Cylia could hear the rushing of blood drum against her ears. She was choking on her breath, and the heat was seeping from her body as she lay sprawled on the wet, sandy ground.

Her heartbeat slowed, and her worn clothes stuck to her skin from the blood escaping her wounds. A twitch left her body; Cylia gasped to wake up in a meadow field.

“What happened? What just happened?” Cylia patted down her chest and abdomen to check for wounds but found nothing—as if they had never been there—except for the usual holes. “Did I dream that all? No, the pain was too real to be–”

“Meow.”

“AHHHH!” Cylia shrieked and rolled forward. A large grey-blue cat purred behind her.

Correction, it was a large lynx cat that could tear someone apart—if it wasn’t preoccupied with purring a melody for Cylia and staring at her with its curious, stormy grey eyes.

She liked cats—more than dogs—but this was a bit much.

The lynx purred louder and stood up on its long legs and large paws. The ears, with their tufts of black hair, twitched left and right. It thudded its head against Cylia and kept on purring—demanding head pats, which Cylia hesitated on giving.

The lynx persisted with the head butting and purring.

“Nice, large and dangerous kitty. Please don’t eat me,” said Cylia, pacifying. “I am all but skin and bones, who hasn’t eaten anything since… well, ever.”

“Meow,” the lynx affirmed Cylia’s words and followed her as she tried to get some distance between them.

She wasn’t sure where she was, but definitely not in the desert since all she saw were healthy green grass, colourful flowers and a vibrant forest in the distance. Cylia contemplated her choices and settled for the most sensible of decisions.

She made a run for it.

Clawing at the bark with her broken nails, she climbed up on a nearby tree in the hopes of escaping the lynx. Sadly, she forgot cats were skilled climbers.

“Meow,” the lynx meowed further up, hanging from the branches lazily and licking its paw.

Cylia, stuck in the tree, asked with a tiny voice, “You won’t eat me, will you?”

No meow this time except pure purring from the lynx, as if it was considering the idea.

“You look familiar,” Cylia squinted at the lynx, “did I see you somewhere before?”

“Meow,” the lynx affirmed again and jumped off the tree. On the ground, it lifted a paw and pointed with its head further into the forest.

“You want me to follow you?”

“Meow.” It turned the ends of its ears in a circle.

“Can’t get any weirder.” Cylia followed behind the cat with a calculated distance between them—though the cat had other ideas as it quickened its pace, and Cylia lost it. “Hey, why did you run off?”

“Meow.” The lynx startled Cylia by reappearing behind her and rubbing its head against her thigh.

“Fine,” Cylia gave in to the cat, “I’ll pet you, but don’t bite my hand.”

The lynx purred even louder when Cylia started caressing its head and then used both hands for the head and neck. The purring intensified, and Cylia got bolder petting it until the lynx almost bit her hand.

“Hey! I said no biting!”

“Meow,” growled the lynx, bumping its head against her leg again.

“Fine, I’ll take the hint. Where to now?”

The lynx pounced off further into the forest, and Cylia ran after it, dodging loose branches and roots.

Cool air hit Cylia’s exposed skin. A heavy shiver ran down her body. She rubbed her arms and hugged whatever remaining pieces of clothing she had closer to her body. It was crisp, and she saw runes she didn’t know floating in the air. Cylia paced herself and touched one of them, but the rune quickly vanished in a gust of wind.

The forest was clearing itself when Cylia entered an area with a pond surrounded by wildflowers.

Suspended in the pond was a woman with dark, warm skin. Next to her stood another woman with silky golden hair. The second woman wore a glittering blue gown. She plucked the very runes out of the air and waved her hand over the unconscious girl.

Cylia didn’t recognise the golden-haired one, but she did recognise the other as the Reiszer who had been running away with them from the Asag.

“I think her name’s Jorunn,” thought Cylia.

Walking around the pond with her lynx by her side, Cylia silently observed what the woman was doing with Jorunn. Some sort of magic or ritual, Xander would have had an answer.

“Ergh,” Cylia groaned silently. “Remembering him is such a pain.”

