Disclaimer: The Original Series belongs to its rightful owner.

Day of Awakening


The sun dangled low, a weary ball of fire spilling molten amber across the rippling dunes, painting the sand in hues of gold and shadow. Elias, a lean merchant with hands rough as weathered bark and a cloak frayed at the edges, perched atop his groaning wagon, the reins slack in his calloused grip. He was bound for a trading outpost, hours away through this endless sea of wilderness, hoping to sell his goods for a handful of coins. His satchel, heavy with clinking trinkets and bundles of dried figs, pressed against his thigh. The wagon creaked with every turn of its warped wheels, blending with the soft thud of his horse's hooves sinking into the powdery sand. A sharp, metallic scent wafted through the air, stinging his nostrils and stirring unease deep in his gut.

"Strange smell out here," he muttered, wrinkling his nose, his voice a low rasp swallowed by the vastness. "Like rust, but alive."

His horse plodded slower, its chestnut ears twitching nervously, the reins trembling in Elias's hands.

"What's got you jumpy, girl?" he asked, tugging gently, irritation tightening his throat. "Come on, keep up."

She snorted, her breath puffing out in a misty cloud, her head dipping low. The wilderness sprawled around him—an ocean of pale sand dotted with brittle shrubs and gnarled trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. The emptiness pressed in, heavy and silent, and his shoulders hunched under its weight.

Then, a shimmer broke the horizon's haze. Faint outlines rose from the dunes—crumbling walls of weathered stone, winding paths half-buried in sand, and arches leaning like broken promises. Ruins. Elias sat up, his breath catching, eyes narrowing as wonder flared in his chest. His heart thumped faster, greed curling warm and eager in his veins as he pictured coins piling in his palms.

"Well, hello there," he said, a grin tugging at his cracked lips, his voice trembling with excitement. "This might just make my day."

He pulled the reins, guiding the wagon off the faint trail, the wood groaning louder as it shifted.

"Let's see what's hiding here," he said, his tone light with hope.

The horse resisted, hooves dragging through the sand with a gritty scrape, and Elias frowned.

"Don't you start fussing," he grumbled, his cheer faltering as a chill brushed his skin. "It's just a quick look."

The wind fell silent as they neared, the air growing thick and still, wrapping around him like a damp cloth.

He slid off the wagon, boots sinking into the warm, powdery sand with a soft crunch, and tied the reins to a leaning pillar, its surface pitted and warm from the sun.

"Stay put," he told the horse, patting its flank, his voice softening despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

Her eyes rolled white, her breath quick and shallow, and Elias's fingers lingered on her coarse mane, worry tightening his grip. The ruins stretched out before him, a sprawling tangle of cracked flagstones and fallen columns, their edges softened by centuries of wind and sand. Shadows pooled long and dark across the ground, twisting like spilled ink, and he shivered as he stepped forward, his boots scuffing against the stone. A glint winked from the debris—a silver chalice, its curves dented but gleaming, etched with strange, swirling runes that danced under his gaze.

"Would you look at that," he whispered, kneeling to scoop it up, his voice hushed with reverence as his fingers brushed its cool, heavy surface, a thrill tingling up his arm.

Nearby, a tattered tapestry fluttered from a broken arch, its faded weave threaded with gold that caught the dying light like trapped stars. He tucked the chalice into his satchel, the clink against his other finds a sweet note, and reached for the tapestry, brushing away dust that clouded the air in a gritty haze.

"This'll fetch good coin," he said quietly, grinning wide, his hands trembling with eager joy. "Maybe enough to eat well for once."

The treasures settled in his bag, but the silence bore down, thick and cold, snuffing out his excitement with a creeping dread. His horse stood frozen, ears pricked toward the ruins, and a jolt of fear twisted his gut.

"What's watching us?" he mumbled, his voice quaking as he scanned the shadows, eyes darting over the stones.

Nothing stirred. He swallowed hard, chest tight, and pushed forward, each step heavier, the crunch of sand underfoot echoing in the stillness.

The paths twisted inward, pulling him deeper into the ruins. The air turned cool and dense, clinging to his skin like mist, and he shivered, unease prickling his arms. Ahead, a wide clearing yawned open, framed by the jagged remains of a grand palace—its blackened arches soaring high, their surfaces scorched and pitted as if kissed by fire long ago. Elias stopped, his breath hitching, a mix of wonder and fear swelling in his chest, throat dry as he stared at the towering stone. The chalice in his bag dragged at him like a weight, and panic stirred in his belly.

"No chance," he said aloud, voice cracking as he forced bravado over his rising fear. "It's just old ruins. Nothing alive here."

At the clearing's heart loomed an altar—a slab of obsidian, dark as midnight, its surface crisscrossed with cracks and stained with rusty streaks that gleamed wetly in the dusk. Nausea roiled in his belly, his legs trembling as he edged closer. The air hummed around it, a low buzz tingling through his boots and up his spine, and sweat beaded cold on his brow.

"What are you hiding?" he whispered, staring at the stone, fear tightening his voice as he leaned in.

