The pit had fallen into silence. Eerie. Heavy.

Mazi exhaled, glancing at Esa. He was slumped on the sand, leaning weakly against Mazi's knee and arm. Kaya knelt beside them, her face tight with worry.

Everyone was catching their breath.

The Khoraz were gone. Their lifeless bodies sprawled across the sand. Their wrath, their power—extinguished after all these years.

Mazi had imagined this moment differently. Victory should have felt triumphant. Liberating. Instead, it left behind a quiet ache.

Perhaps Sheera had been right.

"Healing the wound isn't in revenge, but in letting it go."

Sheera had told them that countless times at the monastery. Mazi could almost hear his voice now.

He turned to Kaya, and relief swelled in his chest, immediate and overwhelming. Relief that she was here, alive, standing before him after everything. That he had met someone as extraordinary as her.

And yet—concern followed.

She was looking at Esa, worry etched deep into her face. Mazi felt something twist inside him, sharp and uninvited.

Did she have feelings for him?

He shook the thought from his mind. Not now. Not here.

Mazi's thoughts swirled, pulling him in too many directions at once. The weight of battle still clung to him. The blood, the sand, the breathless silence that followed victory. Except it didn't feel like victory.

Then a sound broke through the fog in his mind.

Sheera was coughing. Uncontrollably.

Joher and Ibris moved at the same time, rushing toward him. And then, it hit Mazi like a blow to the chest.

Sheera was dying.

His old teacher. The man who had shaped so much of who he was. Slipping away, right in front of him.

Beside him, Esa stirred. Weak, but determined. "Help me up. Take me to Sheera."

Mazi hesitated. Esa could barely lift his arm. Whether the STIMs had worn off or his body had simply hit its limit didn't matter, his determination to reach Sheera was unshakeable. As always.

Mazi had spent his years at the Dawa monastery, studying under monks, following their way of life. But Esa? Esa had trained directly under Sheera.

Learning. Pushing his body and mind to their limits.

Under Sheera's guidance, Esa had mastered meditation and martial arts.

And the art of flight.

Together, they had studied the Gab Nori, lived by the principles of Dawa, and devoted themselves to its path.

If anyone belonged at Sheera's side now, it was Esa.

The rest of the group had already gathered around Sheera.

Mazi and Kaya helped Esa up.

The great eagle halfbreed lay sprawled on the ground, his massive frame trembling with each labored breath. Coughing violently. Each time he tried to push himself up onto his talon, he collapsed back down. Until finally, he stopped struggling. His body had given in.

Ibris reached him first. He knelt beside his old teacher, his hand gently supporting Sheera's neck. "Ummanu," he whispered, thick with grief. "Please, rest. I'll get you home..."

There was sorrow in his words. A deep, aching sorrow.

Sheera's bloodied beak parted. "Ibris," he rasped, choking on another cough.

Ibris smiled weakly at his Umannu. "That was him... Ashur." He whispered.

Something flickered in Sheera's tired eyes—pride. As if reassured his old student, his faithful acolyte was still in there somewhere.

"I'm afraid..." Sheera coughed again, his breathing ragged. "His return marks the beginning... of the end of our time. Our world is in grave danger."

Ibris shook his head. Panic flashed across his face.

Slowly Mazi and Kaya approached, supporting Esa between them, his arms draped lightly over their shoulders. They carefully lowered him down next to Sheera, across from Ibris.

Esa barely had the strength to speak.

"Master Sheera is right."

His gaze locked onto Ibris. Unrelenting. Intense.

Mazi could almost see the question forming in Ibris' mind. What could that possibly mean?

Mazi wondered the same.

Sheera coughed again, harder, deeper, more violent. His body shook with the effort.

Esa held onto him, his grip firm despite his own weakness. "We have to do what it takes to save Atlantis. To save our world," he repeated, raw with conviction.

Sheera continued to cough, a tear rolling down his feathered face. "My only regret is that... I can't walk this path any further with you," his voice breaking. "I am leaving you all with this great burden. I thought I could handle it in my lifetime, but... here I am, at the end."

He paused, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Then Sheera's eyes sharpened, the last of his strength poured into his next words.

"All I know is that sentient android must be destroyed if humanity is to survive."

It was as if the words sank into the earth itself. As if the future of the world had just been placed in their hands.

Mazi swallowed hard.

He often forgot just how much Sheera had shaped Ibris, who always seemed so independent, so self-sufficient. But now, Mazi could see it.

Ibris had drawn so much of his strength from Sheera. Like Mazi. Like Esa. He had spent much of his childhood under Sheera's watchful gaze, serving as his first acolyte in the Grand Citadel.

And now, he was losing him.