Cylia gritted her teeth and spotted another lynx sitting right at the pond’s edge, but compared to her greyish-blue lynx, this one was more orange-white.

It wasn’t purring and rested its head on its paws, looking with droopy eyes towards the women in the pond—particularly towards Jorunn.

“She will live; she will survive; she will thrive.” The blond woman stopped whatever she was doing and looked with her pinkish glowing eyes towards Cylia, enchanting her. “Much like you. You make me proud, my child.”

Cylia stared at her in astonishment. Proud, a word Cylia hasn’t heard anyone refer to her. The woman then blew something from her hands. Cylia jumped back when the runes formed a mirror with a monster inside it, the Asag.

“It’s not an enemy,” warned the woman, “but beware its ire. Return and trust in the golden one before it's too late. Mind the words of the Asag; reach the End of the River, or you will return to the City of the Dead.”

“Return to– You scare me; what does that mean?” asked Cylia. “'Trust the golden one'? You mean Kiur?”

“Trust him,” the woman’s voice echoed through the woods and rustled through the trees. “Terror will come. The Asag’s wrath will swallow the enemy. The golden one will need intuition and wit, not just heart. Their eyes and soul are clouded. Return, my child; your hard path is but the beginning.”

The woman pointed to the lynx holding something with its teeth by the neck. The small creature was limp, and before Cylia could see what it was, she awoke in a flash.

— ☽ —

Cylia had a panic attack as the madness gripped her head, and she desperately tried to calm down. The sun’s oppressing heat returned from further up, and she found herself in a chasm with a pool of blood all around her.

Not hers—praise the gods, it was not hers.

There was so much blood Cylia didn’t know what to do. The Asag and the Scorpion Man were nowhere in sight. She was glad they decided to fight out their quarrel away from her current position.

Remembering how she pierced one of the Asag’s eyes, Cylia shuddered at the prospect of seeing it again.

“You make me proud,” Cylia recalled what the golden-haired woman said. Her memory of the encounter was growing hazy. The woman’s face melted into the darkness, and her golden hair turned black and took on the form of her mother—a mother she hadn’t seen for many years. “My little girl, you make me proud of surviving so long.” Her mother embraced her. “Keep going, and one day, we will meet again.”

Cylia whipped away the tears. Her memories of her mother were a sore subject, and her side flared up from the memory.

With wincing pain, Cylia stood up and scanned the area for a way up and out of the chasm—of course, she found nothing. She could attempt to climb it, but knowing her miserable luck, she decided against it.

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The last thing she needed was to become a Cylia pancake.

“Wait, where is my crossbow?” Cylia patted her side and found the stock hanging out and the rest of the pieces strewn around. “NO! I loved that thing! At least I have my knife–”

The moment Cylia brought out the knife, the blade turned to dust. “Go figures.”—just like her confidence did.

Throwing the knife away, Cylia turned away from the high and unstable walls. There was only one way left to go, and it was likely turned into a war zone between the two monsters she dropped down with.

Just her luck.

“I can do this; I survived worse,” laughed Cylia, and nervously played with her lynx pendant. She reminded herself that she needed to be stronger, braver—like her mother was. “Please don’t have any monsters ahead. “

Cylia headed for the dark, stone-riddled path for several gruesome hours. The crevice was deep and cold, with barely any sunlight reaching her. Cylia squeezed herself through so many holes she got mildly annoyed but occupied, not thinking of the howling sounds above.

Night had come early, and with it, the Uridimmu dogs pacing above her head in packs, sniffling the air for prey. She had to stifle her cry multiple times to not alarm them when she accidentally hit her toe.

Whether they could come down and tear her to shreds was not something she wanted to find out. She missed being next to Kiur—hell, she would even settle with Xander!

She hated to do this alone—always alone, without someone to rely on. And when she had relied too much on anyone—to the point where she felt utterly useless—they were gone just as quickly.

“Come on, almost out,” Cylia grunted and squeezed herself through another crack in the wall. She stumbled out and fell face-first into the sand, lying there for a solid moment before she let out an exasperated and muffled yell.