A symbol was carved deep into its face—a circle stabbed with jagged spikes, faded but sharp-edged. His hand hovered over it, fingers shaking, terror warring with curiosity. He pressed his palm to the icy stone, fear surging through his veins.

A sharp sting sliced his wrist.

"Ow!" he yelped, yanking his hand back, pain flaring like a hot coal as blood welled from a thin cut.

It dripped onto the sand, dark and glistening, and Elias froze, terror locking his joints, eyes wide as saucers.

"What did that?" he stammered, clutching his wrist, his voice shrill with fright.

The blood hit the ground, and the sand pulsed—first a faint shimmer, then a blaze of light spreading out like veins, bright and eerie. Elias stumbled back, heart slamming against his ribs, fear choking his throat.

"No, no, no," he mumbled, boots slipping as the ground shifted, revealing a giant glowing pattern under the palace—a circle woven with sharp, radiant shapes.

"I shouldn't have come here," he whimpered, regret bitter on his tongue, tears of panic stinging his eyes.

The air crackled, thick with a strange, heavy force, and his knees wobbled.

A deep rumble growled beneath the sand, soft at first, like a sleeping giant stirring. Elias stood rigid, breath shallow, terror pinning him in place.

"What's that sound?" he whispered, voice trembling, eyes darting as dust sifted from the arches in a fine, ghostly rain.

The rumble deepened, vibrating the stones underfoot, and his stomach lurched, dread coiling tight.

"This isn't right," he said, louder, voice quaking as he backed away. "Something's wrong."

The shaking grew, pebbles rattling loose, and he gripped his satchel, hands slick with cold sweat.

"Shit!"he shouted, spinning around, his voice raw with fear as he bolted.

Then the earth roared—a deafening boom that hurled him to his knees, terror exploding in his chest.

"Help!" he screamed, scrambling up, sand stinging his eyes as the ground bucked wildly.

He lurched forward, slipping, and glanced back.

"What—?"

The ruins were alive—stones lifted from the ground, pillars thrust upward with a grinding groan, walls rose as if sewn by invisible hands. A gasp tore from him, awe battling the terror gripping his soul.

"This can't be happening," he breathed, voice shaking, eyes wide with disbelief.

Atop the altar stood a figure cloaked in black robes, their edges rippling like liquid shadow, face hidden in darkness. Legs trembling, a wave of icy fear drowned him, and he whimpered, overwhelmed, courage crumbling.

"Get away!" he yelled, weaving through the shifting stones, voice hoarse with desperation as dust choked the air.

A pillar erupted beside him, its jagged edge brushing his cloak, and he flinched, heart leaping into his throat.

"Too close!" he gasped, tumbling down a sandy slope, relief flooding him as he staggered toward his wagon.

He reached the wagon, where his horse reared, its panicked whinnies piercing the chaos.

"Stop it!" he barked, fumbling with the knot, fingers slick with blood and sweat, anger mixing with fear. "We're leaving now!"

He climbed aboard, hands shaking as he grabbed the reins, dread still heavy in his gut.

"Go!"

The wagon lurched forward, wheels crunching over sand, and he stole a glance back, horror twisting inside him. The wilderness had vanished. A city towered in its place—spires of polished stone stabbed the dusk, walls gleamed with fresh mortar, and figures moved within, their distant murmurs a haunting chorus. Guards in glinting armor paced the ramparts, soldiers marched beneath snapping banners of crimson and gold.

"This isn't real," he whispered, shaking his head, confusion and panic swirling.

The horse shrieked, rearing as a dark, bitter energy pulsed through the air, thick and cold, and Elias's fear surged anew.

"What's that-?" he mumbled, gripping the reins tighter, voice tight with alarm as his skin prickled.

The ground trembled again, and a glowing hand burst from the ground—fingers of light wrapped in black tendrils, snaking around his ankle with an icy, burning grip. He screamed, raw terror flooding him.

"Let go!" he roared, kicking wildly, panic lending him strength.

He yanked his knife free, slashing at it, blade flashing in the dusk.

"Get off me!"

The knife sliced through, the hand shattering into wisps—then reforming—and a cry of frustration tore from him.

"It won't stop!" he gasped, kicking free, relief crashing over him as he broke loose.

The wagon sped into the twilight, wheels rattling, and he clung on, breathless and terrified.

Behind him, the city loomed vast and unbroken, a crimson-and-gold flag unfurling atop its highest spire—a faded emblem that stirred an uneasy memory

"I'm not staying for this," Elias growled, voice firm despite the tremor in his hands, whipping the horse faster.

The shadows stretched long and thin, swallowing the dunes, but the weight of that reborn city clung to him—a heavy promise of something ancient and angry rising from the dust, and his pounding heart wouldn't quiet.

The wind carried a low, menacing whisper, slithering through the air as a forgotten phrase was heard.

"The old guard wakes. They'll come for their revenge."

END

AN: Hello There! So this One-Shot is for an Experimental story, just testing out some ideas for this one.