Prologue - Kojan Desert - Zukan

The moon hung low in the sky that evening, barely a sliver shy from full. Though bright enough to see by, it did little to combat the sharp chill of the desert night. A lone traveler trudged through the dunes, windblown, exhausted and shivering. He took a long gulp from his canteen, but water was not enough to quench his thirst. “The myst is so thin out here,” Zukan croaked through cracked lips, “it is a small wonder that this land is dead.”

A sudden gust that was more sand than wind bit at exposed flesh, snapping his threadbare cloak at his ankles and whipping about long locks of hair red as blood. The wanderer blinked the grains from his eyes and shook his head violently, but it did little to ease his discomfort. He could feel the sand clinging persistently to his skin, and it sifted awkwardly in his boots. “Curse these easterners and their strange garments,” the foreigner lamented, combing out the wisp of hair that grew from his chin with his fingers. “Overpriced sand traps…”

He sat cross-legged on the ground and yanked off his cloth and leather footwear, wiggling his toes in relief, and was about to empty them of their contents when something caught his eye; not more than a foot in front of him stood a single, pristine blade of grass, swaying listlessly in the breeze. Even in the pale moonlight its color was vibrant, the hues of verdant green clashing against the sand’s dry beige.

Zukan was stunned at his sudden discovery but quickly remembered his purpose. He promptly leaned closer to the ground, planting both hands firmly in the sand. He drew in a slow, deep breath, and then another, each one deeper than the last. With every breath, the blade of grass seemed to wilt slightly, weakening in strength until it fell dead to the sand with his very last breath, drained of all color. A cluster of crimson runes danced across the man’s skin, starting at his hands and up through his arms, shoulders, neck and face, fading before they reached the top of his head.

“We are close.” Zukan muttered with a touch of excitement. He looked up, spying another blade in the distance, which led to another, and then another, and then another. The small sprouts climbed all the way up the tall dune in front of him, thickening toward the top. Forgetting his boots and his exhaustion with them, Zukan followed the green trail, scrambling up the small sand mountain. Had he not already been out of breath by the time he reached the top, the sight would have taken it away.

Despite that, he decided it was the perfect time for a cigarette.

Before him stretched a vast, grassy plain for miles and miles until it met the coast beyond. Straddling the line between land and sea stood the city of Lissium, the easternmost settlement in the known world. Even at this distance he could spot the Monolith at the heart of the city; the enormous red crystal tower that served as the lifeblood for the unlikely oasis. Zukan drank in his surroundings, dragged on his cigarette, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. He would have been content to stand there for an eternity, but he did not have nearly that long.

“Ey, what’s the holdup?” A shrill voice rattled around inside his head. “Sand in your boots again? Y’know, whether you wear them or not, you’re still gonna be walking on sand!”

“Sayaka,” Zukan’s voice was a near whisper, “come look.”

There was an air of uncertainty behind the silence that followed, but the voice did as he bade all the same. With a loud crack and a flash of red, the girl appeared next to him, as if out of thin air. Her black hair was cropped short, and the sleeves of her robe billowed in the desert breeze.

“Wow…” was all Sayaka could say as she gazed down, and then up again, her emerald eyes following the field of green all the way to the shore. The plain was verdant and open, and Lissium was no larger than a thumbprint on the horizon, but from atop the dune they could see it all. Grassy hills like waves rolled down into waves big as hills; even trees began to take root the closer they got to the city.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Sayaka, but I am fairly certain that you can still appreciate the aesthetic even when you are not in your human form?” Zukan wheezed. “We may be closer to a Monolith than we have been in years, but the myst is no thicker.”

“Fine.” She grumbled. Her robes swirled around her in a flurry, and in an instant she had changed herself into that of a sprite, no larger than Zukan’s hand. She had the appearance of an insect with glowing green eyes, cloaked in black smoke. “What’s a Monolith doing this far east anyway?”

