaze fixed ahead. "Why waste effort when greed does the work for me?"
Perses huffed but didn't argue.
As they stepped into Ankhari, the city's golden splendor unfolded before them.
The hunt for the Forbidden Legacy had begun.