“Isn’t today the most beautiful day you’ve ever seen?” Willow exclaimed as Faris stepped outside the hut. Due to his time wandering the world, he became accustomed to light sleep. One had to be on his guard the moment a single noise interrupted the countryside’s tranquility. Those that couldn’t awaken found a knife pressed to their throat or an animal clawing out their guts. However, since entering the village, he found it difficult to escape Hyperion’s gentle embrace. Was it the peace of the village? Could it be that his body longed for undisturbed rest? Or could it be something else, a more damaging weakness?

  Observing the day that greeted him, he said, “Yes.” Next to the Underground Sea, there were no miserable shadowed days where the sun hid itself. In the three weeks since arriving, Faris hadn’t seen one cloud in the sky. From the time the sun rose until it set, the village existed in a perpetual noonday. He found himself growing immune to the sun’s once unbearable heat. Once that challenge was over, he enjoyed the village for the paradise it was.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked. Her hands toiled with a bone necklace. Using a spiraled tool, she ground a small hole through each bone.

  “Yes,” he lied. It was true that he slept as one of the dead, but his dreams were far from peaceful. For the last week, the same nightmare tormented him. It didn’t dominate his sleep. Faris’s dreams were similar to a traveling bard. The man had many songs, but there was a small handful that he preferred above the rest. Perhaps he loved one song the most and took every opportunity to cry out the favored chorus. He would sing other melodies to keep onlookers interested, but he inserted the song at frequent intervals. Sometimes, he threaded the chorus into another tune.

  The nightmare mimicked the bard’s strategy. It assaulted him with the same horrid vision. Faris stood on a barren field. High hills rose up on every side, forming some design he could not quite make out. Though he was alone, an urgency drove him to run, but he couldn’t decide where to go. Without warning, a mighty cry burst out from above. An army from hell’s depths, shrouded in darkness, topped each hill. Their attack came without delay. In the blink of an eye, he was drowning in the swarm of enemies.

  Drawing his silver blade, he met his foes with his full might. The naked sword ripped through enemy flesh, baring bone and guts to the eye. His battle was long and hard-fought. He bathed in blood and drank in the death rattles of countless extinguished lives. There was no end to the onslaught. No matter what he did to his foes, they continued their never-ending attack, throwing their bodies into the path of his unstoppable blade.

  All the while, he felt that something was wrong. As he fought, he kept whirling around. He couldn’t leave his back exposed for long. Deep in his guts, he was certain that someone sought to hide a secret blade in his spine. It was here that he always lost his sword, no matter how hard he tried to keep it nestled in the palm of his hand. The silver weapon vanished from his sight just as the foe redoubled their efforts.

  An old temptation greeted him, as it had so many times before. “Come on,” a sultry voice crooned. “Don’t hold back. Show these curs what you are capable of. Reveal your true fury. Take your destiny in both hands.”

  “No,” he roared as a fist crashed into his face. The pain was dull, as if the wind struck him. In the swarm, two eagle-like eyes bore into him. Faris remembered them. He crossed the world to escape them. Fear pierced his heart. All his resolve turned to ash as kindling in a bonfire. Almost against his will, his hand strayed to where an obsidian blade awaited him.

  To his surprise, no hilt met his hand. Instead, a snap pain stabbed into his wrist. Recoiling, he found a wicked fanged snake burying its maw into his flesh. He cried out in terror as his enemies converged on him. Murder sang from their eyes. They would rip him apart and feast on his flesh. No one would mourn his passing. His death would be a cruel jape in the mouths of jesters. Worst of all, just as Sisyphus failed to roll the boulder up the hill, all of Faris’s efforts were in vain. After that, the dream ended and whatever he dreamed before resumed. Still, the nightmare would appear again in some manner just as the bard’s favorite song.

  Faris was at a loss for what the dream meant. Was it literal or metaphorical? During his time studying dreams, he learned that it could be either one. It was often said that dreams were omens from the gods, warnings and prophecies revealing truths mortals couldn’t foresee. However, few had the ability to understand them. An order of monks spent their lives trying to uncover the secrets behind every prophecy and dream ever recorded in mankind’s history. It was anyone’s guess if they ever understood one.

