Secrets of Satana

Arjun spent three months in Tarkhan, in hiding and in healing.

After leaving Lyria at Rhen’s cave, he made the long trek back to Crimla on foot—his body shattered, bones fractured, lungs bruised. Only the Tyran held him together. Without it, he would’ve collapsed long before reaching the outskirts. And when he finally dared to shed that indestructible shell, the weight of his injuries caught up with him. He dropped in the street like a broken puppet, the thin breath of mortality returning all at once.

A passerby found him crumpled at the roadside and rushed him to a clinic. Arjun told them it was bandits—nothing more. They didn’t ask questions. A few days later, battered but alive, he boarded a ship to Tarkhan.

His destination was Satana.

The journey was quiet. The moment his boots touched the sand of his ancestors’ homeland, the wind felt heavier. Sand and dust mixed in the air, warm and raw. Satana—the land of his mother’s dreams, the home she never made it to. He was here now, not for glory or heritage, but to disappear. To survive.

The weight of history bore down on him.

Tarkhan’s southern cities were built on the backs of the enslaved north. Once, an immortal Pharaoh ruled these lands until the Aeneans crushed her and crowned themselves the rulers of her domain. In the centuries that followed, the southern Tarkhanians—Arjun’s people—were punished for old rebellions with generations of bondage. When slavery was outlawed in the Empire, it left a vacuum of opportunity filled only by the label Coloni. A different word for the same chain.

He was born into that legacy. He carried it in his blood. And now he walked the streets of Satana with the ghost of that pain in every step. But oddly, he felt at peace. As if the land remembered him.

He found refuge with a local family. Layla, Ahmed, and their two daughters, Jamila and Aya. They ran a modest general store in the heart of Satana. When Arjun walked through their door—bloodied, limping, half-starved—they didn’t turn him away. They saw something in his eyes. Maybe pain. Maybe purpose. Maybe someone who reminded them of the son they lost.

Eman, their eldest, had died in the Zhang War. His room had stayed untouched since, and it became Arjun’s sanctuary for the next three months. He paid what he could from the money Ringo left him, but it never felt like enough. So he worked. Stocking shelves, unloading shipments, helping at the store. It gave him structure. Something to cling to.

The family accepted him quickly. Aya, only seven, constantly followed him around. Jamila, sixteen, was quieter—curious, sharp-eyed. Ahmed made frequent jokes about Arjun marrying her and taking over the store. Layla called him habibi when he carried heavy crates for her.

And he… he loved them. More than he should’ve. Because deep down, he knew it couldn’t last.

They didn’t know about Ringo. They didn’t know about the Shaft of Crux. They didn’t know about the Keepers or his epithet. All they knew was that he was a bounty hunter waiting for his partner to come pick him up after a job gone wrong. And sometimes, Arjun wished that was the whole truth.

By August, his bones had healed. The bruises had faded. But the weight in his chest never left.

Each night he went to the docks, scanning the skies for the silhouette of the Soulchaser. Each night he returned home a little more unsure. 

Was Ringo dead? Caught? Tortured?

What if he never came?

Ahmed had noticed the change in him—his silence, the way he stared too long at the sand, the twitch in his hand when loud voices filled the streets.

On the morning of the 27th, the sun rose like it always did—hot and golden, beating down on the adobe rooftops of Satana. Arjun walked beside Ahmed through the narrow streets, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, his eyes distant.

Ahmed glanced over, then grunted. “You look like you haven’t slept, boy.”

Arjun blinked back to the present. “Just… got things on my mind.”

“Your partner?”

“Yeah. Should’ve been here by now.”

Ahmed squinted at the horizon. “Maybe he shows up today. Maybe tomorrow.”

Arjun nodded half-heartedly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They reached the front of the store, its wooden sign swaying in the breeze. Satana Goods. Layla and Jamila were already setting up the front stalls, greeting the early shoppers. Ahmed smiled at his wife, then leaned toward Arjun.

“You’ve done more for us than you know,” he said quietly. “And if he doesn’t show up… just know you’ll always have a place here.”

Arjun smiled, genuinely this time. “Thanks, Ahmed. That means a lot.”

“Now come on,” Ahmed added, clapping him on the back. “We’ve got a shipment coming in, and my back ain’t what it used to be. You’re gonna help me at the docks.”

“Yeah, alright,” Arjun said with a faint laugh.

They stepped inside the store. Ahmed greeted Layla with an exaggerated kiss. Jamila rolled her eyes and handed Arjun a ledger.

“We’re expecting the usual, you know what to look for,” she said, half-jokingly.

“I’ll make sure your father doesn’t screw it up,” Arjun said, winking.

Ahmed waved him toward the back. “Let’s hook up the boar to the wagon and go meet Bracus. Don’t want him thinking we forgot.”

And so, they set off once more toward the docks. Arjun guided the old boar, its hooves kicking up dust along the sunbaked road, while Ahmed walked a few paces ahead, humming a cheerful tune despite the heat already rising off the stones.

The docks of Satana were alive with movement. Cargo ships floated lazily just off the piers, merchants barked prices over the din, and peacekeepers watched from shaded posts. The smell of sand and sunbaked wood hung heavy in the air.

Standing in front of a modest cargo skiff was Bracus—a burly Aenean with a shaved head and arms like tree trunks. He stood tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed over a barrel chest, a scowl plastered across his weathered face.

When he spotted them, he stomped over with theatrical outrage. “Finally! You think I’ve got all day to sit around roasting in this damn sun? Huh? Time’s money and you’re wastin’ mine!”

Ahmed just laughed, striding up to him with open arms. “Ahh, yuh almughafal! You’re not that busy!”

Bracus cracked a grin and met him halfway, their hug rough and full of back-slapping force. “Always makin’ me wait, you old dog.”

Ahmed handed over a thick stack of senecs, already counted. “Same as always, friend. We’ll see you on the seventh?”

Bracus nodded, tucking the money into a pouch at his belt. “If the winds are kind. Jamila’s got the radio, right?”

“She does. We’ll let you know if the order changes.”

“Good. I’ll be flying the Great Tether routes ‘til the end of the month. Don’t keep me waiting next time!” Bracus winked as he turned and started prepping his ship for departure.

Arjun and Ahmed wasted no time loading the crates Bracus had stacked neatly on the dock. It was a good haul—spices, dried fruits, sacks of grain, preserved meats—enough to supply the store for nearly twenty days. The boar snorted and grumbled as they stacked the goods onto the wagon.

Arjun hefted a heavy crate on his own with a grunt, his muscles straining against the weight. Ahmed whistled low and wiped sweat from his brow.

“Your bones seem to have healed up better than I expected. Looks like you’re built stronger than you let on, kid.”

Arjun set the crate down with a thud, breathing heavily but grinning. “Yeah… feels good to finally feel normal again.”

Ahmed chuckled. “Good. A strong back like yours could build an empire.”

Arjun smiled, but something caught his eye—and the world around him seemed to fade into the background.

On the horizon, cutting through the clear pink sky, a familiar silhouette loomed.

The Soulchaser.

Mist-pink balloons carried its steel-gray frame toward the dockyard, its engines whispering like an old friend’s voice in his ears. Arjun’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought it was a hallucination, some cruel mirage summoned by his hope.

But it was real.

Arjun stared, wide-eyed.

Ahmed followed his gaze. “Is that… the ship?”

Arjun snapped back to life, grinning so wide it hurt. “Yeah! That’s it!”

Without another word, he sprinted toward the dock where the airship was descending. The boar snorted in protest behind him, but Arjun didn’t care. His boots pounded against the planks as the ship docked, secured by the automated mooring arms.

The hatch opened with a hiss of pressurized air—and there he was.

Ringo stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the golden morning light. His hat was tilted low, his revolvers hanging from his hips, his coat flapping lightly in the breeze. Alive. Whole. Unbroken.

Arjun didn’t think—he just ran.

He collided into Ringo in a crushing hug, nearly knocking the older man backward.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Arjun mumbled into his coat.

Ringo grunted and patted him firmly on the back, holding him there for a long moment. A rare, honest gesture between two men who’d survived too much.

