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I hastily raise my glaive and plant the blade onto the neck of the nearest Auilqa warrior.
“What is the meaning of this?” I snarl through gnashed teeth.
The warrior appears as stunned as I am, eyes wide with shock and confusion. I quickly realize my inquiry is futile, with the Auilqa not knowing Merchant’s Tongue. But Síqalat, too, is horrified by the sight of Eye in the Flame zealots walking freely among a ravaged city. Her stunned silence prevents her from translating.
“Have the Auilqa willingly harbored these cultists?” Upachu asks rhetorically. “How has such a cult, with origins of Ulxa, managed to persuade their biggest rivals?”
“I assume they persuaded them by force,” Síqalat remarks. “Nothing motivates a person more than the phrase ‘join or die’.”
“But the Auilqa are so prideful,” Upachu notes, still baffled by this development. “Seeing so many join, and so quickly, is highly disturbing.”
My wise friend makes a strong observation. In every interaction we’ve had with the Auilqa, they have consistently conducted themselves in a manner that aligns with their people’s ideals and beliefs. So why the sudden change? Why have they become unquestioning followers to the Eye in the Flame?
I request that Síqalat relay this question to the present Auilqa warriors. What can explain this phenomenon, the presence of this cult everywhere we’ve traveled? What caused them to change their loyalties and gods of worship to the twisted image of Eztletiqa?
She speaks to the Auilqa warriors, and their exchange appears to be one that concerns her deeply. For a moment, the two Auilqa warriors repeat the same word in their native tongue over and over again. It takes a lengthy back-and-forth before she turns to inform me and Upachu of what was said. The look of confusion on her features seem to have only deepened after her conversation.
“Well,” she sighs with pronounced bewilderment, “at first, they simply told me that the Eye in the Flame had performed rituals that ‘proved’ they were fulfilling the old prophecies. When I asked them to explain further, they kept repeating what I believe is translated to ‘Flame Bearer’. Something about the Eye in the Flame performing supernatural feats—casting the flaming serpent in the sky, orbs of fire from their hands, and the like. But they’re speaking so wildly that I’m starting to question whether I’m correctly translating what they’re saying.”
“So, because they saw these feats of magic, they believe the Eye in the Flame are some saviors to be worshipped?” I ask, somewhat skeptically.
Síqalat grimaces and hesitates before responding. “When you consider how that other tribe felt about you when we encountered them, I’m not surprised that they’d be so assured that this was a prophecy being fulfilled,” she responds.
I grunt at this, having to confess she makes a fair point.
“But it’s more than just awe,” she continues. “It’s as if they believe they’re witnessing the very destiny of their people unfold, that the signs are there of the Auilqa returning to some long promised greatness.”
Once again, I’m confronted with the blind willingness to believe in prophecies foretold generations ago, of people in the flesh being worshipped as gods. How scores of people can unquestioningly follow such a development is beyond me. Maybe I’m too skeptical to understand. Or maybe they’re all not skeptical enough.
“Besides,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders, “they say they were not following willingly, but more so resigned to the fact that the prophecy was coming true before their eyes. According to these warriors, it’s because of this that, when the Eye in the Flame told them they were there to cleanse the world of its impurities that sought to destroy them, and mentioned their assault on the Ulxa capital, the Auilqa were easily swayed to follow them. They saw their age-old enemies being punished and thought, ‘Perhaps this is the way it’s meant to be.’”
Seemingly understanding that we’re speaking of them, one of the warriors states something emphatically. But because it’s in the Auilqa tongue, I cannot understand what is being said. Upachu, however, strokes his chin and grunts a few times. “He says, ‘When we saw the… Flame Bearer’s power, how could we deny it?’” I’m initially caught off-guard by his interpretation, forgetting that Upachu now has the ability to speak all languages.
This gives me an idea. I turn to Upachu, now gravely concerned. “Is this true?” I wonder. “You were given the gift of understanding native traditions and rituals by Inqil. Perhaps you can use this to gain knowledge of the Auilqa, of this supposed prophecy, and see if any of this is true?”
He considers this, once again stroking the fine hairs on his chin. “The Flame Bearer,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “It sounds familiar, like a story told long ago. I seem to recall something like it, something spoken of in the Great Library back in Hilaqta. It’s a story that warned of fire and destruction, but promised salvation to those who followed the flame.”
