[Eastern Zahryssar — Outside Sah’qir Village — Sunset]

Sunset across eastern Zahryssar looked like a wound carved across the heavens.

Gold melted slowly into crimson while endless dunes swallowed the final traces of daylight beneath drifting rivers of sand. The desert winds screamed softly across the wasteland—hot, restless, and watching.

Then suddenly emerald light tore open the air itself. Ancient runes spiraled violently across the sand as a massive portal opened between the dunes with a deep resonating hum.

And from within Arkhazunn and Varesh stepped out together, still holding each other’s hands. The moment their boots touched the desert ground, the portal collapsed behind them into glowing emerald ash.

And instantly Varesh released Arkhazunn’s hand, too quickly...far too quickly. His heart nearly jumped into his throat. Meanwhile, Arkhazunn glanced downward briefly toward the suddenly empty space between them.

Then slowly looked toward Varesh, who was now pretending the entire desert had become deeply fascinating.

"...Captain."

Varesh immediately straightened. "Yes, High Mage?"

"...are you alright?"

"I am perfectly—" He turned instinctively while answering and then froze completely, his eyes widened in shock, and the words nearly died in his throat as he mumbled. "...what...what is this?"

Arkhazunn frowned immediately before turning toward the village as well, and the moment he saw it, his own expression changed to shock, disbelief, and unease. Because the thing standing before them was no longer truly a village.

Sah’qir looked dead, not abandoned or destroyed but dead. The walls had darkened into ash-black stone, and the banners hanging near the gates looked rotted despite the desert dryness.

The wells overflowed not with water but with thick black liquid resembling melted shadow, and every single house seemed covered in strange markings burned directly into the walls.

Ancient and wrong.

No sounds came from inside, no children, no animals, no voices. Nothing...only silence. A silence so unnatural that even the desert winds seemed afraid to enter the village fully.

Varesh slowly rested one hand against the sword at his waist. Instinctively, "...this is impossible."

Arkhazunn’s emerald gaze narrowed carefully while ancient runes flickered faintly beneath his fingertips as he paused searching for the correct word.

"It feels...corrupted."

The air around Sah’qir itself felt heavy. As though the village had been submerged beneath something ancient and poisonous for centuries instead of days.

Arkhazunn slowly stepped one pace closer toward the gates, then stopped. "Should we enter?"

Varesh remained silent for several moments, watching the village carefully—too carefully because every instinct inside him was screaming.

Finally, he answered quietly. "...I think we should wait for Malik and Malika."

Arkhazunn glanced toward him. "You believe it is dangerous?"

Varesh let out a humorless breath as his eyes remained fixed upon the village. "High Mage...villages do not turn into ash-colored graves overnight."

The desert winds howled softly around them, and Varesh’s fingers tightened slightly around his sword. "Something here is deeply wrong, and until the Malik permits otherwise...we should avoid touching anything inside."

Arkhazunn nodded slowly because, unfortunately, Varesh was right; this no longer looked like a military problem. It looked cursed.

"Then we inspect the surroundings first."

Varesh finally nodded. "That would be wiser."

And just like that both men stepped away from the village gates carefully, moving toward the outer dunes to investigate the surrounding area first.

Neither noticed that the shadows near the cliffs behind Sah’qir had already begun moving, watching them and waiting.

Far away atop a distant sandstone ridge, a hooded figure stood silently beneath the crimson sunset. Entirely hidden beneath black robes, face covered, presence unreadable, he was the same mysterious man who once stood outside Silthara Palace.

The winds moved around him strangely. As though even the desert refused to touch him, then slowly the man smiled beneath the hood.

"...until we meet again..." His voice drifted softly into the burning wind. "...Zeramet."

Below him, Sah’qir Village remained silent, dead, and waiting. As though something buried beneath it had already begun waking up.

***

[Sarytharn City — The Underground Quarter — Raviel & Zyvera’s Cabin — Same Time]

The cabin door suddenly opened, and Zyvera stepped inside dramatically while holding several stolen reports beneath her arm.

"I found the information."

Across the room Raviel immediately looked up from the letters scattered across the table.

"And?" Zyvera tossed the parchment directly toward him before collapsing lazily against the couch. "Malik and Malika left Silthara Palace this morning."

Raviel’s brows furrowed immediately. "...left?"

"Yes." She stretched dramatically. "And before you ask...no, I still do not know why."

Raviel picked up the report quickly now, reading, thinking, and calculating. "Where did they go?"

Zyvera crossed one leg over the other while stealing dried figs from the nearby bowl. "Eastern Zahryssar."

That made Raviel still completely; the room quieted; even the lantern flames seemed to dim slightly. "...the eastern desert?"

Zyvera nodded, and she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "That is all the information I managed to buy, though judging from the amount of imperial guards involved...something serious must have happened."

Raviel slowly leaned back against the chair. Thinking deeply now, far too deeply.

Eastern Zahryssar, the cursed villages, and the orc rumors, and now the Malik and Malika personally leaving the capital?

Something enormous was moving then, slowly, very slowly. Raviel smiled, not casually, not lazily, but dangerously.

Zyvera immediately pointed at him accusingly. "That smile means crime."

"It means opportunity."

"That is worse."

Raviel suddenly stood from the chair. The wooden legs were scraping sharply across the floor, and then, without another word, he moved toward the hidden drawer beneath the desk and slid it open.

Immediately pink light spilled softly through the cabin again.