“Told yuh,” Ringo said softly. “Ain’t never broke muh word tuh yuh. Wasn’t gonna start now.”

Ahmed caught up, laughing as he approached. “So you’re the infamous partner we’ve heard so much about!”

Arjun stepped back, beaming with pride as Ringo made his way down the gangplank. He stuck out a hand toward Ahmed.

“Fischer,” Ringo said simply.

Ahmed ignored the hand, grabbing him in a rough embrace and giving him two hearty slaps on the back. “We don’t shake hands around here, friend. I’m Ahmed.”

Ringo smirked under the brim of his hat. “Pleasure tuh meet yuh.”

Ahmed stepped back, grinning. “You’re part of the family now, whether you like it or not. My wife makes the best shawarma in all Satana,” Ahmed said proudly. “You’re eating with us tonight, no arguments.”

Arjun laughed. “Fischer’s usually on a strict diet—”

“It’d be rude tuh say no,” Ringo interrupted with a wink.

Ahmed clapped his hands together. “Perfect! We’ll expect you at nine sharp.” He turned to Arjun. “I can take care of the rest of this. You go have fun.”

He turned to finish loading the last few crates, whistling happily to himself.

Ringo looked back at Arjun, eyes serious again. “C’mon. Got somethin’ important tuh show yuh on the ship.”

Arjun’s stomach twisted—not from fear, but from excitement. For the first time in months, it felt like the world was moving again. He nodded, falling into step behind Ringo as they headed up the gangplank together.

Above them, the Soulchaser’s balloons swayed in the wind—battered but proud.

The hatch sealed behind them with a mechanical hiss as Arjun followed Ringo into the main hull of the Soulchaser. It was dim, lit only by low amber lights running along the overhead beams. The familiar scent of engine oil and brass filled the space. But what caught Arjun’s attention were the two figures seated in the corner.

One was a frail old man slumped in a wheelchair. His head, bald and liver-spotted, leaned against the cushion. He was clearly asleep, snoring faintly. A blanket covered his legs, but Arjun could see from the stiffness of his posture that he was paralyzed from the neck down.

Standing behind him was a tall, broad-shouldered woman clad in steel-plated armor from the neck down. Her hands rested calmly on the hilt of a broadsword strapped to her waist, but her gaze was fixed with quiet devotion on the old man’s breathing. Protective. Watchful.

“That’s Grizald,” Ringo said, nodding toward the man. “And that’s his twin, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth nodded her head in greeting, her expression unreadable beneath her short-cropped auburn hair.

Arjun blinked. “Twins? He doesn’t look like he can do much.”

“Not physically,” Ringo replied. “But he’s got one of the most useful epithets I ever seen. When Grizald’s close enough tuh an epithet user, he can peer through their eyes—see what they see. But he’s mute, blind, deaf, and paralyzed. That’s where Elizabeth comes in.”

Arjun looked at her, brow raised. “She speaks for him?”

“More than that. Her soul’s bound tuh his. She can read his thoughts, even speak his words if she needs to. It’s the first duo-epithet I ever came across. Only works when they’re together.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile at that.

“What are they doing here?” Arjun asked, gesturing to her with curiosity. “No offense.”

“They’ve been helpin’ me,” Ringo said. “Last three months, I been trackin’ old allies, buildin’ a plan. With Grizald sniffin’ out epithet users and Elizabeth relayin’ what he sees, we’ve found a few folks we’ll need against the Keepers.”

Arjun folded his arms. “So it’s true. Rhen was right. You’re building an army.”

Ringo sighed. “Not at first. I wasn’t planning a war, not when we found the Shaft. I wanted it locked away, fer safe keepin’. But after what the Keepers did tuh me—what they’re doin’—they made it clear. It’s war or submission. No middle ground.”

Arjun’s voice tightened. “So we’re really doing this? Hunting down Staff pieces, fighting immortals? Another Crux War?”

Ringo gave a nod. “Looks like it.”

Arjun’s face hardened. “Rhen told me you’re looking for a woman named Tano. Said she might help us. That why you wanted to meet in Satana?”

Ringo nodded again. “When the storms hit Catania, I knew we couldn’t wait anymore. Out of em all, Rhen and Tano were the most important. How’s Rhen holdin’ up?”

“He’s… fine. After feasting on Marcus.”

Ringo’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Woulda paid a fortune tuh see Marcus’ face.”

Arjun’s jaw tightened. “You would’ve seen it after he shattered every bone in my body and tortured Lyria.”

Ringo’s expression darkened. “Lyria? Why in hell was she even there?”

Arjun ignored Ringo’s question. “You didn’t tell me any of this was going to happen. You said worse people than the Phantom Brotherhood would come after us—but you didn’t mention a secret society of immortals would torture my friend and nearly kill me.”

Ringo bowed his head, shame in his voice. “I was tryin’ tuh avoid it. I really was.”

“No,” Arjun said, his voice quiet and controlled. “You knew there was no way to avoid it. You just didn’t know when it would start. You knew what this was from the second you took the Shaft from Kazem, and instead of telling me, you sent me to Rhen to unknowingly recruit him for your war.”

Ringo didn’t deny it.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “I’ve known Ringo since before the first Crux War. He’s not a man who hides from a fight, but he is one who carries too much alone. This war isn’t about power—it’s about saving what’s left of the universe. And unfortunately, Ringo is never the one who worries people. He’s always the one who just acts.”

Arjun exhaled slowly. “I’ll fight in this war with you. I just wish I heard about it from you.”

Ringo stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I do apologize, Arjun. I was wrong. Yuh earned the truth, and I shoulda trusted yuh with it.”

The tension eased slightly. Arjun nodded, accepting the apology, but he still looked weary.

Ringo tried to lighten the mood. “So… yuh’ve been livin’ with that fella at the docks? And yuh saw that girl from Sufar, too. Seems like yuh had an adventure of yer own.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Arjun muttered.

“That bad, huh?”

“She seduced me. First night in Crimla. Took me on this ridiculous city-wide ‘date’, slept with me, and then stole the Shaft while I was asleep.”

Ringo blinked. “Yuh slept with someone? Hell, never thought I’d see the day. Did yuh at least enjoy it?”

Arjun flushed. “It was… it was the best thing I’ve ever felt. And, uh… I think I learned something new about my powers.”

“Yeah?”

“I—I can transfer my consciousness to other people. It… happened while we were doing it.”

Ringo choked. “Yuh tellin’ me yuh swapped bodies during sex?”

“Yeah. Right at the end.”

Ringo rubbed his temples. “Well… that’s one way tuh figure it out.”

Arjun gave a half-smile. “Didn’t help. She still took the bag. I chased her down, told her what the Shaft was. She gave it back, but she’d stalled me long enough for Marcus to find us. Everything went to shit.”

“And yuh beat him? After all that?”

“Covered myself in tyran. Did what I could to bust him up. He got too close to Rhen, and Rhen finished the job.”

“Good. Marcus deserved worse.”

Elizabeth whistled. “An immortal slain by a mortal kid. I’m impressed.”

Arjun looked down. “I should’ve gone straight to Rhen. Could’ve avoided it all.”

“Yuh survived,” Ringo said. “Yuh protected the Shaft. That’s what matters.”

Arjun’s eyes welled up. “But why did she do that to me?”

Elizabeth stepped forward and crouched beside him. “Because she saw a good heart and tried to take advantage of it. That’s on her, not you.”

Ringo nodded. “And yuh found a good family here. Sound like good folk.”

Arjun sniffed. “They’ve been great. Treated me like a son.”

“Then I reckon I owe ‘em that dinner.”

Arjun arched a brow. “You don’t even eat.”

“I didn’t,” Ringo said with a shrug. “But bein’ mortal for a while reminded me what it meant tuh appreciate the little things.”

Arjun blinked. “Wait… mortal? The Keepers got you?”

Ringo nodded. “Locked me up in Ad Alsium. Put a collar on me tuh suppress muh epithet, threw me in the Premislaus Colosseum. Thought they could break me.”

“How’d you get out?”

“Old friend helped. Been buildin’ the army ever since.”

“So why Satana? Why Tano?”

“What’d Rhen tell yuh?”