“That sounds like one of the Eye in the Flame’s core beliefs,” I point out. “Do you think the creator and leaders of this cult are using ancient stories and prophecies along with their dark magic to manipulate others into joining their sick movement?”
“It’s difficult to say,” Upachu says warily. “But perhaps I can channel the gift… and understand.”
As he’s done before, Upachu lowers himself to his knees and presses his hands against the ground. He bows his head, as if attempting to hear or feel or sense something stored within these lands. As if the land itself speaks to him. For a moment, nothing happens, leaving me, Síqalat, and especially the two Auilqa warriors confused.
But then, he begins having convulsions. He seizes on the ground, curled up and whimpering. I call his name, but he doesn’t respond. Terrified, I rush over to him, reaching out and hoping my touch will bring him back to the present, back to these Auilqa jungles.
After a few more heartbeats, the convulsions stop. So, too, does my breath, until he groggily picks himself up off the ground. His hand involuntarily clutches the side of his head, and he winces in pain at the slightest movement. He opens his eyes, and for a brief moment, they have the same surreal glow as before, but this light vanishes in an instant as he looks around the jungles.
“Wha-what…” Upachu is too out of breath and exhausted to complete his thought. Síqalat urges him to lie down and remain calm. Usually stoic and indifferent, even the llama grows concerned and steps over to comfort our companion.
After a period, color eventually returns to Upachu’s cheeks, and his breath comes easier to him. At this, I crouch beside him, and ask, “Can you remember what you saw, what you witnessed?”
Upachu’s breath hitches, the words catching in his throat as if he’s struggling to voice the terror that grips him. The memory of what he just experienced lingers, a visceral force that tightens his chest. I kneel beside him as the jungle suddenly feels more oppressive, and the shadows deeper and more menacing.
“I thought everything told at the Great Library, and these Auilqa’s retelling of events, were just stories, just myths. But after what I saw…” His voice trails off, and he stares blankly at the ground before him. The distant sounds of the jungle seem muted while he seeks to understand what he witnessed.
Still clouded with the remnants of whatever visions he endured, Upachu’s eyes finally meet mine. There’s a haunted look in them, one that speaks of things he’s seen that cannot easily be explained away. “It was like I was pulled into the past… or maybe into a vision of what’s to come. I saw flames—endless, devouring flames. They weren’t just fire; they were alive, writhing like serpents, consuming everything in their path. The trees, the rivers, even the mountains… everything turned to ash. And there was something, or someone, at the heart of it all… a figure wreathed in fire… That must’ve been the Flame Bearer! And the destruction was deliberate, as if the flames were cleansing the world, preparing it for something… something that’s yet to come.”
Síqalat shifts uneasily, her eyes darting between Upachu and the warriors, as if trying to piece together what all this means. “Are you saying… are you suggesting that the Eye in the Flame is fulfilling some kind of prophecy? That they’re… destined to cleanse Pachil?”
Upachu’s brow furrows as he struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. What I saw… it felt so real, so final. I’ve always believed that we make our own destinies, that no prophecy is set in stone. But this… this was different. It felt like fate, like something that cannot be stopped, only endured.”
His gaze falls to the ground again, his hand trembling as he brings it to his forehead. “The Flame Bearer… the Auilqa believe it’s a sign, a symbol of something greater. But what if… what if it’s not just their belief? What if it’s true?”
Upachu’s voice trembles as he continues. “They were promised salvation, a place in this new world if they followed the Flame Bearer. But I saw their fate… I saw them turned to ash, their loyalty repaid with destruction. The flames do not discriminate—they consume all. The prophecy they believe in… it’s a lie, a twisted manipulation of their ancient stories.”
One of the Auilqa warriors steps forward, his face pale and stricken with fear. He speaks rapidly in his native tongue, the words tumbling out in a rush as if trying to ward off the terror that’s taken hold. Upachu translates, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes. “He says, ‘The Flame Bearer is a savior, not a destroyer. We were promised safety.’”
A heavy silence falls over us. I see the confusion in the warrior’s eyes, the desperate need to believe that what they’ve been told is true, that their submission to the Eye in the Flame will somehow save them from the devastation Upachu has described. But I also see the doubt creeping in, the cracks forming in their faith. They must sense what is being spoken among us, as they grapple with the possibility that they’ve been led astray.
Upachu takes a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I fear that the Flame Bearer is not a savior, but a harbinger of destruction. The Auilqa have been misled, and their fate will be the same as those who came before them—consumed by the very fire they worship.”
