Chapter 1  

The Valley

“In the lands and realms of Light's design 

A desert spreads from beginning to end

All that Light touches is for mortals, divine 

Their prayers beg, 'Don't ever descend'

For when darkness falls in the kingdom of parched lands

Djinn emerge to quench their thirst

Salvation is your tale, O shadow of the sands

To eternally walk the realm, you are cursed.”

-Book of Aldawi VI

A howl followed by intense growling. The deafening silence of the Bardarian desert had ceased. Beneath the purple sky, a lone acacia tree that bore the marks of passing decades witnessed the fierce growls of two canines. One of the beasts had a spotted tail and a mauled right ear. Scarred all over its hind legs, the beast carried itself with the posture of an older animal, standing atop a big rock close to the old tree. A faint and scratchy noise caused by the canine's protruding claws scraping the stone filled the quiet between growls. Growling and barking. Silence. Then scratching. Then again, growling and barking. 

As the sun descended to the horizon, its unbearable heat followed suit. The canines, who until now had been in a deadlock, may have remained so till the last ray of light if not for a softened sound in the distance. The eyes of the older creature lit up. A slight whimper escaped its muzzle. It became entirely still, observing the sandy horizon, ears up, and the hair on its back bristled. The other beast, whose beige fur shined in the rosegold sunshine, had its back turned to the source of the muffled sound. It sensed the worry of its rival; still, its youthful hubris caused it to continue growling and ultimately ignore what had troubled the older beast. It began circling pompously, exhibiting it had won the stand-off. The older canine remained unphased by the younger canine's provocations and was attentively observing the horizon. It was waiting for something or someone to emerge in the distance. 

The dry desert wind softly blowing away from the two creatures suddenly started blowing toward them. It blew with such violence that the older creature, who had previously relished the high ground over its opponent, was forced to hop down in fear of being blown away. The two animals could be heard sniffing intensely despite the piercing and pulsating sound of the wind blowing. The younger canine finally understood why its adversary had become still. It now smelled the repulsing smell of danger steadily approaching them. However, it had yet to fully grasp the threat as the older, more experienced one had.

As the final rays of light emanated from the horizon, darkness enveloped the creatures. The older animal felt its entire body shaking; its instincts, born from surviving the harsh deserts, were telling it to run. Fast! Quick! It knew that whatever was about to appear from behind the dunes was dangerous. Yet the beast remained frozen like a statue, unable to move, its senses succumbing to the intense pressure of the approaching aura. Its muscles stiff, its joints aching, its bones rattling. Far out in the distant darkness, past the slight stretch of Hamada desert the creatures were feuding on, a slender shade darker than night, had started ascending from behind one of the many sand dunes. The wind that had alerted the beasts continued its tantrum, lifting the sands almost as if to conceal the approaching shadow.

The hounds were in a full-blown sandstorm; sand and dirt blew violently against their fur. Their muzzles and eyes closed, tails jerking, ears raised. The storm and darkness had robbed them of every sense except for smell. But all they could smell was the overwhelming stench of death; as if its living embodiment had risen and started walking towards them. Despite the fierce winds gaining more and more force, both creatures remained petrified by what could only be described as dark, primal fear. The wind's cold and baleful push could not spur the animals into retreat. 

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The older canine, growling, willed its eyes open. It could barely see, but what it saw was enough. There it was. Darker than darkness itself. In front of it.

A howl followed by wails. As the wind's caprice had ceased, the sands began to settle. The overwhelming silence of the Bardarian desert had returned. The once-distant shadow was no more, and all that remained in the darkness of the night was the howling echoes of the vanished hounds. 

The sun crept above the distant mountains to the west, it had risen just a few hours ago. A tall and broad shadow moving on the hamada could be seen from afar. As the trickery of the heat haze slowly dissipated, it became clear that the shadow was a human cloaked in all black. walking in supple yet confident strides, each step bringing it closer and closer to the desolate, withered bark. Although the winds blew softly, a gentle gust would occasionally lift the crow black cloak of the figure, revealing the glow of two bronze discs adorning a worn leather cuirass over a vermillion red tunic. Despite the figure's remarkable size, no footsteps were on the sandy ground. Not even the remains of a trail could be perceived. The currents had borne the sands to cover it. It seemed as if the desert wished to conceal any trace left by the silhouette. 

After three or four dozen steps, the mysterious figure reached the foot of the old acacia tree and halted. From the cloak, a hand emerged and rose to shoulder height before planting itself on the withering bark. It was the hand of man. Long, big, veined, and calloused, it bore some ugly scars. It was the hand of a warrior. A detailed yet tarnished silver ring adorned by two rough, almost matte blue gemstones on the proximal phalange of the index finger. A soft groan escaped under the hood, and the man's stern and rigid posture softened; he hunched over, sweat dripping onto the sand. The mysterious stranger would have collapsed without the old acacia's support. With his free hand, the man pulled back the hood of his dark cloak, revealing his bristle shoulder-length hair. His lower face was covered by an old, worn black scarf. Part of a scar that the scarf covered was visible on his left cheekbone. Droplets of sweat kept falling to the ground, disappearing as they came into contact with the scorching and sandy earth. His eyes were distant and empty, chestnut colored like his coarse hair. 

The man looked young, though his defeated and fatigued stare would deem otherwise; his skin was tan and smooth, and his damp forehead and cheeks had few wrinkles except for the scar on his left cheek. As the mysterious man started wiping the sweat from his face with his old scarf, he heard the cries and laughter of children in the distance. He contemplated whether this was another of the desert's cruel tricks or if he had finally gone insane from the heat and fatigue. He felt his body burning up. Underneath the scarf, his mouth was dry. After lowering the scarf, he reached to grab a Baqar skin canteen tied to his belt but stopped short of untying it; next to his left boot, the skull of a hound half-covered by sand caught his attention. A deep uneasiness swelled within him. Corpses and their remains weren't uncommon when traveling the deserts of Alard. The man had seen many, most belonging to unlucky travelers, bandits, or animals. Yet something about this skull, in particular, made him feel anxious. This feels familiar, he thought. Corruption and darkness. It was as if Light had never touched the skull, or more precisely, that the cranium didn't belong in this world. His eyes looked even colder as an unnerving smirk began drawing on his face. After a few lengthy breaths and gathering his remaining strength, the young man gruntingly readjusted his worn cuirass to sit faultlessly on his shoulders, then straightened up to look before him.

If one were to observe the acacia tree from one of the dunes the man appeared behind, it would seem the desert continued forever. The only remarkable landmark was the far mountains to the west. An endless sea of sand stretched out as far as the naked eye could see. It, therefore, came as a surprise to the man when, just a few steps past the lonely tree, a giant valley in the shape of a crater opened up before him. Below, on the opposite end from where he stood, a large body of water surrounded by lush greenery and tall date palm trees flowed through the many streets of a village. The man had stumbled upon an oasis, a rare reprieve from the harsh desert. This is the place, he thought: A powerful gust blew up from the crater, filling his nose with the smell of humid, earthy, and wispy air. More importantly, the air was fresh and cool. His mind went blank momentarily as every last part of his body rejoiced in the humid breeze. The wind had done more to revitalize him than his short rest against the old acacia tree. Reinvigorated, the man lifted the hood of the cloak back over his head, adjusted his scarf to mask his lower face, and descended into the valley.