"Haa… haa..."
Azriel was tired.
Exhausted.
He ran.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
If he stopped…
Everything would be for naught.
He would die.
And have to redo everything.
Which he desperately didn't want to do.
The heat was torture.
The black dunes stretched endlessly, littered with bones.
The invisible sun, hiding behind the blinking stars, felt like molten lava on his skin.
The more he pressed forward,
the worse the heat became.
And…
He was exposed.
Watched.
Eyes were everywhere.
Yet none dared approach.
They knew that to do so would mean death.
He couldn't see any of them either.
Azriel was not their prey.
No.
Azriel was its prey.
The Cradler.
He was wrong.
The Cradler didn't care about the fire.
It didn't fight other void creatures, nor did it get distracted.
It wanted only one thing.
Azriel.