“Upachu,” I say, forcing myself to focus, “is there any way to break this hold the Eye in the Flame have over the Auilqa? Any way to reveal the truth?”
He looks at me, still reeling from the visions he’s seen. “The truth is a fragile thing,” he replies, his voice filled with a sorrow I’ve never heard before. “These prophecies have been twisted, their meanings lost to time and fear. It won’t be easy to undo what’s been done…”
He looks resigned, as if hope is lost. Then, a spark glints in his eye. After a deep, cleansing breath, he says resolutely, “But we have to try. For their sake—and for ours.”
I look back at the main gate of Qasiunqa, the vast, expansive city. Seeing the robed figures in ashen gray or crimson is like a sick joke. Their presence taunts me, and from their perches, I can feel their arrogance. I will not let this stand.
“We’ll need to strike,” I say, my voice low as if those in the far distance guarding the ruined city can hear me. “We need to find a way to rid Qasiunqa of these invaders.”
“But how?” Upachu questions, flummoxed. “We are but five who dare oppose them—four if you consider how effective I will be. There are likely hundreds, if not thousands, more inside those walls.”
“And, umm,” Síqalat mutters, her eyes flickering between me and the two Auilqa warriors, “while these two might feel like their hand has been forced, they could still defend members of the Eye in the Flame, you know. I don’t think we should trust them.”
I exhale sharply and rub my temples. The desire to act, to strike swiftly and decisively, burns within me. These zealots must be stopped before they can solidify their hold on this city, before they can corrupt even more of Pachil. But how? Of course, Upachu and Síqalat are right. We are too few against such astounding numbers. How do I act without being rash, without leading everyone into certain death?
I study the splintering walls and the distant figures. We are so few that a direct assault would be suicide. But there’s no time for a drawn-out siege, no reinforcements to call upon. And yet every moment we wait, the Eye in the Flame grows stronger, more entrenched. We can’t afford to sit idly by, yet rushing in blindly is beyond foolish. I must think clearly, plan carefully.
“We need more information,” I say finally, forcing myself to slow down, to think. “A direct attack is out of the question, but if we can gather intelligence, find out where they’re weakest, we might have a chance”
Síqalat nods, though I can see the doubt in her eyes. “Well, that’s all fine and good, but how do we get that information? And even if we do, what do we do with it? What’s the plan? A few well-placed blows might take out some, but not all of them. And it would take us too long to take out a city of thousands,—if we’re even successful at all. We’d likely be captured or killed well before then.”
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Once again, her words ring true, and the reality of our situation sinks in deeper. There has to be another way—a way to get close without raising suspicion, to learn their secrets before they even realize we’re among them, and then utilize this knowledge effectively.
A thought begins to form, hesitant at first, but gaining momentum with each passing heartbeat. It’s risky—more than risky, it’s borderline ludicrous. But it might be our only chance.
“I’ll infiltrate them,” I declare. “I’ll pose as a new recruit, seeking to join the Eye in the Flame. If I can gain their trust, even for a short time, I can gather the information we need—their numbers, their defenses, their plans. And then, under the cover of night, I’ll slip out, and we can rally reinforcements.”
“You’re going to go in alone? Are you mad? Have you lost your mind?” Síqalat looks at me as though I’ve gone insane. Perhaps I have.
Upachu raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Besides the obvious problems I have with this absurd plan, ‘reinforcements’? From where? We have no allies in this territory.”
“I’ll figure that out while I’m inside,” I respond, thinking through the possibilities. “Maybe we can reach Qiapu, or even seek help from the Ulxa. The Eye in the Flame are their enemies too, and they may see the value in an alliance, however temporary.”
Síqalat tilts her head, considering the plan. “And you think these two Auilqa warriors will go along with this? They may be reluctant followers, but that doesn’t mean they won’t turn on us if they see an opportunity.”
“I won’t put them in harm’s way,” I say, the idea solidifying in my mind. “If they’re seen as merely escorting me to join the cult, they can maintain their cover without raising suspicion. It’ll be me who takes the real risk.”
I look down at my gold and black attire, the colors of the Qantua, and grimace. “I’ll need to strip away anything that identifies me—no Qantua colors, no possessions that tie me to my homeland. I’ve got to look the part of a defector.”
I reach for my ornate glaive, the only weapon I’ll keep. Everything else must go—anything that could betray who I truly am. My hand clenches around the familiar hilt, the feel of the weapon a small comfort in the face of the unknown.