“That she used the Gem of Death to rule over Tarkhan. That the Keepers sealed her away.”

Ringo nodded. “She used tuh be a Keeper—‘fore she turned rogue. Took the Gem and ran. Sneakin’ Snake used the Aeneans tuh hunt her down. She’s probably the last person who saw the Gem. And if we free ‘er… she might just help us.”

Arjun looked uneasy. “So we really are building the Staff.”

There was a heavy silence. Then Ringo said it, voice low and certain:

“Yeah. We are.”

“And it’s gonna end the world?”

Ringo hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. But better we end it on our terms than let Externus erase it from the outside. Mist’s risin’ anyhow. World’s got fifty years left—if that. Crux needs an end… we’re just deciding how it’s gonna.”

Arjun looked down, his thoughts drifting to Jamila, to Lyria, to the smiling faces of Layla and Ahmed. Could he really be part of something that would kill them all?

Ringo noticed the silence growing heavy.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Let’s get off this ship. Let Grizald rest. You and me—we got a lot to plan. But right now, we could use a drink.”

Arjun looked up, eyes still tired, but his lips twitched into a small, grateful smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “A drink sounds good.”

The two of them stepped into the heart of Satana, its sandstone alleys glowing gold beneath the waning afternoon sun. They found a shaded tavern nestled between two vendors hawking glass trinkets and kebobs, the kind of place that had existed for so long no one could remember when it hadn’t been there. Inside, the air was cool and heavy with the scent of cumin and ale—a welcome refuge from the heat.

They caught up over a few drinks, Ringo leaning back in his chair, spinning stories about his recent travels. He spoke of immortals scattered across the Empire—one he’d found living as a Mycolic shaman in the Entellan mountains, another masquerading as the Warden’s advisor in Sairan. He spoke with the kind of distance that made Arjun realize just how long Ringo had been at this. How much he had done in their time apart.

It was almost easy to forget the war brewing behind their smiles.

When the heat began to wane, they left the tavern and wandered the city. Arjun showed him the little things—a market stall that always gave Aya free figs, a mural painted by neighborhood children, a stone ledge above the street where he and Jamila had shared many late night conversations.

He talked, more than he usually did. About Ahmed, Layla, cooking with Jamila, the stories he told Aya before bed. He spoke like someone who had found a home for the first time.

Ringo listened, nodding gently. His face softened with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Beneath the smile, his chest tightened. He was going to pull Arjun away from all this—probably for good.

The sky had just started to bleed into red and orange hues when they returned to the family home. The scent of cumin, turmeric, and roasted lamb drifted from the windows, and Arjun sighed contentedly as he opened the door.

“Arjun, is that you?” Layla called from the kitchen.

“It’s me!” he answered, grinning as he stepped inside.

“Arjun!” a small voice squealed.

Aya darted into the common room and launched herself into his arms. He caught her and spun her once before setting her down and ruffling her hair.

“Hey, you! How was temple today?”

Aya groaned. “It’s so boring. Why do I have to know what happened before the mist?”

Arjun hesitated just a second—long enough for Ringo to notice—then smiled again. “Because history’s the only thing that keeps us from making the same mistakes.”

“But I can’t stop gods!”

“You never know,” he said with a wink. “You could be more powerful than you think.”

Ringo laughed.

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

Ringo dipped his head and touched the brim of his hat. “Name’s Fischer. And you, little lady?”

“Aya. I like your hat!”

“Well, thank yuh kindly. I like yer dress.”

She curtsied dramatically. “Why, thank you.”

“Aya!” Layla called. “Stop pestering and come help!”

“I wasn’t annoying anyone!” she shouted back, but ran off giggling anyway.

Arjun motioned toward the dining table. “Make yourself at home.”

Ringo sat, glancing around the space; modest, warm, filled with signs of life. Family photos. Hand-sewn curtains. A cracked bowl repurposed as a planter.

“Cozy spot,” he said. “Yuh been livin’ good.”

“Yeah, it’s been great. I miss the ship sometimes, though—I miss waking up in a new place more than I miss the bunk.”

Ringo grinned. “Well, if all goes well, tomorrow, we’ll be doin’ some of that soon enough.”

Just then, Jamila walked in carrying a pitcher of wine and glasses for everyone. She wore a soft blue dress and a sharp, curious expression.

“You’re hunting a bounty here?” she asked as she poured all three of them a glass.

Ringo rose slightly, tipping his hat. “Fischer. Pleasure.”

She shook his hand, appraising him. “Jamila.”

He sat again, accepting the glass she offered. “And yes, ma’am. Huntin’ a woman who’s been hidin’ a long while.”

“What’d she do?”

“Stole somethin’ valuable. From some powerful folks.”

Jamila raised a brow. “And you were hired to get it back?”

“Not exactly,” Arjun said, intertwining his fingers and resting them on the table. “We’re looking for it ourselves. To keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Jamila took a long sip, watching them over the rim of her glass. “So what is it?”

Ringo shook his head. “Can’t say, darlin’. Too risky. Even knowin’ about it could bring trouble to yer doorstep.”

She looked at Arjun, eyes narrowing. “No wonder you showed up so bruised.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” he murmured, glancing toward Ringo.

“No ma’am,” Ringo added. “Things escalated. But we’re in it now.”

Jamila gave a slow, skeptical nod, then leaned back in her chair. “Well… just make sure you both make it out of it alive.”

Before either of them could respond, the front door swung open and Ahmed stepped in, dusting his hands off on his apron.

“Good evening, my friends!” he boomed. “Fischer, I’m glad you could make it.”

Ringo rose slightly, tipping his hat with his usual ease. “Evenin’. Appreciate the warm welcome.”

“No, sit, please. My wife will have the food out any minute,” Ahmed said, brushing the dust from his boots. He turned toward his eldest daughter. “Jamila, can you help your mother with the food?”

Jamila nodded and left the room, passing her younger sister on the way.

“Baba!” Aya shrieked with joy as she ran into the common room. She threw herself into Ahmed’s arms, and he caught her with a laugh.

“There’s my little light,” he said, lifting her high and planting a kiss on her cheek. “You were good at temple today, yeah?”

She made a noncommittal grunt as he set her down, and then wandered toward the kitchen at Jamila’s call.

Soon the room filled with the smell of lamb, warm bread, and roasted spice. Layla and Jamila returned carrying wide ceramic plates—the first stacked high with thinly shaved lamb, nestled beside a mixture of cucumbers, tomatoes, and onions. The second was heaped with steaming couscous. Next came a bowl of tahini and a fresh stack of soft, golden pita, warm to the touch. Aya followed, placing empty plates in front of everyone.

Layla beamed with pride as she set everything down. “Please, everyone—help yourselves!”

Ringo made a modest plate, scooping meat into pita and adding vegetables and tahini before taking a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, then tipped his head toward Layla. “Yuh know yer way ‘round the kitchen, ma’am.”

Layla smiled, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Thank you. And you are…?”

“Fischer,” Ringo said with a small salute of his fingers. “Pleased tuh be at yer table.”

“I’m Layla. I’m sure you’ve met the rest.”

“Reckon I have.”

Ahmed poured wine into the glasses Jamila had placed, then turned to Ringo, already halfway through chewing. “You should’ve seen the ship he came in on,” he said, mouth still full. “Looks like it could punch through a mistian storm.”

“Is it submistial?” Jamila asked, sitting beside Arjun and pouring herself another glass.

Ringo nodded between bites. “Helium Submistial Explorer. Call ‘er the Soulchaser. Been mine fer an eternity.”

Ahmed raised his brows. “One of those Grusian builds?”

“Yup. Picked ‘er up from Monstrum back when the sky was a little less full o’ traffic. Holds together real well for ‘er age.”

“She looked like she could handle a few mistians,” Ahmed mused.

“She’s done more than her fair share,” Ringo said, a knowing grin on his face as he locked eyes with Arjun.

“So where are you from, Fischer?” Layla asked.

“Reckon yuh ain’t heard of it. A place long gone—El Paso del Norte.”

Ahmed leaned in, curious. “Is that Novan?”

Ringo shook his head. “Ain’t even close tuh Nova. Place got swallowed up by time.”