Zyvera sat upright instantly.

"...brother."

Inside the drawer rested the ancient necklace once belonging to Malika Ninsara. The pink diamond glowed faintly beneath the dim lanternlight, alive, beautiful, and wrong. Raviel carefully lifted the necklace before wrapping it inside dark silk cloth and placing it into a travel bag.

"We leave too."

Zyvera blinked rapidly. "...what?"

"We follow the Malika."

"WHY?!"

She nearly threw a fig at his face. Raviel sighed dramatically, as though explaining intelligence to children exhausted him deeply, and tightened the travel bag calmly.

"Because, dear sister... I trust my instincts."

Zyvera narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Your instincts once told you gambling was a sound financial strategy."

"And I almost won."

"You lost our kitchen."

"That was temporary."

Zyvera groaned loudly, but Raviel ignored her entirely now. His gaze remained fixed toward the east, toward the desert and toward something only his instincts seemed to feel as his voice lowered quietly.

"I have a feeling...that this journey will change everything."

The underground winds outside howled softly through the narrow streets. Zyvera looked at him carefully now because despite all his greed—despite all his schemes—Raviel rarely sounded serious.

Truly serious.

And tonight he did.

"...Fine," she sighed dramatically while standing from the couch. "We follow the royals into the cursed eastern desert. Which is clearly the decision of mentally stable people."

Raviel immediately smiled brightly. "That is my sweetest sister."

Then casually he ruffled her hair while walking past her toward the cabin door. "Oh, stop touching me."

"You wound me emotionally."

"You deserve emotional wounds."

Raviel chuckled softly while pushing open the cabin doors, and together the underground siblings stepped out into the streets of Sarytharn.

Toward the eastern sands, toward fate, and toward the pink light slowly awakening beneath Zahryssar.

And though neither of them realized it yet, this journey would indeed change their lives forever, not only theirs but everyone traveling toward Sah’qir Village.

Every ruler, every spy, every monster, and every serpent because deep beneath the eastern desert something ancient had already begun waking up, and it was waiting for all of them.

***

[Eastern Zahryssar — The Royal Carriage — Night]

Night had finally fallen upon the eastern desert.

Outside the royal carriage the dunes glimmered beneath silver moonlight like endless oceans made of crushed stars while cold winds swept softly across the sands.

The imperial convoy continued moving slowly through the darkness, steady and silent. Protected by rows of Red Knights carrying lanterns of blue flame.

Inside the carriage everything was quiet and peacefully quiet. Levin had fallen asleep, curled softly against Zeramet’s shoulder beneath layers of cooling silk blankets while the movement of the carriage rocked gently around them.

And Zeramet, he had stopped looking at the desert a long time ago because somewhere along the journey his entire attention had drifted toward the serpent sleeping beside him.

Toward Levin.

Always Levin.

The Malik’s golden eyes slowly traced across his sleeping face again, and again as though no matter how many times he looked he still could not fully understand how someone could look this beautiful.

Moonlight slipped softly through the carriage curtains and settled across Levin’s silver hair, turning it almost white beneath the night.

His lashes rested quietly against his cheeks, his breathing remained slow, peaceful, trusting and perhaps that was the part that affected Zeramet most.

Trust.

Levin slept beside him without caution now without distance, without pretending to stay strong. His head rested naturally against Zeramet’s shoulder while one of his hands remained lightly curled against the Malik’s chest as though even in sleep—he searched for him instinctively.

Zeramet’s gaze lowered slowly, toward Levin’s eyes, closed softly beneath lashes.

Then lower toward his nose, the faint curve of it beautiful and delicate. Then finally his lips, and Zeramet stilled again because those lips—those same lips that argued with him, kissed him, cursed him, smiled at him—now remained slightly parted in sleep.

Soft, warm and dangerously distracting. The Malik stared far longer than he should have, completely mesmerized like a man witnessing moonlight for the first time.

And suddenly something inside his chest tightened painfully, not with fear, not with desire but something gentler and far more dangerous.

Love, a real love.

The kind that turned rulers weak, the kind that made emperors willing to burn nations for one person’s safety.

Zeramet slowly lifted one hand, carefully enough not to wake him. His fingers brushed softly against Levin’s cheek, barely touching, almost reverent.

"My moonflower..." The words escaped him quietly and Instinctively.

Levin stirred faintly in his sleep then without waking moved even closer.

Zeramet froze completely because Levin buried his face lightly against his neck afterward with a tiny tired breath—as though his body already knew where safety existed.

The Malik closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by something as simple as that trust. Outside the desert winds howled endlessly. Monsters waited beneath the dunes. Ancient things stirred beneath the sands.

The empire itself stood upon the edge of something terrifying but inside the carriage for one small moment—none of it existed.

Only this.

Only him.

Only Levin sleeping peacefully beside him beneath moonlight. Zeramet opened his eyes again slowly and once more his gaze returned to Levin’s face.

Unable to stop and unwilling to stop. As though the stars themselves had somehow fallen asleep beside him.

Then quietly with a softness no court would ever believe existed within the Malik of Zahryssar—he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss against Levin’s forehead.

"I would destroy the world before I let it take you from me."

Levin did not hear the words he only sighed softly in his sleep and remained close and somehow that felt enough.

Outside the carriage—the eastern desert continued watching silently beneath the moon as though even the sands themselves understood that love this deep always became dangerous eventually.