“Wait,” Síqalat remarks. “And you seriously plan to do this alone? Please. As if I’m going to let you walk into that den of vipers by yourself. Someone needs to be there to keep you from doing anything stupid.”
I want to resist, to tell her that I will not allow her to risk her life for my ridiculous plan. Yet I can’t help but smile at her words, despite the situation, and realize what her offer truly means. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Upachu clears his throat, drawing our attention. “The llama and I will stay on the lookout. If things go wrong—and they will, knowing our luck—I’ll signal for help. Perhaps I can find a neighboring tribe, or at least create enough of a distraction to give you a chance to escape.”
I release a heavy sigh. “It’s not the best plan,” I admit, “but it’s the best we’ve got. We move in tonight, under the cover of darkness.”
Síqalat has an exchange with the Auilqa, who then turn to me, looking confused. She continues to explain something emphatically, her arms flailing about wildly. The warriors glance at one another, brows knitted. Eventually, they nod and say something in response. Síqalat bows deeply, then turns to me and Upachu.
“Well, that took a bit of convincing,” she says, a little breathlessly and hands resting on her hips, as if the effort was strenuous, “but we are now two of the newest, most devout followers of the Eye in the Flame that have ever existed on Pachil! Congratulations!”
When night falls, we depart for the main gate to the city. I say my goodbyes to Upachu, who looks at me with grave concern. “We can find another way,” he says, picking the dirt out of his fingernails. “Perhaps we should take this opportunity to rally support from a neighboring tribe or faction. There’s no need to rush in and—“
Placing a hand gently upon his shoulder, I say, “I will be fine, my friend. I’ve been in positions of danger before, and I will make sure to keep a level head, I promise.” Though he doesn’t seem reassured, Upachu reluctantly nods and pats me on my arm, his mouth forming a tight smile.
Síqalat makes a declarative statement to the two Auilqa, and we slip into the night. Aside from my thundering heartbeat, only the chirping critters dare to make a sound. Occasionally, I glance up at the stars and sliver of the crescent moon that bejewel the cloudless sky, twinkling as they peacefully watch over me.
We’re met with a cacophony of shouts as we reach the clearing. Those in gray robes point the tips of their arrows and spears in our direction, as do the Auilqa under their rule. The sporadic figures in crimson robes watch on wordlessly, not moving a muscle, yet the tips of their fingers slowly glow white from the forming flames.
The two Auilqa escorting us raise their hands, shouting their replies over the others’ yells. Those standing by the remnants of outer walls point at me and Síqalat accusatorially, glaring at the two outsiders walking beside the Auilqa warriors. This carries on for quite some time, and I start to question whether this plan was reasonable at all.
The guards exchange a few clipped words in the Auilqa tongue, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinize us. One of them steps forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a crude blade that hangs from his waist. He speaks again forcefully, though I can’t understand a word he’s saying.
I glance at Síqalat, hoping she’s keeping her composure as well as I’m trying to. She nods slightly, acknowledging the guard’s words, before responding in the same language. Her voice is calm, steady, but there’s a subtle edge to it—one that’s hard to miss. It’s clear she’s trying to walk a fine line between defiance and submission.
The guard listens with an unreadable expression, but I can see him mulling over her words in his mind. After a moment, he barks another command. My muscles tense as the other guards take a step closer, their weapons at the ready. Whatever Síqalat said, it hasn’t convinced them yet.
The guards speak among themselves, their voices low and full of suspicion. I catch the occasional cold glance in our direction. I force myself to stay still, even as every instinct screams at me to reach for my weapon. If I make one wrong move, it’s over.
Finally, the lead guard steps forward, gesturing for us to remain where we are. He points to Síqalat, barking out another string of words in their guttural language. She hesitates for the briefest moment, then nods and turns to me, her expression carefully neutral.
“He wants us to prove our loyalty,” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “They’re suspicious. They want to know why we’re here, why two outsiders want to join.”
“What should we do?” I murmur back, careful to keep my voice low.
The lead guard’s voice is harsher this time, and Síqalat's face drains of color as she translates his words. “He says… kneeling alone won’t be enough. If we’re truly loyal to the cause, we must offer blood to the Flame.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. Blood. My jaw clenches, fury coursing through my veins. How could I not see this as a possibility? Auilqa warriors with streaks of blood across their bodies hoist their spears, while gray-robed zealots watch us with curiosity as they nock arrows. The cultists in their crimson robes watch from the shadows. Their presence is like a dark cloud hanging over the site.