  All he knew was what he couldn’t forget. Throughout his days, it stayed at the corners of his mind, a constant intruder on his peace. Putting on a fake grin, he asked, “Where’s Cas?”

  “Father went with Issachar,” she explained. According to Willow, the two men were born without two hours of one another, a rare occurrence in a village of that size. Their fathers took it for an omen, believing the boys were destined to be souls bound by fate. When Willow was just a babe in her mother’s arms, the men fulfilled the unspoken prophecy, defending the village from a basilisk. Upon hearing the story, Faris tried to hide his doubt.

  It was more than likely a story Cas told his daughter so he could enjoy a drink with an old friend. As far as he understood it, the last basilisk was slain two hundred years ago, long before her father’s father was born. He read it in a history transcribed by Ben Sira, the great scribe of King Cyrus. Within a text thick as a man’s skull, he described in explicit detail the Seraphim’s Crusade. He could recite the first line by heart. “To end the dark ages, where beasts plagued the hearts of man, Cyrus, lord and master of the nine spires, issued a royal decree to destroy all manners of wickedness.”

  For more than two hundred years, the empire took on the once impossible task of killing every monster on earth. They climbed to the highest peaks, slaying the Thunderbird even as it hurled hundreds to their deaths. Countless ships launched to bring down the Leviathan, monster of the deep, even as its encroaching storm swallowed them in its wake. Great heroes marched through chasms, offering their lives to Hell’s guardians so the world’s nightmare could be brought to an end. King Cyrus never saw the conclusion of his mission, but one thing was certain: no monsters walked the earth for the last hundred years. If they existed, they knew better than to invade mankind’s light.

  Once her task was completed, Willow threaded a cord of grass through to create a simple necklace. She flashed a big grin in his direction. He nodded his approval. “They love them in the cities,” Cas had said when Faris watched their craft. “Many consider them perfect for declarations of love. If a man cannot obtain a gem, a bone will have to suffice.” Faris knew he spoke the truth. Searching his memory, he recalled women that wore similar jewelry to declare their attachment to one man. They were cheap trinkets that the common man could afford.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  With her newest ware finished, she stood airing a sense of finality. “I’m tired of working at the moment,” she stretched her fingers, knuckles cracking. “Care to walk with me to Sekhmet’s shrine?” Once again, he nodded his approval.

  As they walked along, Faris played along as if he were unaware of her intentions, but he knew them all too well. A woman’s tactics never changed, no matter where she existed in the world. Despite knowing little about a woman’s heart, he knew when she had her eyes narrowed on a man as a tiger does its prey. There were always signs of her interest. A random flushing of her cheeks. Excuses to continue a conversation. Paper-thin reasons to approach him. With him being a stranger in the village, some might mistake it for friendly curiosity. Willow’s behavior had gone past simple friendliness weeks ago. Besides, no woman asked a man to visit a shrine with her unless she had particular intentions in mind.

  On their way, Willow stopped and spoke with anyone who looked in her general direction. She greeted everyone with a bright smile and a pleasant salutation. Faris didn’t bother joining her in their multiple detours. Since arriving, he didn’t bother associating with the other villagers more than was necessary. After being on the road for as long as he was, he lacked the patience for dealing with too many people. Cas and Willow pushed his tolerance far beyond his boundary.

  Despite avoiding the villagers, he was well-known among them. It was impossible to go near anyone without a friendly face calling out his name in warm welcome. They didn’t appear bothered by the stranger that staggered into their homeland. From the moment he arrived, he was certain that someone would pepper him with questions about his origins, but most seemed content to leave his past a mystery. Perhaps staying with Cas and Willow was all they needed. Both father and daughter seemed to hold the village’s respect. Maybe they believed that any guest they housed was a good soul.

  Or perhaps they fear anyone that endured the desert’s rage.

  At the village’s edge, Willow’s desired destination sat under a fortress of palm trees, shielding Sekhmet’s shrine from the hot sun. It was an ideal place for the contrite, shadows hiding them from prying eyes. Inside, a single altar waited. It was a tall specter that merged into a singular loop at the top. The form was hewn from Seastone, no doubt dragged out of the underwater depths centuries ago. A sun and lioness was carved in the stone’s face. At the foot of the altar, various fishbone amulets lay scattered. “Each one has a different prayer inscribed on them,” Willow explained as she stepped closer.