Aya looked up from her plate. “Was it hot there too?”

“Hotter,” Ringo said with a chuckle. “But a lot like here.”

“Is everywhere hot and sandy?” she groaned.

“Just Tarkhan, little lady,” Arjun replied.

“Good. I’m going somewhere cold when I grow up.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ringo added with a grin.

Layla sipped her wine and glanced at Ringo. “So… what brings you to Satana?”

Before Ringo could speak, Arjun stepped in. “We’re here for a bounty.”

Layla raised a brow. “A bounty? What kind?”

“Someone’s been hidin’ a long time,” Ringo said. “We’re lookin’ tuh find her ‘fore someone else does.”

Ahmed furrowed his brow. “A fugitive in Satana?”

“She’s not dangerous to us,” Arjun said. “But what she’s hidin’ could be, if the wrong people find it.”

Jamila narrowed her eyes. “So you’re not just bounty hunters.”

Ringo smiled, his tone shifting serious. “Sometimes, we’re more than that.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Layla said, watching her daughters.

“Danger follows people like us whether we chase it or not,” Arjun added.

The table fell quiet, the weight of unspoken truths thick in the air.

Ringo shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Well… Arjun can stay if he wants, but I gotta head out. Got some matters tuh tend to tonight.”

“I’ll stay one more night,” Arjun said, turning to him. “I’ll meet you at the Soulchaser in the morning?”

Ringo nodded. “Sounds good.” He stood and adjusted his coat. “Food was excellent, Layla. Real pleasure meetin’ y’all.”

“But so soon?” Ahmed asked. “We’ve barely started.”

Ringo gave a small smile. “Wish I could stay longer. Truly. But duty calls.”

Ahmed stood and offered his hand, but pulled Ringo into a warm embrace instead. “You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

Ringo returned the hug with a light pat on the back. “Appreciate that, Ahmed. I’ll be seein’ yuh.”

The door shut behind Ringo, the faint clack of his boots trailing into the evening silence.

“He’s an odd one,” Layla said, staring after the closed door.

“He’s older than he looks,” Arjun replied, swirling the last of the wine in his glass. “Seen more than most. Fought men most wouldn’t dare cross paths with.”

“I liked him,” Ahmed added. “Looks like you’re in good hands, Arjun.”

Aya looked up from licking tahini off her fingers. “He liked my dress,” she declared proudly.

Everyone chuckled, and Arjun gave her a light nudge with his elbow. “He has good taste. But we’ve been through a lot together. Until I met you all, he was the only family I had… aside from Christopher.”

Jamila poured herself a little more wine. “You two seem close. Like… really close. How did you meet him?”

Arjun paused for a moment, his thumb circling the rim of his glass as he organized his thoughts.

“I was twelve. Living at the Abeldarus Temple of Falecrine. Orphaned. Me and my brother, Christopher. One day they sent me into the city to fetch supplies… and that’s when I met him.”

“Fischer?” Layla asked.

He nodded. “He was at the market, questioning a shopkeeper about a bounty. I don’t know what it was exactly, but something drew me in. Maybe it was the way he talked, or the look in his eyes. Like he knew more about the world than anyone else I’d ever met.”

“So you just… walked up to him?” Jamila asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“I did,” Arjun chuckled. “I asked him about bounties. About the Crux. We talked for maybe an hour. And then he asked if I wanted to come with him. Said he could teach me to fight. To survive.”

“And you just… left?” Layla asked gently.

“I knew I wouldn’t stay at the temple much longer. I knew I’d be sent to South Alsium once I turned thirteen. I didn’t want to die in someone else’s war, and I didn’t want to be forgotten.”

Everyone fell quiet for a beat.

“What about your brother?” Jamila finally asked.

Arjun looked down. “I left him behind. I’ve written to him over the years, but I’ve never gotten a response. I mean, how could I? Until now, I’ve never stayed in one place long enough. I doubt he’s still in Falecrine, though. He’s probably been sent to South Alsium by now.”

Ahmed set down his glass, his voice rough. “That’s a damn shame. I’m tired of this war. Tired of watching our sons thrown into it over some century-old grudge. I hope your brother makes it out. I’m one of the lucky ones—I got to come home.”

“Baba,” Jamila said, her voice sharp, “it’s not just a grudge. They poisoned our people with gaigo. They still do.”

“Our people?” Ahmed snapped, turning to her. “The Aeneans are not our people. They took our land. Enslaved us. Forced us to fight their wars. They killed your brother, Jamila. They took Eman from us.”

“Everyone,” Layla said firmly, her voice calm but cutting through the tension. “No politics at the table. Please.”

Silence followed. Ahmed exhaled and softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry, my love. And Arjun, I didn’t mean to darken your last night.”

“No, it’s alright,” Arjun said quietly. “I understand. I really do. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

Layla exhaled. “Why don’t we clear the table, and you kids go enjoy the night? Jamila, could you help me bring the dishes to the basin?”

Jamila nodded and began to gather plates. Aya bounced up to help, chattering about the shawarma and how she liked Arjun’s new friend even though he talks weird.

As the others moved into the kitchen, Arjun lingered in the dining room, eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight. The soft, rhythmic sway of the flame felt like a quiet mirror to his thoughts—unsettled, restless.

Ahmed came around and placed a warm, calloused hand on Arjun’s shoulder. “You’ve brought something good into this house, Arjun. Whatever happens when you leave with Fischer… you’ve always got a home here. Always.”

Arjun looked up, his throat tight. “Thank you, Ahmed. For everything. I mean it.”

Ahmed gave his shoulder a squeeze. “No need to thank me, son. Just… come back someday. Even just to visit.”

Arjun laid his hand on top of Ahmed’s. “I will. I promise.”

Ahmed chuckled, masking the emotion behind his voice. “Good. Now, why don’t you go spend some more time with my daughter before you break her heart.”

As if summoned, Jamila reappeared, wiping her hands on a towel. “Looks like I’m off kitchen duty. Feel like one last walk?”

Ahmed winked and headed upstairs to his office to do some accounting for the store.

Arjun hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, let’s go.”

They snagged a bottle of wine from the cabinet and stepped out into the night. The heat had finally begun to fade, the cool desert air whispering against their skin as they made their way through the quiet streets. A few lights still glowed in the windows, and distant laughter echoed in the night.

They arrived at their usual spot—a stone ledge tucked away above the road, where the city unfolded before them in golden lights and low, familiar rooftops. The stars shone fiercely above, the sky a deep, endless black in the moonless night.

Jamila sat first, letting her legs dangle over the ledge. She uncorked the bottle and took a slow drink before passing it to Arjun.

“So,” she said, gazing out across the rooftops, “this is it, huh?”

Arjun took a long sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and passed the bottle back. “Yeah. For now.”

“You think you’ll come back?”

He nodded slowly. “I have more reason to come back here than anywhere else in the Empire.”

They sat in a quiet lull, the wine warming their chests.

“What’s it like out there?” Jamila asked. “Outside Tarkhan. The furthest I’ve ever been is Qiden, and even that’s just the other side of this island.”

Arjun smiled, looking upward. “Tarkhan is the only place I’ve seen with this much sand. Most places are green—mountains, rivers, forests that stretch forever. Cities built around natural wonders. There’s beauty… and a lot of ugliness too.”

“What about the people?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Some places are kind. Others look at us and see Coloni. No matter how free you are, your skin writes your story before your voice ever does.”

Jamila looked at him, her expression soft. “And you’ve been managing all this time?”

“I’ve had help,” he admitted. “Ringo’s… a powerful ally.”

“Ringo?” she asked, tilting her head. “You mean Fischer?”

Arjun winced. “Can you keep a secret?”

Jamila narrowed her eyes. “You’ve already told me.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Well… yeah. Fischer is Ringo. The Ringo. The one from the Crux.”

Jamila blinked, her brow furrowing. “I knew there was something strange about him. Talking about lands lost to time… You really are involved in something dangerous, aren’t you? I thought Ringo vanished after the mist started rising.”

“He did. For a while.” Arjun’s voice was quiet. “He came to the Empire around six centuries ago, not long after the Tarkhanian-Aenean War. Why, I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it. Just said it was time.”