Ibris trembled. His fists clenched. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I'll give you my word, Umannu." His body shook, but his resolve did not. "I'll do everything in my power."

Sheera gave a faint, approving nod. He glanced toward Esa.

"Esa will show you the way."

The mention of Esa's name made Ibris' jaw tighten. Mazi noticed it immediately.

Esa's voice wavered, his resolve cracking. "Master Sheera, you're going to be okay..." His whisper barely held together. Then, desperately, he turned to Joher and Ibris. "Help him. Please."

Joher knelt beside Sheera, his medical tablet in hand. He ran a quick scan. His expression turned grim.

"His vitals are dangerously low," Joher said, quietly. "Sheera's bleeding internally. I don't have the equipment to help him."

His eyes flicked toward the sun, merciless and burning high above them. Then back down at Sheera.

"...There isn't much we can do. Only pray."

With that, Joher closed his eyes and began murmuring a prayer, low and reverent.

Sheera's golden eyes flickered toward him. He gave the faintest smile. "Thank you, friend," he rasped, barely audible. He accepted the blessing with quiet grace.

Then, his body convulsed. A violent tremor.

Esa's composure shattered.

"No, no, Master, please stay with us!"

Mazi, who was usually calm and composed, felt something inside him slip. He whispered, "Master Sheera..."

Ibris placed a hand on Sheera's heaving chest, as if trying to hold him here. As if trying to stop what was coming.

"Ummanu... please," he said, thick with desperation. "We need more time."

Sheera's golden eyes, dimming with each passing moment, shifted between Esa, Mazi, and Ibris.

"Look at what great men you have all become," he said, a weak smile forming on his bloodstained beak. "You filled my life with purpose. Especially since I never had a family of my own."

His breath wavered. He softened.

"I always thought of you as my own."

A violent cough wracked through him. Blood splattered across his feathers, his body trembling from the effort.

"I'm afraid..." He was fading, his energy slipping. "You have a glorious... but terrible destiny ahead of you. All of you."

Mazi saw it then, for the briefest moment. The animosity between Ibris and Esa cracked. Esa, battered and exhausted, managed a faint smile at Ibris.

And Ibris returned it.

Sheera's fading gaze turned to Mazi, filled with deep and unshaken pride and love.

"Oh, Mazi. How wise and strong you've grown." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I always knew you would bring peace to the lives of those around you."

The words settled in Mazi's chest. He wished he had more time to understand them.

Then Sheera's gaze shifted. He looked between Esa and Ibris.

"You two have always reminded me of one another," he said, fragile but certain. "Like brothers."

Mazi's stomach tightened.

"I know things have been hard between you," Sheera continued. "But hope for our world lies in making amends with one another—and within ourselves."

Esa clenched his jaw and turned away. Mazi saw it, the turmoil still simmering beneath the surface. The war inside him not yet over.

Ibris, meanwhile, stared at the ground. His body still, his mind elsewhere, consumed by shame.

"I know you both have your journeys," Sheera whispered, trembling with frailty. "But this old man prays that, in time, you will come to see the wisdom in my words."

A final breath. Shuddering. Weak.

Then, stillness.

Sheera was gone.

Mazi felt something inside him break. A quiet, shattering kind of grief.

Esa, Ibris, and Mazi all had tears streaking their faces. None of them made a sound. They didn't have to. Their grief was silent. Raw. Unrestrained.

They all cried, like little boys mourning the only father they had ever known.

Kaya moved first. She comfortingly wrapped her arms around both Esa and Mazi's shoulders. Yoshua rested a steadying hand on his old friend Ibris' shoulder.

Joher stood slightly apart, his gaze solemn. But Mazi caught the faint flicker of worry in Joher's expression. A distant, haunted look.

Mazi wondered if Joher was thinking about his own family.

Time passed in a haze. The sun bore down on them, harsh and unrelenting. Their tears dried, but no one moved. No one spoke.

How could they? How did you move forward from something like this?

Then, the sound of an engine roared through the air.

A massive black airship sliced across the sky, its silhouette cutting through the dust and destruction. Not the Ishtar's Veil. It was a different ship. At the same moment, Ibris' tablet buzzed softly.

He glanced down, reading the message.

Mazi heard Ibris whisper, "Marcus."

He turned the screen toward the others. It read, 

"Something came up. I had to go. Here's your ride home."

Ibris' expression shifted. Anger melting into relief.

Mazi shielded his eyes against the harsh sun, squinting as the airship descended. Its massive silhouette cut through the haze and dust, landing just beyond the crumbling arena.

Yoshua exhaled, quietly. "Let's go."

