Barely three days in the South, and already, everything was falling apart.

Esa sat at the edge of the plateau, his silhouette stark against the pale dawn. Below, jagged cliffs stretched into the distance, cold and unyielding. He leaned against a weathered tree, exhaustion weighing him down. Fingers tightened around his mother's emerald amulet, his only comfort left.

His tunic was streaked with dirt, a smear of blood dried on his temple, a reminder of the Yucan skirmish the night before. Beside him, Sheera sat in deep meditation. Unmoving. Disciplined.

Their camp was nothing more than a pile of branches and two thin blankets, tucked beneath the sparse canopy at the plateau's edge. A fire pit sat cold, its charred remains a failed attempt at warmth. Overhead, the wind groaned through the trees, rustling dry leaves.

The silence stretched, leaving space for Esa's thoughts to unravel, sink deeper.

The moment Esa crossed into Southern Atlantis, his tablet died. No warning, no explanation.

The South distrusted technology, but it had never outright banned it. He had always been able to access his tablet here. Not this time. Even his sacred Gab Nori stuttered, its interface flickering, failing.

Cut off. Isolated. No way to contact Mazi. No way to reach Ibris. No way to recite the sacred texts.

Esa inhaled sharply, forcing the air into his lungs. His mind drifted back to the chaos of the past few days.

On his first day back, when he met with Sheera in the cave, Sheera noticed that they were being tailed by a small Yucan ship. The Yuca had tracked Esa's arrival from the very beginning. Together, Sheera and Esa managed to take down the vessel. Finding two Yucan mercenaries inside.

Neither spoke Atlantean or so they claimed, their frantic hand signals doing all the talking.

Before Esa could press them, one turned his weapon on the other. Then himself.

Dead. Just like that.

Esa stood frozen, words failing him. Something was wrong in the South. The deeper he dug, the less sense it made.

Their last meal had been the day before, shared with a family in the village. The family of Sheera's sole contact with Ibris, a seventeen-year-old boy named Cahn. He was now missing. When they arrived at the modest house, his mother was in tears, clinging to her husband. The man stayed composed, but grief flickered beneath the surface. The younger children spoke of strangers in the marketplace following them through the marketplace.

Sheera immediately insisted they all go north to Gossam.

Gossam was the largest city in Southern Atlantis. Bustling streets, markets spilling with goods from across the region, the hum of trade and voices overlapping. Machines buzzed, pushing against the old ways. Towering stone structures, some ancient, some newly built, stood against the backdrop of endless mountains. It wasn't like the big cities of Atlantis, not Bahyan, not Underworld, not Syris or Monika, but it was bigger than the small villages scratched in the Southern Mountains.

To Esa's surprise, Sheera handed Cahn's father a key card to a home he owned there. As if he had known a moment like this would come.

Sheera and Cahn's father spent hours huddled over Cahn's decade-old, boxy tablet. Trying to force a connection. Hoping to reach Ibris. Each attempt failed. The signal cut before it could even form. Then, the grim realization settled over them that all communications in the South were being jammed.

But how? Another question. The deeper Esa looked, the less he understood.

Esa had considered leaving. Going north with Cahn's family. Maybe even returning to the Underworld to gather more information. But then, the airship passed over the village. A massive Yucan vessel, larger than any Sheera had seen, come to the shores of the South.

Esa and Sheera tracked its landing to a nearby beach. They watched from the shadows as the mercenaries loaded its cargo, nearly a hundred halfbreeds. And with them, young women. Girls. Wrists bound. Eyes covered.

The sight hit Esa like a blow. Pulled him back to when he was seven years old.

Back to the day his mother and he, and many other village women, were taken from their fisher village in the Northern Mountains.

Rage. It swelled inside Esa, raw and blinding. His breath caught.

Sheera's hand landed on his shoulder, firm, grounding.

"Think before you act," he said, calmly.

Esa and Sheera quietly slid into the airship. The mercenaries spoke perfect Atlantean.

Were they Atlantean?

But then, something worse. Many of them wore Dawa robes, but none of them actual monks. They were pretending to be monks.

But why?

While aboard the ship, Esa watched as a false monk seized a woman, dragging her toward a private chamber as she screamed for help. Something snapped in Esa.

Without a second thought, he extended his hand, a swift, crushing motion from afar, and the mercenary's neck twisted sharply, breaking under the force of his unseen power.

A ripple of shock tore through nearly ten nearby mercenaries before chaos erupted.

Blades flashed, shouts rang out, the scene unraveling into an all-out battle. Realizing Esa's power, the attackers unleashed a massive, continuous laser weapon.

A flick of his fingers, Esa effortlessly disabled it. Sparks rained as the weapon died.

Meanwhile, Sheera was forced to join the fray from above. Laser shots whizzed past him in a deadly barrage.

Eventually, Esa unlocked every door on the airship, releasing the captives. Panic erupted. Terrified, prisoners screamed and scattered as the battle raged around them. Sheera sprang into action, wings slicing through the smoke. He moved fast, grabbing, lifting, carrying, ferrying as many as he could to the safety of the hilly shores.

