The silence after the Barbs of Truth was unreal. The room of melted memories behind them faded away, and the air before Arien and Nyra began to tremble with heat—but it wasn't the heat of the surface. The labyrinth pulsed, confusing the senses, mixing the scent of hot sand, dawn light, and echoes of recently confessed pains.
They advanced down a corridor that widened and grew brighter with each step, until the floor became golden sand and dried leaves. Above, roots and stones parted as if to let in a false sun: a dome illuminated by magic, casting long and distorted shadows. The desert of Kael'Zyth seemed to have been born right there inside—but deep down, they knew they hadn't even climbed a single level. That landscape was a trial, a mirror of everything they feared facing outside.
The air was so dry that every breath scratched their throats. The ground creaked under boots and sandals, while half-buried crystals reflected a cold light, deceiving both body and mind. Nyra stopped suddenly, her eyes fixed on a crack snaking through the ground: she felt the magic pulse, as if that sand were woven from unhealed memories.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a scream—a roar of pure agony and rage, born from everything that had never found forgiveness beneath those stones. The sound ricocheted off the walls of the magical dome, vibrating down to their bones. They looked up: a titanic shadow plummeted from the illusory "sky," leathery wings studded with dead gold and coal, sharp claws, eyes of red fire.
Arien froze, feeling a chill run down his spine. It was as if every memory repressed by the labyrinth was now given form and voice. He recognized that creature—not because he'd seen it before, but because the entire environment seemed to conspire to make it inevitable. The Alakar was not just another beast: it was the very accumulation of pain, guilt, and betrayed promises of all who had ever passed through those halls, transformed into flesh of mourning and sparks, bone of memory, plumage of lost voices.
They said monsters like him were not born of flesh, but from the leftovers of all that time could not heal. His wings stirred not only the thin air of the dome, but also childhood memories, hidden traumas, regrets never confessed. Every beat spread a bitter scent, a mix of nostalgia and vengeance, as if the past was, suddenly, more alive and fiercer than any physical threat.
There, before them, the Alakar was not just an enemy, but a story condensed in pain, ready to collect its price from those who dared to face their own ghosts.
The monster spun, swirling like a whirlwind. Its wings cut the air, raising a storm of sand and pebbles. It dove from above, as if the whole "desert" was collapsing on them in a single instant.
Arien rolled to the side, the sand scraping his skin, smelling of ozone and burnt magic. Nyra raised her hands and tried to call roots from the ground, but all she found were dried fragments that crumbled between her fingers. The Alakar was not just fast: it was unpredictable. It charged again, its claws raking a stone that rose before Arien, nearly splitting him in half.
Arien reacted with a leap, his breath torn between panic and instinct. The Static Flame whip exploded in his hand with a fierce crack, blue light snaking like wild lightning. He whipped his arm violently, slicing the air—the flash struck the Alakar's shoulder, sending sparks to ignite the sand, forcing the monster to spin and roar even louder. Shards of energy ricocheted off the walls of the dome, illuminating the sweat on Arien's face and the blood dripping from the enemy's wounded shoulder. The scent of nostalgia and burnt fear seemed to suffocate, dense as blue smoke—every heartbeat was a blow, every second, a risk of the end.
The monster beat its wings with almost insane fury, unleashing a brutal wave of wind and dust that flung Nyra through the air, slamming her hard against an exposed root. She grunted, feeling her skin tear, but didn't hesitate: she jumped to her feet, tore stones from the ground with her own hands, and hurled them with precision, forcing the Alakar to swerve for a moment. Arien seized the moment, leaping over a mound of sand that collapsed beneath his feet, his body arched in the air. He whipped again, brutally aiming for the creature's left eye—the strike flashed blue, slicing through the dust, as Nyra repositioned for another attack.
The Alakar dodged with an instinctive spin, but the tip of the whip still slashed its face, tracing a burning line across the monstrous skin. The monster didn't hesitate: it dove at furious speed, like a black thunderbolt cutting through space. Arien, feeling the danger graze his scalp, threw himself to the ground in a desperate reflex—and the Alakar's claw swept past, ripping a handful of hair and gouging a brutal furrow in the sand beside him, where bluish vapors rose in whorls, distorting vision and making the moment even more chaotic and suffocating.