But he didn't move toward the ship. Instead, he grabbed a fallen spear, bent the metal into a makeshift tool, and began digging into the sand.

A grave.

Ibris and Joher stepped forward, ready to help, but before they could, Esa forced himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him.

"Stop," Esa said, hoarse but firm.

Mazi stayed close behind, ready to catch him if he faltered.

Esa clenched his teeth. "I've got it."

Pushing through the pain, he summoned what little strength remained to use his abilities. The ground shifted. The sand parted. Slowly, a grave took shape.

Together, they laid Sheera to rest beneath the searing sun.

Mazi took in his surroundings. The crumbling, vast arena had now become a mausoleum for one of the greatest men Atlantis had ever known: Master Sheera of the Dawa Order, the revered Ummanu of the Grand Citadel.

Mazi wondered if the world would remember him.

He knew he always would.

Esa recited, steady despite his exhaustion, a passage from the Gab Nori, Chapter of the Fisherman:

"The road to Ava is not where we end,
But where another beginning will send.

"Her waters flow far past the horizon's line,
Her winds will guide to realms divine.
We are but travelers, our paths set free,
By her hand, we sail to the eternal sea."

No one spoke.

They simply listened. Letting the weight of his words settle over them.

As they turned toward the airship, Ibris suddenly spoke.

"Wait."

He was uncharacteristically hesitant.

"I'd like to recite something too."

The group paused, turning to him in surprise.

Ibris stepped forward, his expression unreadable. Then, he began to recite from memory a passage from the Chapter of Ava Nori:

"The Goddess's blessing is for the next life,
Granted to those who transcend this strife,
Who have lived this one with truth and grace,
And pursued justice in every place.

"Through her mercy, the cycle will cease,
Granting the faithful eternal peace."

Ibris exhaled, his breath unsteady, his grief barely contained.

"I know no one else who fits that verse better than Sheera," he said, voice raw. He looked toward the sky. "Ava Nori!"

"Ava Nori!" Esa and Mazi echoed in unison.

Joher, Kaya, and Yoshua nodded respectfully, standing silently in support, though they did not join in Nori religion's last rites.

The group turned toward the airship. There was nothing more to say.

As they boarded and the ship lifted off toward Masrynai sky port, the atmosphere in the cabin was heavy. Tense.

Finally, Joher broke. The grief, the weight, the fear—it all came crashing down. He buried his face in his hands, shaking as he spoke. His wife. His parents. He had searched the underground cells. They weren't there.

Joher hadn't found them.

In an effort to comfort him, Esa shared a vivid and painful memory.

He told Joher about Buramiya. About the moment before the explosion, the desperate seconds before everything fell apart.

About how, in a final effort to save Joher's family, he had parted the earth beneath them, covered them in dirt and foliage, hiding them from the enemy's view.

He told Joher about giving Sumaya a Gab Nori. About how, in those last moments, he had prayed Ava Nori would watch over them.

Esa's words struck Joher like a thunderclap. A spark of hope lit in his eyes. Then, like a chain reaction, a memory surfaced. "My wife's sister. She lives in Monika City. I don't know why I hadn't thought of calling her before." He wavered as he added, "But if I know Sumaya... that's exactly where she would have gone."

Joher's breath hitched. His hands fumbled as he pulled out his new medical tablet, the one Ibris had given him after he lost his old one in Buramiya.

A broken sob escaped him as he turned to Esa. Then, without warning, he hugged him.

Joher's entire body trembled as he made the call.

Mazi and the others watched as the screen connected, and a woman's voice answered.

His wife's sister. She didn't even wait for Joher to ask. She knew why he was calling.

"They're safe," she assured him. "Sumaya. Your parents. They're here, staying with me in Monika City."

Joher's free hand clenched into a fist, anchoring him the newfound hope. To the miracle.

He exhaled. A long, shuddering breath. Then, with quiet, unshakable conviction, he whispered: "Elah is great."

Esa nodded, his expression softer than before, then quietly made his way to the front of the cabin. Mazi noticed how deliberately he avoided Ibris. Not a single glance. Not a word.

Without hesitation, Kaya followed.

Mazi, however, stayed. He settled into a seat at the back, where Yoshua and Ibris were already deep in conversation.

They whispered about Ashur. Their voices were low, tense, questioning why Marcus had taken him, what his true motives might be.

Mazi could feel the tension radiating off them.

Mazi glanced toward the front of the cabin. Kaya and Esa were engrossed in a more lively conversation. Lighter, faster, more animated. From the snippets Mazi caught, it sounded like something about laser guns and energy swords.

He almost smiled. Of course.

With a deep breath, Mazi turned back to Yoshua.

He had put this off too long.

