The Call of Shadows and Sand

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Since then, the kingdom of Zarynthia had been a shadow of its former self, as if her absence had stolen the very breath of the land. From the highest courts to the smallest villages, people whispered of a prophecy, that one day the kingdom would be restored by those who remembered her true magic. And so, two very different journeys began.

With eyes closed, Lady Donatella reached for the small bell on her bedside table, her jewel-encrusted fingers brushing it with care. She pinched the handle, her pinky lifted, and rang it twice. Moments later, after a clatter and some muffled voices below deck, her companion Kate appeared, dressed in enormous black sunglasses and a gold silk scarf, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a handful of crystal flutes in the other.

“Good morning, my lady,” Kate murmured, wobbling slightly on her feet.

Donatella raised a brow. “Celebrating already? We haven’t reached the shores yet.”

“Oh, just a small indulgence,” Kate replied, handing Donatella a glass. But beneath her playful tone, both women sensed the weight of what lay ahead. Donatella’s mission wasn’t a lighthearted jaunt; she’d been sent by the Council of Zarynthia to find the lost Queen and restore their crumbling kingdom.

As they sailed toward the distant city of Lydd, where ancient mysteries awaited, Donatella’s thoughts turned inward. She’d heard whispers of the Queen’s last stronghold, a place where the very stones were said to hold memories of magic. But she wasn’t alone in seeking a lost past.

Meanwhile, a man named Abdullah was making his own journey back to Lydd. He was older now, weathered by eighty years of exile, yet his spirit remained unbowed. The kingdom had once been his home—a place of joy, of bustling markets and olive groves, where his family had lived in peace. But all that had been taken from him the day his people were driven out, forced to leave the city they loved.

The weight of memory pressed upon him as he approached the city, hidden now beneath years of dust and silence. The once-bustling streets were now empty, the stones crumbling underfoot. Shadows whispered in the alleyways, and the wind seemed to carry the voices of those long gone. Yet his heart beat with the hope that, perhaps, he could see his city restored before he left this world.

He reined in his horse near an old market square. Abdullah dismounted, his legs slightly unsteady from the long journey, and knelt on the earth, fingers brushing against the soil as he pressed his lips to the ground. Each grain of sand seemed to hold a memory, a fragment of a world he had once known. It was as if he could see the ghosts of the people he had loved—their voices murmuring, their faces emerging and disappearing with each stir of the wind.

As he rose, Abdullah heard footsteps approaching from the distance, a faint but steady rhythm of heels on cobblestone. He turned and saw her—a woman in a long coat, her hands cloaked in jewels, stepping from the deck of a sleek boat docked along the river. There was something timeless in her gaze, a trace of the same magic that whispered through the city’s ruins.

In the moment their eyes met, Abdullah knew. This woman was here for the same reason he was: to find the remnants of an ancient magic that could save his homeland.

Donatella stopped, lips parting in surprise. She looked at the man who had just kissed the ground, and for a heartbeat, it was as if time stood still. She had heard of him—the man who remembered the old tales, the man who had lost everything. And perhaps he, too, had something to gain in the search for the Queen.

Together, they turned their eyes to the mountains, a silent promise in the air between them.

“Shall we go?” she asked softly, her voice filled with purpose.

Abdullah nodded.

With a final glance at the flowing river, now strangely still, the two strangers set off on their quest—one to restore his homeland, and the other to save her Queen.

The ancient path to Lydd was not for the faint-hearted. Once a thriving center of life and trade, the route had fallen into ruin after the Queen’s disappearance. Dense forests and twisting brambles now shrouded the way, and the closer they drew to the mountain’s edge, the colder the air became. Donatella and Abdullah moved in silence, each lost in thoughts of what lay ahead.

Around them, whispers stirred in the trees, faint echoes of voices long past. Every so often, they glimpsed figures in the mist—soldiers, merchants, and children flickering like ghosts before vanishing into the shadows. Donatella kept a steady hand on the hilt of her dagger, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing upon her. She knew these apparitions were not truly alive, but the spirits of those who had once been bound to the Queen. Without her presence, their souls were left wandering, incomplete.

Abdullah, however, walked with a strange sense of peace. Each footfall was a connection to a land he had never forgotten. As they passed a stone archway carved with ancient symbols, he stopped, fingertips tracing the worn etchings.

“It’s the mark of the old families,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “My mother once showed me these symbols, long ago. They represent unity and peace. Lydd was known as the place where all people came together, regardless of birth or fortune.” His voice grew distant, as if he were somewhere far beyond the present.

Donatella watched him, recognizing the silent determination in his expression. She realized now that this journey was more than a mere return for him; it was a reclamation of his heritage, a resurrection of everything he had lost. And she was a part of it.