“And he’s been what? Hiding here all this time?”

“Hunting epithet users,” Arjun said. “Tracking them down when they use their powers to hurt people.”

Jamila gave him a sideways look. “You’ve really seen them? Epithets?”

Arjun didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he placed his hand on the stone ledge. A shimmer of energy rippled up his arm, transforming his skin into that very stone. He held it out toward her.

“I have one too.”

Jamila recoiled slightly, eyes wide. “You—what? Arjun! I’ve known you for months and you’re only telling me this now?”

“I had to keep you safe,” he said. “I showed up beaten half to death because one of the people hunting me caught up. I didn’t want to put you or your family in danger.”

She shook her head, took a swig from the bottle, and handed it to him. “Are you going to be okay?”

Arjun drank and nodded. “I’ve made it this far. Ringo and I… we’ve survived a lot.”

The silence between them stretched. The stars above shimmered in the distance like ancient eyes.

Jamila reached for his cheek, guiding his face toward hers. She kissed him—soft, but full of something desperate. When she pulled away, her voice cracked. “Please stay. We could have a life here. You could run the store, marry me. We could be happy. I love you, Arjun. I mean it.”

His chest tightened as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I love you too. You and your family… you’ve shown me what peace feels like. What home could be. But this life… it’s not meant for me.”

“Why not?” she whispered, her voice trembling. 

“I’ve seen too much. Done too much. I carry things I can’t leave behind. And now, I have a chance to do something about it. Something that might save a lot more people.”

“Then let me come with you,” she pleaded. “Let me help. We can face it together.”

“It’s too dangerous, Jamila. Just being a passenger on the Soulchaser puts a target on your back. The people after us are incredibly powerful and will stop at nothing to stop us.”

She sobbed softly. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose the one person who actually saw me. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

He held her tighter. “You’re not losing me. I’ll come back. I’ll write. This isn’t forever. It’s just… goodbye for now.”

She sniffled and looked down. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” He smiled faintly. “If I could stay, I would.”

She took another sip from the bottle and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then her voice shifted—softer, but edged with doubt. “You really think following Ringo is the right path? That you’re making the world better with him?”

Arjun paused. “The stories you know about him… they’re written by people who hated him. The Lost God and his followers were the ones who wrote the Crux.”

“Maybe. But Ringo caused the Crux Wars. He unleashed the mist. If it wasn’t for the Lost God, we’d all be dead. The way I was taught—he destroyed humanity, and the Lost God saved it.”

“Then why does the Lost God disappear for millennia at a time while Ringo’s still out there, fighting to clean up the mess?” Arjun asked. “Ringo tried to stop the Staff from ever being built. He tried to stop this entire mess before it started.”

“He still caused the Crux Wars.”

“And the Lost God let it happen. They all did.”

She sat back, staring at the sky, conflicted. “It’s hard to see the world differently when you’ve been taught one version your whole life.”

Arjun reached for her hand. “You don’t have to believe what I believe. Just believe in me.”

She met his gaze. “Then promise me one thing: you won’t let him turn you into someone you’re not.”

“I promise.”

They sat a moment longer, and then she stood, brushing off her dress. “We should get back. You have an early morning.”

Arjun stood beside her. “Yeah. Time to get some rest.”

They walked back through the quiet streets of Satana, the wine bottle swinging lightly in Jamila’s hand. Neither of them spoke. Their words had dried up, replaced by the steady rhythm of their footsteps and the weight of unspoken farewells pressing between them.

When they reached the house, it was dark and still. Lights off. Doors closed. Everyone was already in bed.

They said nothing as they parted in the hallway. Jamila placed the half-empty bottle back in the cabinet and gave Arjun a final look before disappearing into her room. Arjun stood alone for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the doorframe.

Then he slipped into the room that had been his for the past three months—the room that once belonged to a boy named Eman. The bed creaked familiarly beneath him as he sat down. He stared at the lamplight creeping in through the slatted window, tracing its path across the floor like a line he had to cross.

Sleep didn’t come easy. The weight of the coming day settled over him like a second blanket, hot and suffocating. But the wine dulled the sharpest edges of his thoughts, and eventually, his eyes slipped shut.

Arjun awoke to the warmth of sunlight and the faint smell of coffee and tea drifting through the house. For a few seconds, he laid still, trying to pretend it was any other morning. But his packed bag in the corner of the room said otherwise. So did the tightness in his chest.

Today was the day he’d say goodbye.

He dressed slowly, savoring every step of his routine—folding his clothes just so, tightening the straps on his gamas, securing his weapons at his hips for the first time in months. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he barely recognized the boy who’d staggered into that store three months ago.

Downstairs, the soft murmur of voices pulled him from his thoughts. He stepped into the living room to find the whole family already gathered around the table—mugs in hand.

“There he is!” Ahmed called, rising with a broad smile. He crossed the room and wrapped Arjun in a bear hug. “Stay safe out there, Arjun.”

He stepped back and reached into his pocket. From it, he pulled a delicate golden necklace strung with a sapphire-like gemstone that shimmered faintly in the morning light.

“This was meant for Eman,” Ahmed said, his voice suddenly thick. “For when he came home. But… he won’t be. So maybe it’s time to be meant for someone else.”

Arjun’s breath caught. “Ahmed… I—I can’t take this.”

Ahmed shook his head gently and pressed it into his hand. “You can. If you feel wrong keeping it, bring it back to me next time.”

Arjun fastened it around his neck, fingers lingering at the gem. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

Next came Aya, who ran up clutching a folded piece of paper. “Here!” she said breathlessly. “I made you something!”

He unfolded it—stick figures, smiling under a big yellow sun. Himself in the center, surrounded by the whole family.

“So you won’t forget about us,” she added.

A tear slipped from Arjun’s eye as he knelt to hug her. “Thank you, Aya. I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’re coming back, right?” she asked, her small arms squeezing tight around his neck.

He swallowed hard. “I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll see.”

Layla came next, her eyes soft with motherly warmth. She pulled him into a firm embrace. “Goodbye, habibi. Don’t be a stranger. Come home to visit.”

“I will,” he whispered, “I promise.”

Finally, Jamila stood apart, her arms crossed, her eyes hidden behind the curtain of her dark hair. Arjun walked to her, reached for her hand.

“Just for now,” he said.

She looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were red but clear. “Just for now,” she echoed, and wrapped her arms around him.

They held each other in silence, knowing no amount of words would make parting easier.

Arjun gave one last look to the family who had taken him in like their own. He smiled through his tears, waved a quiet goodbye, and opened the front door.

The morning light hit his face. As the door closed behind him, something shifted in the air—finality. The chapter was over.

He walked alone through the streets of Satana, his boots echoing off the sandstone alleys, his bag slung over his shoulder, the sapphire around his neck catching the sun.

Ahead, the Soulchaser waited at the docks. And with it, Ringo—and the journey that lay ahead.

Each step Arjun took toward the docks was heavier than the last. His chest felt tight. His promises to Jamila and her family echoed in his mind—soft words spoken amidst the emotions of his departure. Words he had meant with all his heart.

But now, they felt hollow.

He was walking straight into a war. Not just a battle between empires or ideologies, but a war for the fate of the world—and he was fighting for the side that might be the one to end it.

Jamila’s voice haunted him. “Ringo caused the Crux Wars. He unleashed the mist. If it wasn’t for the Lost God, we’d all be dead.” And maybe she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know what the world would look like at the end of this fight. He didn’t even know if he would survive it. Fifty years was a long time, but it wasn’t forever. Ringo was right—things were breaking. The mist was rising. The world was ending either way.

Still… part of him hoped they’d fail. And that filled his heart with guilt. Did that make him selfish? Or just human?

By the time he reached the docks, the sun was climbing fast over the horizon, casting the Soulchaser in a wash of gold and shadow. Its balloon was taut with helium, and its hull gleamed faintly in the light. 

Arjun approached the hatch and rotated the handle. The familiar hiss greeted him as the pressurized seal released. He stepped inside.

Elizabeth was seated at the galley table, still clad in her armor, calmly finishing a bowl of porridge. Grizald, slumped in his chair, slept silently—his pale face peaceful despite the endless war in the world around him.