The turning point came when a mercenary, in a desperate bid to bargain with Esa, slit the throat of a halfbreed boy. Esa's rage erupted uncontrollably.

Power surged through him, and with a single, devastating force, he tore the large airship apart, splitting it in two. The ship groaned, metal shrieking as it buckled under his will. The remaining mercenaries, panicked and broken, scrambled to escape the wreckage.

Amid the chaos, Esa seized a young mercenary dressed as a Dawa monk, blood pooling beneath him. Atlantean. Esa knew it.

"Where was this ship headed?" he demanded.

The man's eyes fluttered, blood seeping from his lips as he struggled to speak. With great effort, he managed a faint whisper:

"Taros..."

"Who do you work for?" Esa growled, with rage.

But before the man could answer, his body went limp. An eerie silence settled over the scene like a shadowed curse.

Taros.

All Esa knew was what Sheera had told him years ago, a bustling port city on Yuca's north eastern shores. Traders from across the world gathered there, exchanging goods, wealth, secrets. But only decades ago, Taros had been something else, a hub for the halfbreed slave trade. A dark artery connecting Atlantis and Mutapu.

And now, standing among the ruins of the airship, Esa saw it for what it was.

The slave trade had never truly ended.

Local authorities arrived shortly after, forcing Esa and Sheera to flee.

Esa didn't move. Didn't want to. Rage still burned in his veins. Sheera had to physically drag him from the ship, gripping him tightly and carrying him away from the scene. Then, he flew them to the forest surrounding the monastery.

Once they landed, Sheera turned to him. "Stay hidden."

Esa knew better than to question his master.

Then, without another word, Sheera disappeared into the trees.

When Sheera returned, he discovered troubling news. The Dawa monks on patrol had vanished over the past two days. The monks, who were expected to check in each evening, had disappeared without a trace. To make matters worse, Sheera told Esa that Master Orin's condition had worsened. Significantly.

Esa was eager to go to him, but Sheera held him back. "Wait." Urging patience. Restraint.

Esa clenched his fists. How much longer?

A gust of cold air pulled Esa out of his memories, bringing him back to the plateau.

Sheera sat beside him, still meditating.

The sparse canopy of trees offered little shelter, their twisted forms dark against the jagged horizon. Esa exhaled, scanning the fractured landscape. Searching for answers.

"What has happened to this sacred land?" he muttered, frustrated and exhausted.

Sheera opened his eyes, ending his meditation. Weariness lined his feathered face, but he remained calm, steady.

"Sometimes, the answers we seek are hidden in stillness. When the mind is clouded, reconnect with yourself...and clarity will come."

The words came from the Scroll of Khenar-Tashi, an ancient Dawa scripture passed down for generations.

But Esa's mind was anything but still.

"Yes, but... I am struggling to find stillness." Esa whispered, almost to himself. He swiped a hand across his forehead, smearing the grime there.

I need answers now.

Then, he added: "Should we travel to Taros, Master?"

His master paused for a long moment. "We do not know enough to take further action. Things are not always what they appear."

Esa wished he could speak with Ibris. He always knew where to find answers. The idea drew a dry, humorless laugh from his lips.

"I just wish there was someone we could turn to for help."

Sheera's wings twitched thoughtfully. "Ah, indeed. Perhaps seeking help is exactly what we need to do."

Esa raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "From whom?"

Sheera met his gaze, voice grave. "The Oracle Kora."

"What could she do to help us?" Esa had heard of her during his time in the South. But he needed solid facts, not frivolous prophecies.

"Don't underestimate Kora," Sheera cautioned. "Sometimes, I fear that speaking to her locks the future onto a specific path, one that's difficult to change. That's why I only seek her guidance when there's no other choice."

"Hm," Esa murmured.

"You'll see," Sheera assured.  With that, he flapped his vast wings and soared into the sky, his powerful form cutting through the air with precision. Esa watched intently, as Sheera took off from the plateau.

Taking a deep breath, Esa followed, gliding cautiously just above the treetops. Pain radiated from his shoulder. A constant reminder that he could no longer fly as effortlessly as before. As he descended toward the valley below. The dense trees gave way to a winding river carving through the landscape. At its heart, a solitary hill rose, its rocky side draped in tangled vines and brush.

Sheera landed softly near the hill, his wings folding neatly against his back. Esa touched down beside him, his own landing less fluid, the strain in his shoulder lingering.

Sheera let out a heavy sigh before speaking. "This is where she resides."

He gestured toward a cave entrance, barely visible amidst the thick trees and the flowing river. Dark stone, half-hidden by tangled roots and mist.

Esa nodded in acknowledgment, then flinched as pain shot through his shoulder. Sheera closely examined Esa's wound. Swollen. Red. Despite a village healer's efforts, infection had set in. The dampness seeping through the bandages and staining the fabric of Esa's tunic.

Concern flickered in Sheera's features, but he said nothing.

Esa shifted uncomfortably under Sheera's silent observation. The persistent ache gnawed at him. But he forced himself to look forward. Directing his focus to the cave entrance ahead. The cold stone entrance loomed, its shadows stretching inward, silent, waiting. There was an eerie calm to it, as if the cave itself was watching. Beckoning.