"I'd like to speak with you, if now is okay."

Yoshua raised an eyebrow, studying him. Measuring. Then, after a pause, he nodded. "Alright." He gave Kaya a brief glance.

The faint sound of the airship drifted around them.

Mazi, though visibly fatigued, carried himself with quiet determination.

"I didn't get a chance to formally ask your permission," he began, his tone respectful. "To... to court your niece."

He stammered slightly, but his intent was clear.

Yoshua let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. Mazi could tell he had anticipated this conversation. But that didn't make it any easier for either of them.

Yoshua's gaze drifted toward Kaya, where she sat beside Esa. His concern for her was evident.

"I'm very serious about Kaya," Mazi continued, knowing the Kahkati upheld formal traditions, where a man was expected to seek the family's blessing before declaring his intentions.

"I care for her deeply. But with your permission, I'd like to—"

"It's up to her," Yoshua interrupted, his discomfort clear. "No doubt, you are a good man, Mazi. Kaya is a grown woman now. I will support whatever she decides."

Mazi inclined his head slightly, a gesture of respect. "Thank you."

Yoshua's gaze hardened. "Just... don't hurt her."

"I won't," Mazi replied, sincerely. "Thank you," he repeated.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Across the cabin, Kaya glanced back at them, as if sensing their quiet exchange. Her expression was curious. She gave them a slight nod, as if to ask, What's going on?

Neither Yoshua nor Mazi answered.

At that moment—Ibris loudly blew on his tea, the sound breaking the silence with perfect timing.

"I never realized how much I enjoyed tea," he mused, grinning ear to ear, "until I gave up the ambrosia." He lifted the steaming cup to his lips and took a loud, deliberate sip.

Yoshua and Mazi shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that Ibris had been watching them the entire time.

"What kind of tea is it?" Yoshua asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Alemurian red leaf," Ibris replied, holding back a chuckle. He took another sip, steam curling around his face and horns. "I can't tell you how grateful I was that we didn't have to fight that Ashur thing."

"Ashur appeared formidable," Yoshua agreed, gravely.

"No kidding," Mazi added, running a hand through his long, curly hair. "Given what we saw in the arena, I thought we were all dead." He exhaled deeply, finally allowing himself to relax.

Ibris smirked, murmuring under his breath, "Esa could've probably taken him."

Low enough that Esa wouldn't hear.

"Esa was in no shape to take on Ashur," Mazi countered just as quietly, equally careful.

Yoshua exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps," he said, thoughtfully.

Ibris' expression grew more serious as he turned to Mazi, his voice sincere. "You think he'll ever forgive me for what happened?"

Mazi hesitated. Uncertain.

He didn't know Esa to be a man who forgave easily. But for Ibris' sake, he hoped.

"In time," he murmured.

Joher suddenly spoke with urgency. "I'm worried."

Everyone turned to him.

"Marcus is going to use Ashur for his own agenda."

Ibris let out a short laugh. "He always does."

No one else was laughing.

Yoshua leaned forward. "Why do you think that?"

Joher hesitated before answering. "Because when Marcus freed that... that thing, I was there."

His expression darkened.

"I had gone to look for my family, but when I returned, Marcus was speaking to it. He had already removed its restraints, runes similar to the ones around Esa. From what I could gather, he made a deal with that machine." Joher swallowed hard. "I didn't catch the first part. But I heard Ashur's response."

He exhaled, the words heavy. "'I will help you take them down.'"

Silence.

Ibris and Yoshua exchanged a look. A grim, knowing look. Their mistrust of Marcus had just deepened.

"I hope," Yoshua said. "No, I pray to the Great Mother that we're missing something. Marcus Sumeri may be a sky god and a lying son of a bitch, but he's not an evil man. Right?"

Silence. No one answered.

Mazi exhaled sharply. "Marcus is playing with fire. The last time we allowed sentient androids to exist, they nearly wiped out Atlantis. That machine is not to be trusted."

Ibris gave a small nod, his expression dark. "As far as I'm concerned," he said, coldly, "Marcus Sumeri is dead to me."

Joher reached into his pocket and pulled out the rune-etched restraints that had bound Ashur. He turned them over in his hands, frowning.

"I picked these up after Marcus released the machine," he said, his brow furrowed in thought.

Everyone's eyes snapped to the restraints.

"Before he died," Joher continued, "Khuri gave me an idea. I think I might have a way to help Geshar."

He held up the restraints, his expression resolute.

"With these."

Mazi and Ibris exchanged a glance, their eyes settling on the runes.

A flicker of realization crossed Mazi's face. He knew those restraints could do more than just help Geshar.

They might be the key to containing the sentient android Ashur once more.