Eryndor scanned the surrounding dunes, then stood and walked toward the distance. Lirien watched him silently before following his steps.
They walked away from camp until they found what he was looking for—the raider leader,
Or rather, his corpse.
It lay half-buried beneath sand piled over the night.
Eryndor crouched beside it, carefully brushing the sand away. A small smile tugged at his lips, then abruptly faded as he pulled something free from the body.
A small bronze medallion.
It was etched with a strange sigil—a serpent devouring its own flame.
Lirien leaned closer, her expression thoughtful.
"That's not a desert raider mark, is it?" she asked. Curious.
Eryndor studied the medallion in silence, then spoke softly.
"No. Quite the opposite."
He ran his thumb over the sigil.
"I've seen this before. It's familiar I would say."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"The Inquisitors."
Eryndor frowned. "Why would a raider carry this medallion?"
"Were they acting on orders?" he murmured.
"Or were they Inquisitors themselves, wearing another face?"
He rubbed the metal absently, lost in thought, until he noticed Lirien watching him closely.
He grinned faintly.
"What?" She crossed her arms.
"Your eyes can make people misunderstand you know."
Her glare answered his teasing.
"Just tell me what that medallion is," she demanded.
"Alright, alright, Lady Knight. Relax." He smiled faintly. "You really are curious." Somehow, though yesterday she tried to harm or even kill him. Currently he found her company was rather amusing.
He shook his head, then grew serious.
"This is the sigil of the Inquisition— people refer to them as the veiled blade of the Temple of Radiant Memory."
He turned the medallion in his palm, firelight glinting off its surface.
"Their purpose and duty is to preserve purity within the Temple. To root out heresy, corruption, forbidden knowledge." A pause.
"Officially."
"And how do you recognize this symbol…?" She asked, curious.
"I happen to be a banished heretic of that very Temple." He sneered.
The metal felt warm beneath his thumb.
Lirien studied him then asked carefully. "So they were chasing you?"
Eryndor shrugged.
"Possibly."
She frowned. "Then what will you do?"
"If that's true, won't they keep pursuing you?"
There was concern in her voice, faint but real. But somehow Eryndor himself was seems unconcerned.
"They will," he replied calmly—too calmly.
"The Inquisition is nothing if not persistent. This trait of theirs is praiseworthy."
Silence fell. For a moment neither spoke. Occupied with their own thought.
The desert stretched endlessly before them, radiant and indifferent. Wind shifted. The dunes sighed like breathing earth.
"Or they weren't chasing me after all," Eryndor thought in silence.
"They were searching something within the ruin?"
"they came for something else." He frowned. If the Inquisition truly wanted him dead, they had countless opportunities. There was no reason to wait for him to enter the ruins.
"So what were they after?" he whispered.
His gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"The Scripture?" he murmured, barely audible.
"What scripture?" Lirien asked suddenly.
He blinked, startled, then smiled awkwardly.
"Nothing. Just misspoke."
Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced—but she didn't press further.
Eryndor turned away, staring at the distant ruins as his thoughts spiraled.
He remembered his strange dream again. The simple and ordinary life that seemed to suddenly became out of ordinary since he had that odd dream. The exile, the Legacy, and now the Inquisition masquerading as raiders.
He was certain now—they had come for the Legacy.
And he, the heretic, had arrived at the same place.
Like threads of destiny that are tightening. Each one pulling him closer to something inevitable, rapidly converging his fate.
In the distance, something glinted beneath the dunes—a broken tower, or perhaps the tip of a ruin barely visible.
The Obsidian Library of Tarekha.
Eryndor looked at it one last time before brushing sand from his coat. Morning light caught his eyes, and for an instant, faint golden script glowed beneath his skin like an unseen constellation.
"Where will we go next?" Lirien asked behind him.
He stopped but didn't turn immediately. When he did, his expression was somewhere between puzzled and guarded.
"We?" He pointed between them.
"Lady Knight, are you suggesting we travel together?"
"No, the first question was Why are you following me anyway?"
Finally, he asked the question that had lingered since yesterday that He forgot to ask.
Lirien didn't answer immediately. Her brow furrowed slightly, while contemplating in her heart though her stance remained composed. For a moment she looked as if she were weighing something heavy.
After a moment, she asked instead,
"Do you believe in destiny, Eryndor?"
It was the first time she had spoken his name.
He blinked, caught off guard.
"I do," he replied after a pause.
"Because my life recently has… led me to that conclusion." He whispered the later part.
Then the smirk returned.
"So, what now?"
"Are you going to tell me I'm your destiny or something?"
He grinned. "You're really starting to like me, aren't you?"
She looked ready to kick him.
"You are impossible," she said flatly, then turned away.
In truth, she simply didn't yet have the words to explain what drew her to him.
Eryndor chuckled under his breath, shouldered his satchel, and followed.
The medallion remained clenched in his hand.
"Well," he said lightly, "you can tell me when you're ready… partner."
Side by side, they set out across the dunes—two silhouettes against the brightening horizon.
The wind rose, carrying with it the faint echo of chanting words too old to understand, whispering from beneath the sands.
Behind them, the ruin where he had found the throne lay half-buried once more—silent, secretive, as if it had closed its eyes again.