She fell into silence.
A soft, weightless drift swallowed her, and her knees sank ever-so-slightly into the sand. When she opened her eyes, she was kneeling in an endless expanse of… desert?
No.
The sky above her was a dome of pure darkness — no stars, no moon, no horizon — yet everything around her glowed with an unfamiliar, cold light.
Light without warmth.
Brightness without life.
As if she stood inside a giant hourglass where all the sand had settled at her feet, waiting to be stirred again.
Her breath echoed strangely in this place, as though the air didn't quite exist.
She pushed herself upright, peeling one foot from the sand at a time.
It shifted beneath her, whispering across her ankle.
It felt wrong and right all at once — like she had walked this desert long ago, felt these grains under her feet in another life. Old, familiar, inevitable.
Something moved.
A phantom breeze swept through the stillness, gathering sand into a spiralling column before her. It twisted into a shimmering wave, shaping the mound into a moving image.
Zahra watched, hardly breathing.
Sand rose, forming the blurred outline of a girl. She circled it slowly. Young — her age. Hair lifted by an unseen wind, a weapon gripped in one hand. The sand lacked colour, lacked shading, yet the figure breathed. Lived.
When Zahra stepped closer to the face, the figure whipped its head toward her.
She stumbled back.
And then her heart dropped.
It was her.
A tug deep in her chest pulled tight — recognition.
A memory.
A piece of herself she had forgotten.
Suddenly, the sand-version of her changed — the distant expression sharpened into fierce resolve. Then she sprinted forward, straight past Zahra, into the dark. Wild, untamed, unstoppable.
The memory dissolved into shimmering gold dust and fell away.
Another swirl rose. Then another. Soon she was surrounded.
A little girl running, laughter bright in the air.
Her — hunched over a chessboard.
Combat training — weapons clashing, breaking into sand.
She wandered among them, unsure how to feel. Some made her chest warm with pride, a heat blossoming inside her.
Then came another feeling — darker.
Fear clawed its way up her ribs.
Her breath stuttered.
She turned toward the source.
The darkness there was… wrong. Deeper than shadow. It devoured the faint light, leaving no shapes, no images — only a vortex of pain so sharp her chest tightened, her ribs threatening to splinter.
Zahra staggered.
Her lungs locked.
Her knees buckled.
Her heart screamed.
A man stood alone in the dark.
His sandy robes hung limp at his sides. She didn't recognise him — but something in her bones did.
"No—" She tore herself away, stumbling back from the forming vision.
He looked in pain, but trying desperately not to show it.
Trying not to worry her.
She couldn't look away… but she couldn't bear to look.
"No, stop, please," she whispered — the words tumbling out in different orders, frantic, helpless.
Stop, no, please.
Please, no, stop.
Stop, please, no.
At last, the sand obeyed. The memory collapsed and fell still.
Silence returned.
A new breeze drifted through — soft, coaxing, patient.
The dunes shivered. Memories began to stir again, though Zahra remained rooted where she was, wary now. Whatever that last one was, it had torn something raw and tender inside her.
A few moments ago, she had been at the diner.
Then attacked.
Then "unlocked" by a stranger wielding a ridiculous key.
And now this.
She felt helpless — worthless even — watching memories tug at something distant inside her, but doing nothing else.
What was happening?
Why was she here?
What was the point of all this?
Then she sensed it.
A new swirl of sand ahead — gentle, warm, calling to her.
Not crushing.
Not suffocating.
Inviting.
Powerful.
She stepped toward it, tension easing from her shoulders for the first time since she arrived.
The sand rose, glowing brighter, forming a storm struggling to take shape.
Inside it — flashes too fast for the sand to sculpt:
Her feet sinking into familiar warmth.
Voices chanting in a vast stone chamber.
Excitement curling inside her.
A cloak brushing her calves — though she wasn't wearing one.
Hands wrapped, calloused, ready.
Strength. Exhilaration. Freedom. All of it hit her at once — that moment in another life where she had stood on the brink of something wild and glorious, where she could finally fight without being told to be small, careful, hidden.
The wind howled. And the sand burst into blinding gold.
The world lurched.
Heat swallowed her.
Crowds roared. The air vibrated with the force of it.
Zahra lifted her head. Stone walls towered over her like mountains. A heavy cloak now draped her shoulders as if it had always belonged there. The sand under her feet was warm, alive.
Her past life snapped into place like a long-lost puzzle piece returning home. She was in the Great Pyramid.
A man's voice boomed across the hall — the Speaker, she remembered that much.
"People of our great nation… the Champion's Tournament begins!"