Suddenly, a sharp, guttural cry pierced the silence. They turned as a flock of crows burst into the sky, circling over a dark figure that emerged from the mist. He wore robes of black and silver, and in his hand was a staff twisted with the roots of the earth itself.

“Travelers,” the figure called, his voice as cold as the stones beneath their feet, “do you seek the path of Lydd?”

Donatella stepped forward, her voice steady. “We do. I am Lady Donatella, sent by the Council of Zarynthia to find the Queen.”

The figure tilted his head, and a glint of curiosity flashed in his shadowed eyes. “And you, old one?” he asked Abdullah.

“I am a son of Lydd, and this is my land. I have returned to bring peace to my ancestors’ bones,” Abdullah replied, his voice resonating with quiet strength.

The figure let out a low, almost mocking laugh. “Peace? There is no peace here—only memory and ruin. If you are to pass, you must prove yourselves worthy.” He raised his staff, and the shadows around him began to twist and merge, forming creatures of darkness and bone. Their hollow eyes glowed with an unnatural light as they stalked forward, claws scraping the ground.

Donatella gripped her dagger, feeling a surge of ancient power in her veins. She hadn’t told Abdullah, but she was not merely a noblewoman; she had been trained in the arcane arts, a rare gift passed down through generations in her family. The air around her seemed to ripple as she whispered an incantation, summoning a protective barrier of light that encircled them.

The shadow creatures hissed, recoiling from the brightness, but they did not retreat.

“Abdullah, stand close,” she said, glancing at him. “I can hold them back for a while”.

Abdullah’s eyes narrowed, scanning the creatures. “These are spirits of the old land, twisted and angry. They are bound to it as I am. If I can call upon the ancient words of my people, I may be able to release them.”

He stepped forward, raising his arms. With a deep breath, he began to chant in a language so old that even the land seemed to recognize it. The sound of his voice filled the air, echoing through the trees and stones, carrying a weight of sorrow and resilience. As he spoke, the creatures hesitated, their forms flickering like dying embers.

One by one, they collapsed into shadows, sinking back into the earth as if freed from an invisible chain. The dark figure, now alone, looked upon Abdullah with a mixture of respect and fear.

“It has been long since I’ve heard the language of the ancient city,” he murmured. “You are indeed worthy. I will allow you to pass, but know this: the Queen is not the only one who has vanished. She has left behind secrets—and dangers—that not even her closest allies understood.”

With that, the figure turned, melting into the mist as if he had never been there at all.

As the last of the mist cleared, Donatella and Abdullah found themselves before the crumbling gates of Lydd. What had once been a majestic city of towers and temples was now overgrown with vines and moss, the stones worn by time. Yet, despite the decay, a faint shimmer of magic still lingered in the air, like the final note of a song.

They walked through the empty streets, passing broken fountains and silent squares. The silence was almost tangible, weighing upon them with each step. Abdullah guided them toward the center of the city, his heart pounding as memories surfaced. He could almost hear the laughter of children, the cries of market sellers, the warmth of life that had once thrived here.

Finally, they reached the heart of Lydd: a grand temple, its doors adorned with carvings of the Queen and the symbols of Zarynthia. Abdullah felt a pang of recognition. This was where he had come as a boy, listening to stories of the Queen’s magic and the strength of his people.

Donatella looked around, her gaze sharpening as she took in the details of the carvings. “There’s something here…something hidden.” She traced her fingers along a series of symbols near the base of the door. “These aren’t just decorations. They’re a lock. The Queen must have used them to seal something away.”

Abdullah knelt beside her, his hand brushing against the symbols. “My mother told me stories of a spell that protected the city’s heart, a power that only those with the blood of the old families could unlock. She said that one day, when the kingdom was in its greatest need, a descendant of the ancient line would return to awaken the magic.”

He looked at Donatella, a glimmer of realization in his eyes. “I am that descendant. And you…you are the one who carries the Queen’s spirit.”

Donatella nodded, understanding dawning within her. “Then together, we can break the seal and release the magic needed to restore Zarynthia.”

They each placed a hand upon the door, and as Abdullah murmured the ancient words, Donatella channeled her power into the symbols. The carvings began to glow, brightening until the entire doorway was bathed in light. Slowly, the doors swung open, revealing a chamber filled with a golden light that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

Inside, a single figure lay upon an ancient stone bed, draped in regal robes. It was the Queen herself, her face serene, as if she had simply been sleeping all these years. But as they stepped closer, her eyes opened, and a smile spread across her face.

“You have come,” her voice soft but filled with strength. “The kingdom has waited long for this day. Together, we shall restore the land.”

And so, the three of them—Queen, noblewoman, and elder—stepped out of the temple, their journey just beginning, as the magic of Zarynthia began to awaken once more, spreading through the land like a river finally flowing forward once again