“We must cut ourselves,” Síqalat whispers. “Spill blood as a sign of submission. If we refuse, we die here.”
The very idea of shedding blood for these zealots makes my stomach churn, but the sharp glint of weapons all around us leaves little choice. There’s no escape. We are about to dedicate ourselves to the Eye in the Flame, marking us with their darkness. If we spill our blood here, who knows what kind of magic they’ll bind us with? But if we don’t…
I meet Síqalat’s gaze. Her eyes are wide, and I can see the conflict churning inside her. She gives me a barely perceptible nod, a silent signal that we have no choice.
An Auilqa warrior steps forward, holding a ceremonial dagger—a twisted, blackened blade with flames etched along the hilt. His lips curl into a sneer as he presses the dagger into my hands, the cold metal biting into my skin.
I glance at Síqalat once more before turning my gaze to the guard, the zealots, the warriors. They’re all watching, waiting for my next move, hungry for proof of our allegiance. They’re predators sizing up their prey.
With a deep breath, I raise the dagger to my palm. The sharp edge presses into my skin, and for a moment, I hesitate. But there’s no turning back now. If we’re to survive this, I must do this.
My teeth grind against one another as I drag the blade across my palm. The sting of the cut is immediate, and blood wells up from the wound, dark and glistening in the torchlight. I feel a strange pull, as if the very air around me grows heavier with the act.
The guard steps closer, holding out a stone basin. It’s carved with intricate symbols—symbols I don’t recognize, but I can feel the malevolent energy radiating from them. With trembling hands, I let my blood drip into the basin. Each drop feels like a piece of my spirit being taken, my connection to the Eye in the Flame growing stronger with every moment.
The warrior sternly makes a command, to which Síqalat translates. “You have to speak the words, ‘For the Flame, and for the dominion of Eztletiqa’.”
The words feel like poison on my tongue, but I speak them anyway. “For the Flame… and for the dominion of Eztletiqa.”
The guard’s sneer deepens, and he nods approvingly as if I’ve sealed my fate.
Síqalat steps forward next, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the dagger. She makes her cut, her blood joining mine in the basin. She repeats the incantation, but I can see the strain in her eyes.
As the final drops of blood fall into the basin, the guard lifts it high, and the zealots chant in unison. Their voices are low and guttural, like ancient chants bellowing from deep within the underworld. For a moment, I feel a strange pull—like my very essence is being tied to the Eye in the Flame, bound by something far darker than I could’ve imagined.
Satisfied, the warrior steps back, but there’s something unsettling in his eyes—a knowing, twisted amusement that makes my blood run cold.
“You have pledged yourselves," one of those in crimson robes shouts down to us. “Your blood now belongs to the Flame. Betray us, and it will burn you from the inside out.”
As we’re finally allowed to step through the gate, a sense of dread settles over me. What have we done? We’ve given them our blood, but what else have we given them?
The once majestic city of Qasiunqa lies broken, now bearing the scars of its fall from grace. As we weave through the crooked, decaying streets, the remnants of its splendor are buried beneath layers of ash and ruin. We’re met with the cloying scent of incense laced with an undercurrent of rot, as though the city is trying to mask its own decay. Above, the sky churns with a swirling mass of storm clouds, pressing down on the world below like a vengeful spirit. Qasiunqa breathes no more; it gasps, choked by the grip of the Eye in the Flame.
We move cautiously, our eyes searching the distorted remnants of what was once a proud civilization. Once adorned with symbols of Auilqa tradition and strength, the buildings have been defaced. Their surfaces have been marred by the strange, chaotic markings of the cult. Vines that once bloomed with vibrant flowers now hang limp, blackened by some dark force that has drained the life from them. Statues of gods have been toppled, their broken pieces scattered across the ground like the remnants of a shattered past.
As we round a corner, deep, rhythmic drumming begins to seep into my awareness. It’s subtle at first, a low thrum that vibrates through the soles of my feet. But as we draw nearer to an enormous and lavish building in the center of the city, it grows louder, more insistent. The sound is accompanied by a low, guttural chanting in a language I don’t recognize, but which seems to resonate with something deep within me, something I dread is the result of the ritual performed at the city gates.
