“Get up,” a sharp whisper hissed in her ear, and she jerked awake. Sand clung to her pale arm as she propped herself up to meet the angry crimson sky above. The air crackled with energy, a surging hum in the distance like a storm rolling in, but no clouds came — only the shuddering towers of Axmal, their onyx obelisks reaching toward the fractured horizon.
She was dressed in flowing white linen, the intricate embroidery along its edges in stark, geometric black patterns that marked her as one of the ritual swimmers — someone chosen to dive for the water-gems that powered Axmal’s ancient engines. Underneath, she wore the briefest hint of clothing — practical strips wrapped black and white over her hips, meant for speed through water. Around her waist was a thin belt wrought of hammered gold, a mark of her station. Her long braid, now unraveled slightly from the tumult, swept over her shoulder bent with the sands.
“Myrrah!” the sharp voice called again. This time, Myrrah turned, and her gaze narrowed. It was Tzian, her closest ally — though that word, “ally,” had worn thin in the city’s scheming underbelly. He wore a loose, sand-colored tunic, his dark eyes darting toward the distant dunes.
“They’re coming,” he hissed. “If we don’t find cover—”
Her mind spun as she scrambled to her feet, slipping slightly on the bruised sand. The memory snapped into her like glass breaking against her temples — the attack. A hulking man in ceremonial war gear, spiked and glinting obsidian black, had stood over her. She’d fought, clawing, diving, before something struck her hard enough to black out. They were after something — no, after her. That much she knew.
“Who?” she croaked. “Who’s coming?”
Tzian glanced upward toward the sky with a frown, rubbing his thumb along the ceremonial pendant that dangled from his neck. “The Ix Coalition — I saw their warbirds hovering above the canyon.” He gestured to the desert beyond. “But you already knew they’d come. You told me they’d never stop until they got what they wanted.”
“What they wanted…” Myrrah murmured, more to herself than to him, her thoughts clicking into place. Her braid caught on the wind, which shimmered with the heat of an oncoming strike. Yes, it was all coming together now: the search for the last unbroken crystal core, her defection from the warring clans of Axmal’s upper echelons, her attempts to flee rather than sacrifice the city to the Ix. But now? It all seemed futile. It was too late. She’d been found.
A low shriek tore across the sky, and Tzian shoved her roughly into motion. “We need to move! Now!” he shouted, his tone almost guttural with urgency.
Sand kicked up beneath her feet as she followed in a half-daze, the yellowed sky above darkening with a vast shadow cast by the descending Ix warbird. Its hull gleamed metallic black, shaped like a crescent moon as it loomed lower and lower, the sound grinding against her eardrums. Inside, she knew, there would be dozens waiting — engineered soldiers, merciless and efficient. The countdown to destruction was already ticking.
“Why didn’t you leave when you could?” Tzian asked as they reached the edges of the ruined aqueducts. The skeletons of the long-dry water channels curled like broken ribs splitting the sand. He crouched behind one of the crumbled arches as Myrrah dropped beside him, her breath heaving.
She couldn’t find the words right away, couldn’t explain the guilt that had clawed its way into her heart over the years. Her reflection flickered in what little water still languished at the bottom of the deepest channel — her white tunic smudged now with dirt, the black patterns faded where the sun had kissed them a thousand times. Why hadn’t she left? She bit her lip. Perhaps because, deep down, she knew there would never be another who could unlock the heart of Axmal. Its secrets were crystal facets carved into her own soul.
“I thought—” she began, voice ragged, “I thought I could stop them. I thought…” Her fingers curled into fists against the stone. “I didn’t expect it to follow me this far.”
“And yet,” Tzian said quietly, pulling a small, glinting object from inside his shirt, “you kept this.”
He placed it in her palm — the crystal core, pulsating faintly like a dying star. Its faint yellow glow pulsed through its smooth surface. Despite her resolve, her chest tightened looking at it again. The cost of holding it had been everything: friends, family, and her place among the upper echelon of the city. And yet she hadn’t let go.
The warbird’s shriek drew closer. There was no time. The roar of its engines sent tremors through the ground, and every fiber in her being screamed to run, to yield, to give up the one thing they’d been hunting her for all these years.
But Myrrah squared her shoulders as she slid the crystal back into Tzian’s hand. “Take it.”
His eyes widened. “What? No, we have to—”
“Take it, and run.” Her voice held no hesitation now. The weight of her choices over the years — running, hiding, stealing — had settled in her bones long ago. There would be no redemption for her, but perhaps there could still be salvation for the city. “It’s the only way.”
Tzian hesitated, and in that moment, the shadow of the Ix warbird engulfed them both. Myrrah surged to her feet, braid snapping behind her. She broke from their cover, running toward the machine, hands spread wide in defiance. Over the roar of the engines, Tzian’s voice called after her, desperate and strangled, but she didn’t stop.
Perhaps, she thought briefly, the sands of Axmal had always been marked for sacrifice. Hers was simply the latest to be written.
As the Ix descended, weapons rising against the horizon, the crystal’s glow faded in Tzian’s grasp, miles away now from the faultline of destiny. He turned, and he ran.
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