Xyro stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing, trying to digest the cryptic words of the woman—Veynn. His pulse hammered in his ears as the sand swirled around him, almost taunting him. The air was thick with the weight of something ancient, something wrong.
He needed answers. He needed to understand this place, this suffocating existence where nothing made sense. Every step he took felt like a descent into madness, and every inch of the horizon seemed to stretch endlessly. The world felt oppressive, like it was closing in around him, suffocating him.
Xyro's gaze darted around, looking for anything, any sign that could give him even a small hint about where he was. His mind screamed to find something—anything. A landmark, a clue, a sign of life.
But the only thing that filled his vision was the endless, swirling sand. The landscape was barren, desolate—like the remnants of a world that had long ago died. And then, through the hazy distance, he saw movement.
A flash of color.
A child.
Xyro's heart skipped a beat. A child? In a place like this?
The figure was small, no taller than a sapling, clad in ragged clothes that fluttered in the dry wind. The child was standing motionless, facing away from him, as if unaware of his presence.
Xyro's instincts kicked in. A child out here? Alone? Impossible. The place felt far too hostile, far too empty for anyone, let alone a vulnerable little one, to survive. Something wasn't right.
"Hey!" Xyro called out, his voice a raw bark in the desert silence. His feet moved before his brain could stop them. He wasn't sure why, but something compelled him to approach, the need for answers stronger than his fear.
The child didn't move. It was as if the wind itself had frozen the tiny figure in place. The longer Xyro looked, the more surreal it became. The child didn't breathe. He couldn't see any rise and fall of a chest, no signs of life. Yet the child stood there, perfectly still, as though frozen in time itself.
The sand beneath Xyro's feet crackled, the soft grains shifting as he took cautious steps forward.
When he was only a few feet away, the child turned.
Xyro stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.
The child's face was… wrong.
The skin was a shade too pale, eyes too wide, pupils unnaturally black, like two deep voids staring into the abyss. There was something empty about its gaze, like it was staring into him without truly seeing him. A sense of hollowness, like the child was only a husk, a form that existed without a soul.
The child's lips parted slowly. "Are you lost too?"
Xyro's chest tightened. The voice was soothing, but far too cold for something so small. It echoed in the air, carrying a weight that chilled him to the bone.
He didn't answer immediately. He was still trying to process the child, to make sense of what he was seeing. His instincts screamed to run, to leave this place behind, but he was trapped—his mind racing to comprehend the depth of the situation.
The child's head tilted to the side, as if studying him, an almost curious look in its hollow eyes.
"You're looking for answers. But there are none here."
Xyro felt a shudder run down his spine. There was something in the child's words, something too knowing, too familiar, that made Xyro feel as though he had heard them before.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse, almost strangled. The words felt wrong on his tongue, like asking them would unlock something he couldn't control.
The child didn't answer immediately. It simply stepped forward, its movements unnaturally smooth—not the stumbling steps of a child, but something… far too deliberate.
"Who am I?" the child echoed, almost in amusement. "I'm not sure anymore. Just like you."
Xyro's grip tightened around the hilt of the dagger tucked at his waist. Something was off. The child was far too calm, far too… adult in its demeanor. There was no fear in its eyes, no trace of innocence.
"Where am I?" Xyro demanded, his voice rising in frustration.
The child's expression remained blank, but something flickered in its eyes—a brief spark of emotion that passed almost too quickly for Xyro to catch. It was almost as though the child knew more than it was letting on.
"You don't belong here," the child finally said. "This place is for those who are lost. And for those who have already forgotten."
Xyro's heart raced again, the words echoing in his mind. Forgotten?
"What do you mean, forgotten?" Xyro's voice cracked. What was this place? What was he doing here?
The child looked down at the sand beneath its feet. Slowly, it crouched down and drew something with a finger—a strange symbol, intricate and spiraling in nature.
Xyro watched in silence, his breath shallow. What was that? He couldn't make sense of the shape, but it felt somehow significant, like it was tied to this entire place, like it was a piece of a larger puzzle he hadn't yet unlocked.
"You're searching for something," the child murmured, eyes turning up to him once more. "But be careful what you wish for, Xyro. You might find more than you ever wanted to know."
The words stung, but Xyro was beyond fear. His desperation, his need for answers, pushed through.
"I don't have time for games. Tell me what I need to know," he demanded, stepping forward.
The child's lips stretched into a thin, knowing smile, almost too wide for its face.
"You're already too late."
Before Xyro could react, the child turned, fading into the desert mist. Its body dissolved into the air like sand slipping through his fingers.
Xyro stood alone again. What the hell just happened?