The engines hummed faintly.

Ringo emerged from the storage bay, tightening a valve on his way to the cockpit.

“There yuh are,” he said, not breaking stride. “We got work tuh do.”

Arjun let his bag fall beside the barracks door with a soft thump. His voice was flat. “Did you find Tano?”

“Grizald got a pulse,” Ringo said, flipping switches as he moved through the ship with purpose. “She’s somewhere out east—deep desert. We’re gonna be playin’ hot ‘n cold, but we’ll find ‘er.”

Arjun furrowed his brow. “Then why launch the ship? Isn’t this the closest dock?”

Ringo stopped briefly at the nav console, one hand gripping the lever. “Grizald ain’t exactly built fer the sands. We’ll fly the edge, then I’ll cloak us with a few spare souls. Make us ghosts in the sky. Don’t need no peacekeepers tellin’ us where we can fly.”

He dropped into the pilot’s seat with a familiar grunt.

“Beth,” he called. “Yuh good fer takeoff?”

She stood from the sink, wiped her hands on a cloth, and nodded. “We’re good.”

Arjun watched as they fell back into routine with practiced ease. Like no time had passed. Like nothing had changed.

He picked up his bag and carried it into the barracks. His bunk was untouched. Still rumpled from the last night he’d spent there, months ago in Catania. He dropped the bag onto the mattress and sat down, bracing his elbows on his knees.

The engines roared to life. The ship rattled slightly beneath him as it lifted into the Tarkhanian sky.

No time to think. No time to feel.

He’d waited three months for this moment. Three long months spent dreaming about rejoining the fight, getting back to Ringo, becoming someone who mattered again.

But now that he was here…

He felt empty. Like he’d left something vital behind in that house with Jamila and her family.

Maybe Lyria was wrong, he thought. Maybe I could’ve had something real. Something normal.

But real didn’t mean safe. And normal didn’t mean right.

He looked down at his gamas, finally back on his hips. His fingers traced the familiar grooves along the handles. His whole life had led to this war. His body, his mind, his epithet—it was all meant for this.

Even if he wished it wasn’t.

The Soulchaser tilted slightly, cutting through the morning winds. Ahead, the vast expanse of the Tarkhanian desert sprawled endlessly toward the horizon—golden, silent, unforgiving.

Arjun exhaled. There was no turning back now. He could mourn what could’ve been later. Right now, the world needed saving.

And he would do whatever it took to save it. Even if it broke his heart.

The Soulchaser glided along the jagged edge of Tarkhan, its silhouette blending into the morning haze. Below, the city of Satana stretched across the arid land like a sunbaked sprawl of sandstone and smoke. To the north, the brilliant waters of Lake Giza shimmered like a jewel in the desert, feeding life into Satana and its twin city, Nebno. Lush greenery clustered along the banks, where date palms and citrus groves swayed in the dry breeze. Canals veined the fertile soil, winding between irrigation lines and roads, supplying the farmlands that fed most of Tarkhan’s southern cities.

But as the last trace of green faded, the world hardened into dust and fire. The sandstone cities of the Tarkhanian people dotted the horizon—resilient, weather-worn, and steeped in silent suffering.

Arjun watched all of it from the small, round window in the barracks. The view of the lake, the cities, and the endless desert looked almost surreal from this height—like he was peering into a painted memory of a place he only briefly called home. He placed a hand against the glass, the cool pane a sharp contrast to the heat that pulsed off the dunes far below.

Everyone else was focused on the task at hand. Ringo stood at the helm, silent but alert, his hands poised on the navigation console. His face was tight with concentration. In the corner of the cabin, Elizabeth gently roused Grizald from his slumped state. The old man stirred, lips parting in low, breathless grunts. Though blind and deaf, he tilted his head with restless purpose, sensing something only he could see in the black corridors of his mind.

Elizabeth pressed her hand to his shoulder, closing her eyes. Her breathing slowed. A strange stillness fell over the cabin.

“Keep heading east,” she said softly, not yet opening her eyes. “It’s still getting stronger.”

Arjun stepped into the main corridor, eyeing the two of them. “You have a trace?”

“Not now!” Ringo snapped, his voice sharp but focused. “Beth?! Startin’ tuh fade yet?!”

Elizabeth frowned, then steadied herself. “No. Keep going. We’re close.”

Arjun exhaled and dropped into one of the chairs at the galley table, watching the strange connection between Elizabeth and Grizald. The way she seemed to see through his blindness—feel through his silence. Grizald’s low moans echoed faintly over the hum of the engines as Elizabeth sifted through the ethereal trail.

A minute passed in tense quiet.

Elizabeth winced, her posture tightening. “Veering off. Head north, and tilt slightly west.”

“Got it,” Ringo said, his hands flying across the controls.

The Soulchaser groaned in response, its turbines shifting pitch as the ship tilted left and began a slow, sweeping arc over the desert. The lake fell away behind them, and the horizon turned into a rippling ocean of dunes and fractured rock.

As they crossed into forbidden airspace, Ringo let out a breath and summoned his power. He drew upon the souls in his reserves and cast an illusion like a cloak—wrapping the airship in a veil of invisibility. The Soulchaser shimmered briefly, then disappeared from view. From below, it seemed as though nothing was passing the sky at all.

Ringo opened his eyes again, pupils flickering with the last traces of soul energy. “Let me know the moment his signal drops.”

Elizabeth nodded, still focused on Grizald’s internal compass. “Steady. We’re getting close.”

Arjun leaned back in his seat and looked around the interior of the ship. The narrow walkways. The copper pipes threading across the ceilings like veins. The hum of the engines echoing through the ship. It all felt familiar and foreign at once—like returning to a childhood home that had been left to collect dust in his absence.

There were subtle signs of change. The walls were grittier. Supplies more scattered. The opened storage closet was messier than he remembered, like it had been ransacked and reorganized in haste.

And yet… it still felt like his ship. His sanctuary.

He smiled faintly. His hands had helped repair her more times than he could count. His sweat, his grit, his stubbornness—so much of it was in these walls. And as much as he’d doubted it earlier, maybe… maybe Ringo did need him after all.

Suddenly, Elizabeth’s voice snapped through the air.

“Stop! We’re here!”

The engines whined as the Soulchaser began to slow. The ship drifted downward in a soft descent, its hull groaning as it met resistance from the rising winds.

Ringo gripped the console, guiding the ship into a controlled hover. The landing gear extended with a clunk and hiss. A few seconds later, the ship touched down on the sand, its feet sinking gently into the golden crust.

A fine spray of dust rolled out beneath them.

Arjun stood, his breath catching as he peered out through the front viewport. The desert stretched before them, vast and silent. Whatever they were looking for… it was somewhere out there.

Buried beneath centuries of sand. Waiting.

The Soulchaser shimmered back into view, its illusion peeling away as Ringo flipped a series of switches and turned a pair of aged brass dials. The engines slowly wound down, their steady hum fading into a low rumble before settling into silence. Without a word, Ringo stood and disappeared into the storage bay.

Moments later, he returned carrying a coil of thick rope slung over one shoulder and a trio of steel stakes in his hand.

Arjun watched him carefully. “She’s that close? You think her tomb’s right beneath us?”

Ringo gave a short nod. “I can feel ‘er now. Grizald gave us the general zone, but I’ve got the precision. She’s just a few meters from the ship.”

Elizabeth, still seated at the table with one watchful eye on her brother, added, “Grizald locked onto her signature with clarity. Whatever’s buried beneath us, is radiating a powerful energy. She’s there.”

Ringo tipped his hat to her. “Hold down the ship. We’ll be back.”

“Be careful down there,” she finished, offering a thin, confident smile. 

Ringo nodded once, then turned to Arjun. “C’mon. I’ll melt the sand, and we’ll go down together.”

They stepped out into the Tarkhanian sun, the heat instantly wrapping around them like a smothering blanket. The midday air shimmered, thick with dust that danced in spirals along the wind. Every step onto the dune made the sand shift and hiss, scorching hot beneath their boots.

Ringo walked a few paces from the ship, scanning the terrain with a narrowed gaze. Then he knelt, pressing his hand to the sand.

