Xyro's heart hammered in his chest.

His eyes stayed locked on her—the woman who lay motionless in the sand, as if time had forgotten her. Her strange golden eyes, now fully open, pierced into him with an unsettling calm, like she had been waiting for him all along.

Her lips parted, and a voice— low, like a whisper from the depths of a nightmare—slithered through the air:

"You're here."

Xyro's body went rigid. She knew him. But how?

He couldn't explain why, but something about her tone made his blood run cold. It wasn't the words themselves—it was the certainty, the way she spoke them as if it was already an inevitable truth.

"I don't know you." Xyro's voice was sharp, yet strained, his words barely escaping as he took an instinctive step back. His fingers twitched, instinctively moving to where he could feel the cold weight of metal against his skin. His chains—still there, heavy, unyielding. He didn't know why he was bound, but something inside him told him he wasn't meant to be here, not like this.

The woman's lips curved ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile forming on her face. Her eyes never blinked, never wavered. The sand around her seemed to swirl in response, as if alive, following the rhythm of her stillness.

"You don't need to." She spoke as if she were sifting through his thoughts, and her voice carried an eerie gentleness, like a predator coaxing its prey.

Xyro's muscles coiled in readiness. She knows something. She's been here longer. She's different.

"Who are you?" His voice dropped, the question almost a growl, a demand. He wasn't going to show fear—he couldn't.

Her lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile, but not quite a frown either. Amusement?

"You don't remember anything, do you?"

She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

"Not even your name."

Xyro's jaw clenched.

"Xyro," he said, with as much authority as he could muster. "That's who I am. That's what I know."

Her eyes narrowed, and a strange flicker of something danced in them, like recognition, but not quite understanding.

"Xyro." She let the name linger in the air between them, as though weighing it, tasting it.

Then she slowly, almost languidly, rose from the sand, her movements too fluid to be natural—like she was floating, drifting just above the ground.

Xyro's eyes never left her. What was she?

And then, the sand… shifted. It was subtle at first—just a small ripple—but it was enough to make Xyro's blood run cold. The sand wasn't just sand. It was alive.

The woman looked down at the sand, watching it move like a creature that obeyed her every will.

"You don't belong here, Xyro." The words came quietly, but they struck him with the force of a thunderclap.

"I don't?" Xyro's voice was barely a whisper, the shock of her words settling into him. How could she know? How could anyone know what he didn't?

Her gaze didn't shift from him as she took a slow step toward him. It was an easy movement, like she had all the time in the world. Her fingers brushed against the sand, and it curled beneath her touch, almost adoring her.

Xyro's pulse quickened. He had to say something, do something, but his body refused to obey. Was it her? Was it the place? Or was it just the crushing weight of uncertainty pressing in on him?

"You can feel it, can't you?" Her voice cut through his thoughts, as sharp and cold as a blade. "The weight of the air… the truth of this place. You're lost, Xyro. Just like me. Just like everyone else who falls here."

The way she said it—the certainty in her tone—made Xyro want to step back, but he didn't. There was something in her eyes, some cold, undisturbed fire that held him in place.

"No." He shook his head, trying to convince himself more than anything else. "I don't belong here. I don't belong with you."

Her eyes gleamed with an almost predatory joy as she let out a breath—like a laugh.

"You'll find that you have no choice, Xyro."

She moved closer still, her presence like an invisible weight pushing down on him. Her voice slithered into his ears like the touch of a serpent's tongue.

"In this place… we're all bound together, chained by forces we can't even see. You'll learn."

Xyro's fists clenched. "Learn what?"

Her smile grew, but it was more dangerous than before.

"You'll learn who you really are. And then, you'll wish you never knew."

Xyro took a step back, his chains dragging harshly across the sand. He was torn between the urge to run and the overwhelming need to understand—what was she talking about? What did she know?

The woman, who still seemed to move like she was not of this world, gave him one last lingering glance, her golden eyes glowing with strange knowledge.

"You'll see," she murmured, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the sand swirling beneath her.

Before he could react, she turned away—moving with the same disturbing fluidity, her every step sending ripples through the sand like water.

Xyro was left alone in the strange, unyielding landscape. The woman—Veynn—had left him with more questions than answers.

But one thing was certain—this place was alive, and it wasn't just waiting for him. It was hunting.