Frankly, Cylia had more than enough of her situation. She wanted nothing more than a bubble bath for the first time in a decade, to eat something fancy and get a break. Cylia stifled a tear. “I’ve had enough of this-”

“That’s not a very dignified pose for a girl, you know?”

Cylia shot up from the familiar voice of a woman. In front of her sat the leader of Kuara, who welcomed her and her friends to their city, Noah—whose true name was Na’amah as she posed as her husband.

Though it seemed she was not in a welcoming mood. Her mercury hair was messy and hung over her face. Her blue eyes stared at the wall behind Cylia, and her face was flushed as she drank a warm beer from a keg.

She was drunk.

“I mean, I have been waiting here for hours and,” Na’amah looked up, “it’s night. You kept me waiting for so long!” Noah threw her wooden keg to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

Cylia stared incredulously at Na’amah. She saw her drink, sure, but never be outright drunk or overly emotional like that.

“I mean-” Na’amah waved with her hand, and another full keg appeared in her hand. Cylia couldn’t help but feel parched for a sip and gulped drily. “She asked me to come, and I said yes. How could I say no? She is our lady! She pulled me out of that rut with the gods. Yet she sends me so far out here and away from my husband.”

Na’amah let out a long, sobbing sigh and gibbered into her keg, foaming bubbles with her lips.

“You are married?” Cylia asked flatly, feeling awkward.

“5000 and some odd years. I love my husband,” Na’amah raved and touched her red cheek. “Not always happy, mind you. The gods made us waver not one, not two, BUT THREE WORLD-ENDING FLOODS! I swear to the gods, I love my Noah, but he can’t say no to them, THAT WHIMP!”

Her verdant fur–cloak slipped from her shoulders, revealing the lines of her biceps and strong collarbone. Cylia was partly in awe but also afraid to have Na’amah become a violent drunk like the Reiszer soldiers back at camp when she tended to them as a thrall.

Her bruises hurt just from remembering it.

“Wait, isn’t your name Noah?”

“Hm?” Na’amah turned to Cylia with a raised eyebrow. “Ah, yes, no, my name is Na’amah. I was never Noah, or he was never Noah? The thing is, he had at least two different names to go by, but it doesn’t matter… where am I?”

Na’amah looked around the crevice and tapped her chin to try and remember something. “I was here to do something… but what?”

“Ok, this is getting out of hand,” thought Cylia, having a hard time listening to Na’amah’s elaborate tales of her and her husband and complaining about the gods. “You mentioned a lady. Who is she exactly?”

“Lady? Ah! The Lady of the Slain! Of course, yes, I remember!” Na’amah rustled with something from the side of her boulder and stood up with a white cloth bag in hand. She walked purposefully to Cylia and grabbed her arm. “Come, you have things to do!”

— ☽ —

There were some rules Cylia learned when engaging with drunk people.

First, be as far away as possible from them—especially when they tend to be violent with slaves, servants or virtually anyone.

Second—if the first one didn’t work—keep them talking and engaged, and DON’T try to start an argument about anything. Otherwise, it will blow up in your face—often literally—just smile, nod and keep small talk to a minimum.

“Pro tip: try not to look pretty or stand out at all. Be an extra in the background, bland and unspectacular,” Cylia almost cried at the last one, knowing Xander would have given her smack for it.

Third, try to tire them out until they fall asleep, preferably away from you.

“That’s my life,” grumbled Cylia, remembering all those moments she had to serve those drunken soldiers and watch other slaves getting beaten up to no recognition.

Na’amah pulled on Cylia’s arm so hard that the first choice was impossible. In one instance, Na’amah widened the gap in a wall with her magic to walk through. Not watching her grip, she almost popped Cylia’s arm out of her socket.

“Yap, tiring her out will be impossible. Time for smooth talk.” Cylia rubbed her arm, trying to keep pace. “So, this ‘Lady of the Slain’, who exactly is she?”

“You know her,” drawled Na’amah, annoyed. “No words or flattery can describe her magnificence; she’s an amazing woman!”