  Kneeling down, she grabbed an amulet shaped in a cross. She placed the amulet around her throat before folding her hands together in prayer. Faris didn’t join her. I shouldn’t have come here, he realized at once. Staring at Willow’s back, he felt a familiar stirring in his chest. With each passing moment, it filled him with a sickening irritation. He considered telling her he was leaving, but he knew better than to interrupt anyone during their invocation to the gods. He remembered the swift hand that taught him that lesson, though he couldn’t recall the face behind it. The onlooker struggled to remember who Sekhmet was, though he knew it didn’t matter.

  In small villages, they had few options as to the gods they served. Most had one god or goddess who received all their devotion. It was a result of the Monotheistic Revolution, a zealotry that ensnared the hearts of man. According to legend, a monk from Helenopolis received a vision from a god he called, “The Great Theos.” He claimed this god wanted all to forsake their inferior gods for the one true god. The monk was executed for his heresy, but his message sparked a conflict amongst the devout unlike any the world had seen. Everyone chose their own god, believing theirs to be the ultimate deity and forsook worshipping any others. Meanwhile, they didn’t want anyone else to pray to other false deities. Though those years were long gone and the Monotheistic Revolution ended, its aftermath was seen at every corner of the world.

  Before Faris had the chance to decide if he would stay or go, Willow’s prayer ended. She stood, amulet still around her neck. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done if you refused.”

  He said nothing, feet shuffling like a child. His teeth ground together in frustration. He didn’t trust his tongue. It had betrayed him once before and all it wanted was another opportunity. This didn’t bother Willow. She had plenty to say.

  “Did Father tell you he met Mother at a bazaar?” Faris shook his head. There were many things he didn’t know about Cas. “I can’t remember what he said. You’d think I’d never forget, but it’s odd how certain facts fade away with time.” She shook her head, placing a hand on the amulet. “When she still lived, my mother said I’d find a wonderful man as she did. Being a silly little girl, I waited for the day I would leave the village and meet the man of my dreams.” Her feet moved back and forth, keeping her distance, as if fearful of taking the next step toward him. “Yet, they refused to let me see the world outside this tiny village.”

  Faris stood in silence, fearful of where this story would end. His instincts told him to run, but he couldn’t do it. His legs wouldn’t move. Willow turned away from him. “Do you find it pitiful that I have come to this altar almost every day?” She looked down at her amulet. “Sekhmet is a goddess of the sun. She specializes in war and healing. Falling in love isn’t important to her.” She gestured to the amulets. “Still, my ancestors made these various amulets to invoke different prayers, hoping the goddess would help where she could.”

  Taking a deep breath, she turned around. In the shadows, her face glowed. It made Faris want to run, but he stood still as the palm trees. “Would it be strange if I told you that you’re an answer to prayer?” she asked. A little yelp rose from her throat. Casting aside her hesitation, she raced toward him. Her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. She was warm. Faris felt her heartbeat against his chest. “Since the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you in my arms. I only stayed away because I feared it was too good to be true.” Her voice shook. “I’m sorry for being forward, but I’ve sought the gods for so long.”

  As if on their own, Faris’s arms reached up and returned her embrace. He wanted to comfort her. Willow muffled a joyful cry as she buried her face against him. Deep inside his guts, Faris felt sick. This is wrong. He couldn’t form attachments. It was dangerous for those that wandered the roads. Out in the world beyond the desert, he had a task to fulfill. If he knew this, why didn’t he leave the village days ago? He regained his strength two weeks ago. Nothing held him here and yet he stood before an altar holding a strange woman in his arms...a wonderful, beautiful woman who touched his cold heart in a way he believed impossible. Why?

  “I never believed I could feel this way.” Her head turned up, eyes sparkling. Faris’s heart raced. At once, everything became clear. It began when he first arrived in the village. He had fallen into the same trap that so many road-weary men find themselves inside. This powerful snare tangled up their feet, making escape impossible. This horrible fact doesn’t bother them. They walked into the trap willingly, just as Faris had. He knew the danger and he ignored it. At last, the trap was sprung and the world outside didn’t seem so urgent. His task didn’t matter. Besides, what was the point of running around from town to town? At the moment, Faris couldn’t remember.