With a sudden hum, a beam of soul energy surged downward from his palm, its color pulsing faintly as it burned through layers of sand and stone. The air crackled with static as everything beneath the beam evaporated—sand turned to vapor, and steel plates hissed and sizzled away like ice on a skillet.

Soon, a clean-edged hole had opened beneath them, revealing a shaft that dropped into pitch blackness, the faint scent of ancient air wafting up from below.

Without hesitation, Ringo drove the first stake deep into the sand with his boot. Then another. Then the last. He wound the rope through them with practiced care, looping and tying each knot tight, double-checking every grip. Once secured, he gave the rope a hard tug—solid.

He stood and turned to Arjun, the wind catching the tail of his duster. “Yuh ready?”

Arjun looked down at his gamas, fingers brushing over the twin weapons at his sides. The weight felt strange after three months of rest—like wearing the memory of his former self. But the familiarity settled in quickly. He nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s find her.”

Ringo didn’t say another word. He grabbed the rope, spun around, and descended swiftly into the shadowed abyss.

Arjun hesitated at the edge. He peered into the hole—an echoing dark throat carved into forgotten time—and took a breath. Whatever lay below was more than just a buried tomb. It was the next step in a war he hadn’t fully come to terms with.

He took the rope in both hands and began his descent, following Ringo into the depths of Tarkhan’s past.

Their boots struck solid stone, the sound echoing into a chasm. Only a thin shaft of light from the opening above pierced the pitch black, casting long shadows across ancient sandstone blocks. The air was still—too still. Arjun exhaled, his breath sounding loud in the tomb’s silence.

The floor beneath them was expertly cut sandstone, fitted together without mortar. The walls were massive—two sandstone layers thick, with steel reinforcement pressed in between like a secret spine. It wasn’t made to protect what was inside. It was made to contain it.

Ringo pulled a slim metal rod from the folds of his coat and twisted it with a click. A pale blue light bloomed from its tip, dim but steady, throwing an eerie hue across the chamber. It was just enough to make the shadows move.

The room was vast and open, held up by towering stone columns that rose like petrified trees in a fossilized forest. Each was evenly spaced and symmetrical in a way that made Arjun uncomfortable.

There wasn’t a speck of sand on the ground. Not a grain of dust. No insects, no webs. Just cold, breathless stillness. A time capsule perfectly preserved. The Keepers had ensured no time or decay would ever touch this place. It was more than a tomb—it was a prison, frozen in a false eternity.

In the center of the chamber sat a sarcophagus, unadorned and brutally functional. A thick, rectangular box of matte grey stone, bolted shut with twelve steel fasteners, each the width of a thumb.

Ringo swept the light across its surface. “Gotta be ‘er,” he muttered.

Arjun moved beside him, staring at the sarcophagus. The silence pressed in heavier now, as if the tomb itself were holding its breath.

Ringo circled the stone casket, eyeing the structure from every angle. He came back and leaned close to Arjun’s ear.

“Turn Tyran. Rip the lid off.”

Arjun nodded. No hesitation.

A shimmer of energy crept over him as the Tyran surged into being—his skin hardened, muscles bulging with supernatural strength. He stepped up to the sarcophagus and dug his fingers beneath the lid, stone groaning under his grip.

With a growl of effort, Arjun pulled. At first, the lid resisted, locked down by centuries of stillness. Then came the screech of steel as the screws tore out of the stone. The sarcophagus split open with a grinding crack.

Ringo had already dropped the light next to him and drew his revolvers, both barrels aimed steady into the gap.

The lid crashed to the floor, and from the coffin came a shriek that shattered the silence.

A blur of movement. Tano launched out like a beast reborn. Her body was gaunt, her skin pale, but she moved with terrifying speed and fury. She sank her teeth into Arjun’s shoulder—but they shattered instantly against the Tyran shell.

She reeled back, shrieking in pain, just in time for a gunshot to tear through her gut.

Ringo fired without blinking.

Tano collapsed to the stone floor, clutching her stomach—but the wound closed before either of them could blink. Her body knit itself back together with unnatural speed, her limbs tensing for another attack.

She sprang at Ringo.

He squeezed the triggers—four quick shots, one for each limb. Tano twisted midair, but the bullets hit true, sending her crashing to the ground with a feral scream.

“Grab ‘er!” Ringo shouted as he holstered his weapons and charged.

Arjun moved fast, pinning her from behind. She kicked and thrashed like a wild animal. Ringo landed on top of her, shoving her face to the floor, his knee on her spine.

“Enough!” he barked. “Hush!”

Her body stilled—but her breath came in shallow, angry gasps. Ringo leaned close.

“Yer Tano Iyekasuki, right? Yuh remember me?”

A flicker of recognition crossed her face.

“Ring…go?” she whispered.

Then, like a switch was thrown, she snapped—thrashing and screaming all over again.

“Fuck you!” she roared.

Ringo cursed and let go of her head just long enough to pull his revolver.

Crack.

A shot rang out. Tano’s body spasmed as a bullet tore through her skull. For a second, she went still.

“Grab the fuckin’ lid!” Ringo barked as he grabbed her arms.

Arjun jumped into motion. Ringo hauled her limp—but already twitching—body toward the sarcophagus, putting another round in her skull mid-drag.

Blood smeared across the pristine floor.

Ringo tossed her in like a sack of meat. “C’mon!”

Arjun slammed the lid back in place and twisted it just enough to wedge it awkwardly back into the frame, leaving only a narrow crack.

Then he threw himself on top of it, his full Tyran weight pinning it shut like a living seal.

Ringo stood panting, his gun still raised.

Inside the coffin, the sound of breathing returned. Heavy. Furious. Alive.

But trapped. For now.

Ringo wiped sweat from his brow. “Well… she’s definitely still got some fight in her.”

Arjun, still braced against the lid, gave a shaky breath. “Now what?”

“Now,” Ringo said, holstering his gun, “we talk.”

Within moments, she stirred.

Her skeletal hand shot through the crack in the sarcophagus lid, gnarled fingers swiping blindly, desperately, as her hoarse voice tore from the darkness.

“I’ll kill you! Let me out!”

Ringo stood just out of reach, calm as ever. He didn’t flinch. Just ejected the spent casing from his revolver and slid fresh rounds into the chamber. With an almost casual flick of his wrist, he aimed at the opening.

Crack.

A shot rang out. Tano yelped and recoiled, her hand vanishing back into the box like a scorched rat.

“I know yuh’ll heal,” Ringo muttered, re-cocking the hammer. “But I reckon yuh still feel pain. And I can do this all day, sweetheart.”

Another shot.

“Now,” he said, moving the revolver’s barrel back toward the crack. “Calm the hell down. Let’s have ourselves a nice, civil discussion.”

A wad of blood shot out through the gap, landing at his boots.

Crack. Another round flew into the opening.

“Wrong answer. Look, the Keepers locked yuh in this tomb. They’re yer enemy. I just opened yer coffin. That don’t make us friends, but I’d say we’re standin’ on common ground.”

There was a beat of silence. Then her voice returned, quieter this time.

“How long?”

“Six hundred,” Ringo replied. “Give er take.”

A pause. Her eyes appeared at the narrow crack, sunken, but burning with hate. “Why now?”

“Beg yer pardon?”

“Why did you come now?” she snarled. “After centuries? Why not leave me to rot like they intended?”

“New Crux War’s on the horizon,” Ringo said, tilting his hat back. “And I need allies. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.”

Her gaze narrowed.

“What do you want?”

“Well, first off, yer dangerous. Ain’t many folks who can survive like you can. Mist couldn’t touch yuh. Keepers couldn’t kill yuh. That kinda resilience? We need that.”

“But?” she said, cutting him off.

Ringo hesitated. “Yer also the last person known tuh have seen the Gem of Death.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “So that’s the price of freedom? I hand you a ghost story.”

“Just what happened. Any leads tuh where the Gem went.”

She huffed. “You should’ve freed me centuries ago, kept me as a contingency. You knew where I was. Or at least how to find me.”

“And what would I’ve gained from that back then?” Ringo replied. “We weren’t allies. Hell, we weren’t even acquaintances. But now? Now we got bigger things knockin’ on the door. Question is, you gonna stay buried, or yuh gonna fight back?”