Síqalat’s face tightens, her eyes narrowing as she listens. I can tell that she senses the same wrongness that I do, though her expression remains blank. We exchange a brief glance, but neither of us speaks. Words would be redundant in the face of what we’re likely to witness.
As we step into the heart of Qasiunqa, the air and humidity wrap around us like a constricting serpent, making each breath harder to draw than the last. At one time encroaching gently upon the city, the jungle now seems locked in a losing battle against a dark, corrupting force. What should have been a sanctuary of ancient stone—a place where the Auilqa people could seek wisdom and peace—has been defiled.
We approach what must have been a sacred grove, though now, it feels like a tomb. The emerald vines that once draped elegantly from the high ceiling have withered to brittle, blackened threads, scorched at the edges. The intricate carvings on the stone monoliths have been defaced. Their graceful lines have been marred by crude, jagged symbols of an eye consumed by a singular flame.
As we move deeper into the grand chamber, the desecration becomes even more apparent. From what I can tell, this was a magnificent throne room, one that would instill fear upon those who stood before the great Auilqa ruler. The throne that rests close to the center is twisted and warped, like much that remains in Qasiunqa. The once-rust-colored stone pillars have been blackened and obscured by scores of scorch marks. The delicate orchids and flowering vines that wound around the throne have wilted, their vibrant colors replaced by thorny stems that seem to reach out, hungry and desperate.
As I stand there, taking in the full scope of the corruption, the deep, rhythmic drumming grows louder and louder. The chanting fills the room with an unsettling, grotesque harmony.
My grip tightens around my glaive, and I catch sight of the ritual taking place at the far end of the chamber. The captives—those who must have resisted the Eye in the Flame’s rule—are lined up along the steps. Bound and gagged, they’re helpless, eyes wide with terror as they await their fate at the hands of the cultists. A figure clad in robes adorned with fiery patterns stands at the center of it all. A dagger with a gnarled, obsidian blade gleams menacingly in his hand.
The chanting reaches a fevered pitch as the robed figure raises the blade high above a writhing captive, laid out on a stone slab with symbols drawn in blood surrounding the altar. The blade flashes down, and I close my eyes before they can take in the horrific sight. The heart of the victim is offered to a blazing idol set before the robed figure, as the word ‘Eztletiqa’ is repeated over and over, louder and louder, by those gathered inside the chamber. Flames erupt from the altar, licking at the stone, and a shudder moves through the entire room. Above, the storm clouds respond with a powerful bolt of lightning that illuminates the area with a fierce, ominous light.
Fury boils within me. I cannot let this continue. I cannot allow these monsters to strengthen their hold on this city, on these people. I turn to Síqalat and growl, “We can’t let this continue. We have to stop them, now.”
Her eyes widen, and she grabs my arm. “Teqosa, think about what you’re saying! There are too many of them, and we’re not equipped for this.”
“I don’t care,” I snap, my voice trembling. “I will not stand by and let these monsters destroy Pachil. We need to disrupt the ritual, strike down their leader if the chance arises, and leave nothing but chaos in our wake.”
I recognize that it’s a rash decision, but there’s no time to second-guess. The priest in crimson robes begins another incantation, and those in gray robes offer another victim to be sacrificed. I know that we have to act now, or it will be too late. With a nod from Síqalat, I move forward, my glaive ready.
Just as I’m about to strike, the storm clouds above swirl violently, and the air around us changes. A rumble echoes through the chamber, followed by an enormous whoosh of wind. I believe this to be the work of the figure in crimson robes, but to my surprise, the cultists pause. Their chanting falters as they look around in confusion.
Strangely, a peculiar mist slowly creeps in around us—from where is it coming? Then, another rumble, followed by an enormous whoosh that sounds from behind us. My heart stops as I glance back, not knowing what to expect.
Suddenly, a massive wave of water crashes through the entrance. It sweeps through the room, knocking the cultists and Auilqa warriors off their feet. The water swirls around me, and I stumble, struggling to keep my footing as the world around me descends into mayhem.
As the mist slowly fades, I catch sight of two figures standing at the entrance, the source of the storm and the water—two figures I’ve never seen before. The wind howls around them, almost as if they’ve stepped out of the very storm they control.
The priest in crimson screams in rage, but his voice is drowned out by the roar of the water as it slams into him, knocking him off the altar and sending him crashing to the ground.
I stand there, stunned, as the scene unfolds before me. Who are these people? And how have they brought the storm with them? I have no answers, only the deep, unsettling sense that the tide of this battle has just turned.