Nyra felt the energy of the Sunflower explode under her skin like an electric current, her heart beating to the rhythm of ancient rituals. She murmured a chant of courage, her voice hoarse and urgent echoing amid the chaos, and drove both hands into the hot sand. It was nearly impossible to find life there—but through pure desperation and fury, she wrenched ethereal vines from the dry grains, green and golden ghosts bursting from the ground at brutal speed, whipping the air and coiling around the Alakar's leg. The impact was so sudden that the monster staggered, losing its balance and nearly falling, its wings slashing the air with a crash. That was the opening: Arien sprang forward without hesitation, feeling time contract around them.
Arien dashed across the field, his heart pounding like a war drum, whipping the air violently as he aimed for the demon's chest. The blow came like thunder: it landed squarely, detonating an explosion of blue and gold light that engulfed the Alakar's body in a blinding flash. The monster screamed, its wings flapping in unrestrained fury, sending out waves of wind that almost toppled Arien. At the same instant, the creature's tail whipped the air—a black barb whizzed and struck Arien's shoulder, pain stabbing through him like fire, making his legs falter and his vision flicker in a moment of pure despair.
Nyra leapt aside in a pure reflex, hearing the deadly hiss of the Alakar's claws passing too close. One caught her, slashing her forearm, and hot blood ran, staining sand and skin. Even so, she didn't retreat: she spun on her own axis, panting, eyes burning, and channeled energy in a last surge of desperation and courage. She shouted ancient words, and wild roots exploded from the sand, racing and coiling around the creature's head—blinding the monster, immobilizing it for precious seconds amid the chaos of battle.
The Alakar exploded in fury, its wings beating with absurd violence, creating vortices so dense that the light of the dome flickered out in a burst of dust and darkness. The creature's tail swept the field like a colossal whip, smashing stones, pulverizing roots, and hurling shards whistling around the pair. The ground trembled; dust and debris slashed their faces, and for a moment there were only screams, thuds, and the suffocating sense of being swallowed by a living storm.
Arien could barely breathe, suffocated by dust and the burning pain in his shoulder. His chest blazed as if real fire had seized his heart; his muscles trembled on the verge of collapse. With every breath, he tasted blood and memory.
Amidst the chaos, an image surfaced: the clear sound of Liara's bell, echoing through memories, the promise made upon the ashes of Mahran. It pulled him back from the abyss. He struggled to his feet, still gasping, and grabbed Nyra by the arm, pulling her from the immediate reach of the monster's furious tail. One look was enough: they were together, despite everything, and the fight was not over—it was necessary to act before the next wave crushed them.
— "Together!" he shouted, and she nodded.
In a final attack choreographed like an ancient instinct, Nyra dug her feet into the hot sand and channeled all her energy into her palms: wild roots burst from the ground, vibrant and alive, racing in green-gold strokes around the Alakar's wings. The vines coiled around the membranes, forcing the creature to rear up in a frenzy, wings beating and magical blood flying in blue and gold drops. At the same time, Arien launched himself from the ground—the leap was so swift and impossible that the very light of the dome seemed to bend behind him, leaving a phosphorescent trail. The whip crackled, tracing a perfect arc, as if sketching in the air the memory of all unkept promises. When the blade sliced through the creature's neck, the energy released set the air ablaze: the Alakar's magical flesh tore in colored flames, and currents of electric pain snaked through its open veins.
The monster howled, but the sound unfolded into multiple echoes—the cry was made of children's voices, broken oaths, laughter from lost times. The bloodied wings spread in a final spasm, and for a surreal instant, the colossal body dissolved into pure memory. Flashes swirled through the air: scenes from childhood, faces distorted by longing, fragments of hope, broken promises—all spinning around Arien and Nyra like a storm of stardust, coloring the space with impossible hues and nameless emotions.
Silence returned, but now the air seemed heavier, saturated with memories and moisture.
Arien fell to his knees, feeling the sand mingle with blood, pain, and relief. Nyra reached him, her healing power finally spinning through his body, closing wounds and healing Arien's shoulder. For a while, they stayed there, listening to the silence that was never complete, attuned to the echoes and promises of the labyrinth, knowing that the battle won was just another, and that the magical dome was beginning to dissolve, revealing a new trail in the shadows ahead.
Without words, the two rose, feeling their scars throb—living marks of what they had overcome, but not finished. The dust still spun, carrying memories and promises, as both advanced, attentive to the silence full of signs and the next movement of the labyrinth.