“My ancestors built it,” Zukan replied curtly, “some two thousand years ago, when the maege still reigned over the whole world. Before they destroyed themselves…” He took another puff of his cigarette. “The war they waged against their foes to conquer this land took its toll, leaving half a kingdom barren and buried in sand. They erected the Monolith in hopes that the myst it displaced from the atmosphere back into the earth as krima would revive it. It warms my soul to see that their efforts were not entirely in vain.”

“Such an elegant machine wasted on such simple people,” Sayaka scoffed. “They rely on the technology of a civilization they know nothing about to do something they should be able to do themselves. They dig and mine for krima, robbing the land of its lifeblood when it’s been all around them the entire time. “

Zukan could not help but chuckle. “You know as well as I that the ways of my people were lost on this land long ago.” But his smile took a sharp turn when he lifted his gaze skyward.

Rolling in behind them was a heavy, ominous cloud. It bulged and pulsed as if it were breathing, like a thunderhead that made no sound. When it passed in front of the waxing moon it reflected a chilling shade of curdled blood.

“That cloud…” The sprite would have gaped if she had a mouth.

“And not a moment too soon.” Zukan tossed his cigarette into the four hundred mile wide ashtray behind him.

“It’s gotten bigger,” Sayaka shuddered, “and darker. Think that’s a good sign?”

“That only confirms my suspicions,” Zukan turned up his palm, “something foul is in the air…” A thin tendril of the stuff swirled forth from the thunderhead, darting through the air to find Zukan’s open hand, as if he had summoned it there himself. He closed two eyes and opened a third and let the myst touch his soul. As it passed through him it brought a vision along with it, a horrible vision of blood and fire. Great horned beasts engulfed in wings of flame swirled before his eyes, devouring life and land and leaving ruins in their wake. Hooded figures black as midnight rose to meet them, reducing the shadowy beasts to mere ash with nothing more than the flick of a cloaked wrist. The wind took them as they dissolved and Zukan could feel their hate. Even as reality faded back the taste of metal lingered on his tongue.

“Something arcane.”

“Arcane?” Sayaka cocked her tiny insect head to one side. “You can’t mean magyk. This far east? Didn’t you just finish up saying something that completely contradicts that statement?” The little sprite shook her head, and it began to morph. The black smoke that was her robe curled into a shaggy head of hair and a wisp of a goatee, and she deepened her voice to mimic her master’s. “And I quote, ‘Sayaka, you know as well as I that the ways of my people were lost on this land long ago.’”

Zukan did not even feign amusement. “My soul and yours are one in the same, you simply choose not to believe what you see right in front of you.” He spat at the dead earth, but the bitter flavor in his mouth refused to take leave with it. “Even a mere glance at that cloud would tell you that it is no ordinary myst; hanging listlessly in the sky, taken to the whims of the breeze. No, this cloud moves with a purpose, as if something in the city were calling to it. There is no other explanation; somebody in that city is dabbling in the dark arts. Oh, there will be a bloodmoon over Lissium tonight. The people will celebrate and drink their fill, and the pious few will scribble on their talismans and hole up in their sanctums, but none of them will ever know how much danger they are truly in.”

“There’s a bloodkin in that myst…” The little sprite realized gravely.

Zukan nodded. “And a powerful one at that.”

Her hood reformed, thicker this time to shroud her eyes. “How many years has it been since…?”

“Thousands,” Zukan cut her off, “not since the Unholy Wars that claimed the lives of so many of my people.”

If Sayaka was shaken by this, the dead pan of her voice gave no hint to that. “And you couldn’t have informed me that we were marching to our doom before we trekked across four-hundred miles of krima-less wasteland?”

“You would have had to come with me anyway,” Zukan smirked, “and besides, what choice did we really have? By noontime the bloodkin will be in the Lissium; by sunset it will have found its summoner. By the time the bloodmoon rises in the sky tomorrow tonight, everybody in this city will be dead,” he lit another cigarette, “and I do not see any other maege lining up to stop it. Do you?”