Part III: Smoldering
Quareth felt the sands touching his body, the heat his body normally ignored seeped into his muscles and bones. No longer did he have anything stopping his body from slowly burning out, he was weak, like the rest.
But he did not worry about that, as his eyes slowly opened, he felt pain around his body, yet he could not move it. In the corner of his eye, he could see his injury, his entire right shoulder was gone, his ribs broken, his heart struggling to beat. It’s over.
Quareth felt bitterness, he had failed them. Yet, he felt no regret. Such was the life of a man in these cursed lands.
Maketh approached him, sitting next to him. "Has it been tens, perhaps even hundreds of years ago, when we both sat down here, making that Oath?"
Quareth forced his breath out, struggling as his lungs burned. "We... were fools." To both become Candidates together?
Maketh smiled bitterly. "Indeed we were, yet here we are."
They both stayed silent, as seconds passed before Maketh spoke. "Tell me, Quareth. Why did you keep fighting? You must've known it was hopeless."
I did. Quareth's thoughts shivered.
Maketh continued. "You could've helped me, you would've known that with me as a Monarch, I could've made a change."
Quareth lifted his eyes, staring at the skies, the burning sun in the corner of his vision, burning his eyes as he struggled, words slowly leaving him. "We were Candidates, in body and heart. We both fought, aimed to be kings. Someone like us... can't bow their wills, lest it no longer be their own."
Maketh nodded, closing his eyes. Quareth felt his body weaken further, his blood draining as his thoughts slowly started vanishing. He felt the heat turn unbearable; a single thought stuck in his head. Takateth... my people... What will become of you, now I am gone?
As his thoughts scrambled in disarray, threatening to take him away as the heat of the sands and the sun burned through him, he felt a sudden slight breeze. An alien cool that infiltrated his skin, cooling his body and nerves. He felt at peace, yet he forced his eyes open, the last of his thoughts racing in confusion.
Maketh held an artifact, he could see the lines on its surface, he could feel the cool air leaking, cooling his body. Quareth felt tears appear in his eyes, to feel the cold... when the cursed sun hung upon the cursed lands?!
Maketh stood, his voice ringing. "I have searched, worked and kept trying over and over. And finally as I broke through to find it. I have found the way to create those Artifacts. Soon, our people will be able to live. No longer will the sun burn us, stop us from living. Soon, I will use those artifacts to bring civilization back to our lands."
Maketh took a few steps forward, continuing. "You know, people always said our lands were cursed, as the sun stared at us, burning us. But I believe otherwise! We were never cursed. We were merely touched by the sun. Its light brought us misery, but in time, it shall bring us glory as well!"
Quareth felt his throat tremble, trying to speak, but his lungs were empty, he had to ask... Quareth struggled further, pain in his eyes as words refused to leave his mouth. Looking at him, Maketh kneeled near him, holding his head as he spoke.
"You don't need to worry, friend. I shall save everyone. I promise you, my friend. I shall turn those cursed lands into cities, in dawn, the cities will bring chill to the sun's endless fury, at night, it will bring warmth to fight the biting chill and will be a beacon in the darkness. For we will no longer be cursed, we will be sun-touched. For soon, the cursed lands will no longer exist, instead, we shall stand on the Sun-touched cities."
Feeling calm, Quareth's body stilled, his soul free, as the sun shone down, staring as a Candidate lost his life under its glory.
Takateth stood, his eyes staring down at the body of the man who was once his leader, his friend, his brother. He stilled, unmoving and silent as minutes passed. Suddenly, breaking the silence, he kneeled down, grabbing Quareth's blades. He stared at their silvery color, the Northern Froststeel was known to be almost indestructible after it was forged, yet those blades were filled with scratches, signs of endless battles. And oneAnd on one of them laid a crack on its edge.
He heard footsteps behind him, yet he didn't bother turning. Maketh's voice sounded out. "It had been long, Takateth. When Quareth brought you to me back then, you were but a child."
Takateth turned, nodding.
Maketh sighed. "Do you despise me, Takateth?"
Takateth shook his head. "He lived a king, and he died one too."
Suddenly, Takateth hardened his grip on Quareth's blades, drowning one of the blades with Energy as he swung it towards the other blade in his hand.
A loud, metallic crash sounded, as the cracked sword broke into two. Takateth let go of the blade's handle as he watched the pieces fall next to Quareth.
"May your soul stand victorious, forever."
Maketh stood in silence, watching, until Takateth turned around, the remaining jagged blade in his hands pointing towards him. "I shall follow you, for that is what he would've wanted me to do. But... If the day comes where you don't fulfill your promise to him... I shall be the one to cut you down."
Maketh nodded, a serious look in his eyes before walking towards the convoy. Takateth took a few steps back, carefully sheathing the blade in his belt as he watched the sands shift, watching the body of his boss slowly disappearing. Buried beneath the sands of the sun-touched cities.
Zanith stood, unbothered by the scorching wind as he sheathed his sword. He turned, ignoring the bodies that scattered around him, looking at the familiar plain in front of him. Now named the Seriath's plain, in memory of the man who fought that day.
It has been a while. His thoughts rang out, memories of that fight thirty years ago playing in his mind. It was the day everything began. He turned, his eyes staring at the horizon, the walls of the closest city, Zeltol, barely visible.
He sighed, he couldn't get used to the fabrics they now wore, light blue ropes coiled around his body, announcing his position in the court. His scrawny complexion now rich, the last few years transforming their lives, yet on his face he held no satisfaction.
He stood still, waiting, as another figure approached a few minutes later. He crossed eyes with Takateth, nodding before getting lost in his own thoughts.
Oh, you who were left in the sands. Were you right after all?
Zanith felt his sword, gritting his teeth as his frustration came out. This peace had a price... and perhaps now, that price was too high.
Finally, after watching the endless sands swim for a while, he turned back, clutching his sword.
Maketh, Sovereign of the sands. You must stand up once again, you must stop this.
Or I will have to point my blade at the man I once admired.