As Esa entered the cave, his senses were overwhelmed. The thick scent of oil lamps clung to the air, their flames casting restless shadows along the stone walls. The lamps were spaced evenly, their light flickering as though alive, bathing the cavern in a soft, shifting glow.

Strange, angular symbols were etched deep into the rock walls. Ancient. Meaning lost to time.

They seemed to hum with energy, each mark deliberately placed, each one linked to the other in a language that transcended spoken words.

As Sheera and Esa ventured deeper, the cave opened up around them, widening into a vast chamber. At its center, a roaring fire blazed, flames crackling as they reached toward a narrow crack in the ceiling. Wisps of smoke curled into the darkness above, vanishing into the unknown.

Firelight flickered across the stone floor, illuminating intricate carvings along the walls and pillars. Symbols. Statues. Deities unfamiliar to Esa. Some figures were humanoid, others animalistic, their forms both grand and distorted. Their eyes, carved deep into the stone, seemed to watch eternally. Guardians of this sacred space.

Esa shifted uneasily, the ache in his shoulder now joined by a deeper discomfort, a sense that he didn't belong in this place.

"So, we meet at last, Esa."

The words floated softly through the cave as a woman entered quietly behind them. Her presence was both commanding and gentle, as though the very air shifted with her arrival.

She had brown eyes and dark skin. Long, unruly waves of silver and white hair, streaked with hints of gray, tumbled down her back, framing a face touched by both the beauty of youth and the passage of years. Deep lines etched stories of joy and sorrow, each crease a silent testament to a life fully lived. Yet, her gaze, serene, luminous, held something greater. Wisdom. The kind forged over generations.

She wore a colorful tunic, rich with vibrant patterns that swirled in earth-toned, reds, oranges, and yellows, hues of the setting sun. A long, embroidered skirt with intricate designs, fell to her ankles. The fabric moved gracefully as she walked. The colors seemed to mirror the life she had lived, full of fire, passion, and an unshaken bond to the land .

In her arms, she carried a woven basket brimming with freshly picked fruits. Her hands, weathered by time, moved with a grace that belied their age.

"Sheera has told me much about you over the years," she said, scanning Esa from head to toe. "You're exactly as I imagined, but perhaps a bit less... filthy." She stepped closer, studying his face with quiet intensity. Then, she stopped at the dark green stone hanging around his neck.

Esa felt uneasy under her scrutiny, aware that he had not bathed or changed his clothes in days. His hand instinctively moved to his mother's amulet. Gripping the stone protectively. To block it from her view.

"The last time Sheera spoke of you was a few years ago, when you asked to leave the monastery. Do you remember that, Sheera?"

She glanced back at the eagle halfbreed, who nodded in return.

"The moment Sheera landed that day, I knew he had come to speak about the great Esa," Kora said, waving her finger with a knowing gesture."It was obvious, even in the way the crows moved that day, that you, Esa, were ready to leave the South and embark on something glorious."

Esa, unsure of what to do, awkwardly extended his hand. The woman smiled warmly and clasped it gently in hers. She shook it, but then held it a moment longer, examining both sides of his palm with careful attention, before she slowly released it. "Ah, yes," she said, almost to herself. Then she looked deeply into Esa's eyes, as if she was looking for something. "Oh, interesting," she added.

Esa wanted to ask what she had found, but she quickly turned and proceeded to put the basket down onto a table at the far end of the cave.

A soft patter of paws followed her.

A small gray cat padded into the cave, its coat a striking contrast of light gray with darker spots and stripes. With a soft "meow," it sauntered toward Esa, rubbing its head affectionately against his leg, warm, familiar, unbothered by the tension in the room.

Then, it turned its attention to Sheera.

The cat nuzzled against his strong legs and brushed its furry body against the feathers of Sheera's wings.

"Mimi likes you, Esa" the woman remarked, watching the cat's affectionate display. Then, she softened as she turned to Sheera again. "And how are you, old friend?"

"We need your help," Sheera finally spoke up. He had been waiting for Kora's attention.

"I know." She smiled.

Esa cast a worried glance at Sheera but said nothing. His unease was clear.

"You're here to stop the end of the world," she said, with certainty.

Sheera stiffened. His composure cracked, just for a moment.

Esa stood frozen, confusion knotting his thoughts.

Why did his master take this woman so seriously?

"What—what do you mean?" Sheera asked, concerned. This puzzled Mimi the cat, who then turned and walked deeper into the cave.

"Exactly what I said," the woman replied. From her basket, she picked up a small, wrinkled fruit with a dull reddish skin. She turned it over in her hands, examining it carefully as if it held the key to some deeper mystery.

Without looking up, she took a small knife from the table and began slicing through the fruit. The blade moved with practiced precision.

"Well, the beginning of the end, really," she added, then offered a piece of fruit to Sheera and Esa.

"Tamarillo?"

They shook their heads, declining respectfully.

"End of what?" Esa asked, doubtfully.

"The world, young one, the entire world," she said, her hand sweeping out in a gesture that seemed to encompass everything around her.

[Chapter 12 continues in the next part.]