“That didn’t work. Time for the next question.”

“Why aren’t you in your city?”

Na’amah cocked her head left and right; her hair swayed with her and revealed her pair of sharp ears. Not something Cylia understood what those were. Was she even human? Maybe a therianthrope? There aren’t many known species with long or pointy ears.

“The city is disappearing. Things are moving and preparing for the Solstice. Daedal is more than capable of handling it on his own–”

“Hold on a minute!” Cylia pushed her feet to the ground to bring Na’amah to a halt. She cursed as her shoulder made a cracking noise. “What do you mean by ‘the city is disappearing’?”

“The city is disappearing!” Na’amah shouted and raised her hands dramatically. “Like pop, whoosh, gone. Back to the realm between life and death. We were never meant to exist here, and you three would have come with us if your friend hadn’t convinced you otherwise.”

Cylia’s jaw dropped—metaphorically, not actually. She couldn’t tell whether Na’amah was joking or not. But she looked too serious and drunk to tell lies.

“Kiur’s instinct had saved us from certain death?” There were so many questions swirling in Cylia’s head, but she didn’t know where to start. “Why are you here in the first place?”

Sneering, Na’amah threw the bag at Cylia, who got thrown backwards, catching it. “Special delivery for you. A present from some guy, the lady says you need to deliver it to someone.”

Cylia felt around the bag to take a conjecture of what was inside. It was soft but also covered in fur? Cylia couldn’t tell the shape and almost threw the bag away from what was inside.

An Uridimmu puppy that looked like an infant greyhound with a bushy red tail and blonde hair around its neck. It was sleeping, but panic rose in Cylia because the Uridimmu had hunted her and her friends for several days.

Not to mention that its mother must be searching for her lost child—Cylia wasn’t keen on meeting her either.

“I am sad, you know,” Na’amah sobbed and threw back her head to hold back her tears. “After the third flood, and a century later, I was a wreck! My husband got sick, and I’m still peeved about the whims of those blasted gods!”

Another sob from Na’amah and a glare towards Cylia. “The lady offered me a better life and strength to turn things around, but over the years,” she sighed, “she put less and less attention on me. But she asked for my help to aid you, but why? What does she see in someone so inconspicuous as you? I want her attention again, but not like this.”

Cylia ignored the comment, unnerved by the puppy lying on her lap—she was too afraid to touch it. “Sure, that’s bad and all, but,” Cylia panicked when the puppy stirred meekly. “Can we get back to the topic? What is this?”

“Hm?” Na’amah folded her arms over her chest. “Ah, the puppy. Take care of it until you find the right owner, but be quick; the Solstice is coming. You have to find that old thing. You know, the one with the eyes and whatnot. Blasted Ishtar. What was its name again?”

“The Asag?”

“Yes! The Asag, that’s why we are here. Ergh, I’m too sober for this.” Na’amah waved with her hand again and took a heavy gulp from her new beverage. “Come, we don’t have the whole day.”

“Wait, but this dog–” Cylia glanced at the puppy and couldn’t believe what she had thrown herself at. It was less than a week old and needed proper care. Something Cylia couldn’t provide even to herself, but Na’amah didn’t care as she wandered further down the crevice.

“I can’t believe I am doing this. Why is it always me?” With a loud grumble, Cylia wrapped the bag around the Uridimmu puppy’s buddy and ran after Na’amah, who held her pace to reach their destination.

Which, of course, was another much deeper crevice diagonally across the previous one Cylia was already in. However, this one was wider, and the sounds of battle echoed in the distance.

A blanket of white smoke—steam from the Asag, Cylia figured—covered the floor.

“What now?” Cylia asked and glanced over the new large crevice with no way downwards except for the straightforward one. A horrible premonition befell her, but before Cylia could dodge out of the way, Na’amah slapped her back, and Cylia went hurling downwards.

“Some friendly advice. Stay on the Asag’s good side.” Na’amah took another sip from her keg and licked her lips, her blue eyes glowing with magic. “Prove you are worthy of the lady’s attention.”