Another silence. Then her tone shifted, just a hair.

“Fine. You want answers? I’ll give them. But don’t expect gratitude.”

Ringo nodded.

Tano’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “The Aeneans never killed me. They couldn’t. Mortals couldn’t so much as dent me. I ruled Tarkhan with the Gem of Death, Ringo. I could kill with a glance. I slaughtered hundreds at once. Even most immortals wouldn’t dare face me.”

“So what changed?”

She clenched her teeth. “The Lost God finally found me. He sent the Rebirth Soldiers—Judas, Celeste, Hiro, Peter, and Rickart. They couldn’t be killed by the Gem’s power. Not truly. And when they came for me, I knew I couldn’t win.”

“Judas showed up first. Appeared in my chambers like a ghost. Said if I surrendered the Gem, they’d spare me. Said Tarkhan would be safe. But I didn’t believe him.”

Ringo raised an eyebrow. “So yuh killed him?”

She nodded slowly. “Killed him with the Gem. Watched him fall from my balcony. Told my guards to dump the corpse off the edge. Foolish in hindsight. I doubt they ever finished the job.”

Ringo muttered, “Well, feel a little better ‘bout hittin’ ‘im now.”

Tano sighed. “They came back stronger. The five of them stormed Satana, side by side with the Aenean army. I fought. Gods, I fought. But in the end, I offered the Gem to buy my life. Little did that do. They just took it and locked me away. Left me in eternal darkness.”

“Do yuh know who took the Gem?” Ringo asked. “Who they trusted with it?”

She answered without hesitation. “Rickart. Of course.”

Ringo’s face tightened. “Of course it was.”

Arjun stepped forward. “What’s wrong with that?”

Ringo groaned. “He’s at the bottom of the Great Gas Sea. Somewhere between Alsium and Calixtus. Left ‘im there myself.”

Tano giggled, a cruel, brittle sound. “He deserved it.”

“Sure did,” Ringo muttered. “But I might’ve reconsidered puttin’ a bullet in his head if I knew I’d have tuh go diggin’ through the abyss tuh find ‘im later.”

From inside the sarcophagus, Tano reached her hand up again and gripped the lip of the lid.

“So,” she said, “are we done? Can I come out now?”

Ringo holstered his revolver and nodded to Arjun.

“Let ‘er up.”

Arjun braced himself, then lifted the heavy lid once again. He tossed it aside with a grunt, and Tano slowly, deliberately, climbed out.

She stood tall—well, taller than expected, given her condition. Her limbs were long and thin, skin stretched tight over bones. Her black hair hung in ragged strands over hollow cheeks. Her clothing, once fitted to her body, hardly fit. Her pants sagged as her shirt flowed like a dress over her skeletal figure.

She was a corpse that refused to die.

Arjun blinked, slightly stunned by her presence.

Ringo crossed his arms. “Well… yuh look good fer six hundred.”

Tano’s lip curled. “Save the charm. You need me.”

“That I do,” Ringo said. “But let’s make one thing real clear…”

He stepped toward her.

“This ain’t trust. This is business.”

Tano smirked. “Business, then.”

“So… where to next?” Arjun added.

Ringo turned toward the hatch. “We find Rickart.”

Arjun exhaled, already dreading what came next.

Ringo picked up the glowing stick, its pale blue light casting long shadows across the tomb. Without another word, they made their way back to the hole. Above them, a single shaft of golden sunlight pierced the darkness, a narrow promise of the surface far above. 

Ringo gripped the rope and looked back. “Yuh can manage the climb, right?”

Tano scoffed behind him, her skeletal lips curling. “I may look like a corpse, but I still have strength. Depravity doesn’t rot the soul.”

Arjun reverted from Tyran to flesh, the familiar weight of his gamas settling back on his hips. He grabbed the rope and followed Ringo. Tano came last. One by one, they scaled the vertical shaft, their shadows dancing against the walls as they ascended.

The climb was steep, the silence broken only by the scuff of boots against stone and the occasional grunt of exertion. When Ringo reached the top, he pulled himself into the searing Tarkhanian sunlight and turned, offering his hand. One by one, he helped Arjun and then Tano up onto the scorching sand.

Tano stood for a long moment, closing her eyes. The wind tousled the rags of her ancient clothing. She inhaled deeply, savoring the dryness in her lungs, the sun on her face.

Her withered chest rose as she took a long, unsteady breath. “The air’s thinner,” she murmured. “But still… sweet.”

“Whole lot’s changed,” Ringo said, brushing sand from his coat. “Aeneans built an Empire. Mist’s grown restless. But some things stay the same.”

Tano narrowed her sunken eyes against the brightness of the sun. “The Keepers still breathe. You better keep your end of the bargain. I want my revenge, Ringo.”

“Yuh got time,” Ringo said, tipping his hat. “We’re meetin’ in Imachara. Grand Temple, come November. Reckon yuh can figure it out by then. 

She nodded slowly, eyes locked on the horizon like she could already see her vengeance rising with the heat. “Very well. I’ll see you there.”

Without another word, she turned and walked into the desert—no directions, no hesitation, vanishing into the dunes like a ghost finally given purpose.

Ringo watched her go, then looked to Arjun. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here. We’ve got divein’ tuh do.”

They returned to the Soulchaser, stepping into the cool dark of the ship. The hatch hissed shut behind them with a heavy finality.

Elizabeth sat beside Grizald, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as their minds whispered to each other. She jolted slightly at the sound of the door, eyes flicking open.

“You’re back already?”

Ringo dusted himself off. “Easy and done.” He gave Arjun a look. “Fire up the engines, we’re headin’ out.”

“On it,” Arjun replied, already slipping into motion, muscle memory guiding him through the familiar routine.

Elizabeth rose, brushing her hand along her brother’s bald head before joining Ringo at the navigation console.

“Where to now?” she asked.

Ringo toggled switches and dials, the hum of the Soulchaser’s core awakening beneath them. The radio crackled with ambient static as the ship came to life.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve got a lead on the Gem of Death.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “That was fast.”

“The catch is… it’s with Rickart.”

She blinked. “Didn’t you… throw him into the mist?”

“Sure did. Between Alsium and Calixtus. Now we gotta go fishin’ fer a corpse that might not be in one piece.”

A long beat of silence.

Elizabeth exhaled. “So we’re… what, diving into the mist?”

Ringo shrugged. “Energy pulses’ll lead us there eventually. Grizald’ll feel ‘im. If he can revive, we’ll find ‘im.”

She nodded, then returned to her brother, preparing herself for what would be a long and grim search.

“Arjun!” he called. “Good fer takeoff?”

Arjun stepped into the room. “Ready for liftoff.”

The landing gear folded up beneath them. The ship lifted into the cooling desert air, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the dunes. Satana stretched behind them, a golden oasis fading into twilight.

Ringo reached out with soul energy, wrapping the Soulchaser in an invisible shroud. The ship vanished from sight, cloaked against wandering eyes.

He turned to Arjun. “Get some rest. Next leg’s gonna be long.”

Arjun nodded, though weariness tugged more at his soul than his muscles. He drifted toward the barracks, feet slow, heart heavier still.

He threw his bag on the floor and sank down onto the mattress, gazing out the narrow porthole as Tarkhan shrank into the distance. The lights of Satana glimmered faintly at the edge of the world, then were swallowed by the growing dark.

Grief pressed at his chest—but it was distant now. Muted. He missed them already, but he understood. This life wasn’t built for peace. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He laid back, eyes on the ceiling, the hum of the engines a lullaby of old purpose. The Soulchaser carried them onward, toward the abyss.

The past three months—the warmth, the laughter, the family—already felt like a dream unraveling. He wondered if he’d ever feel that again. If he’d ever see Aya’s drawings, or Ahmed’s crooked smile, or Jamila’s eyes brimming with hope.

His chest ached, but there was no time to dwell. Not anymore.

He was aboard the Soulchaser. Back in motion. Back in the shadows. And ahead of them was a journey into the abyss—into myth and madness.

A war was coming.

And Arjun had chosen his side.