Hanging tower garden of Lak Ahm part 7

A day later, Xerxes walked through the rubble of Lak Ahm's shattered tower, his four Ursang saints flanking him. He found his daughter kneeling amidst the broken roots, her shoulders trembling as she stared at the remnants of her creations.

"They're gone… fully gone," she murmured, her voice hollow with grief.

"They were only memories of your people," Xerxes said gently. "Their souls passed onward long ago."

~~

The Lakhmid people, blessed by their goddess Lak Ahm, flourished in a land marked by peace and prosperity. Renowned for their vivid memories, able to memorize anything with great accuracy—a gift bestowed by Lak Ahm—they were able to build their communities strong. Lak Ahm was devoted to them, safeguarding their lands, cities, and rich history with unwavering love.

But after Cyrus fell, the balance shifted. Erlik, daughter of Arslan, began to grow restless. Though she was no child of Pandora, her mind was that of a child with the powers of a god. Banished to the desolate lands to the south by Cyrus, Erlik was given a dark purpose: Arslan would deliver the most wretched souls to her, criminals and traitors condemned by the order Cyrus had built. Erlik turned these souls into her "toys," binding them into puppet bodies to be tormented for eternity.

These puppets—souls of rapists, thieves, and the worst of criminals—suffered endlessly under her twisted games. Their minds were trapped in wooden prisons, endlessly rebuilt and destroyed, until their identities slowly crumbled away, lost to the agony of being Erlik's playthings.

Eventually, some of these tortured puppets sought to escape, fleeing northward from Erlik's desolation. But they did not find peace. Instead, they descended upon the lands of the Lakhmids like a plague. Twisted by Erlik's cruelty, these abominations brought ruin to Lak Ahm's people. They ravaged cities, scorched fields, and shattered the serenity that had once defined the Lakhmid lands.

The Lakhmids, courageous and resilient, mounted a fierce resistance, but they were hopelessly outmatched. One by one, their proud cities fell, reduced to ruins beneath the relentless onslaught of Erlik's puppets.

In her desperation, Lak Ahm fought to save her people, but her power was not enough. Overcome by grief and guilt, she made a heartbreaking decision: if she could not save their lives, she would preserve their memories. Channeling every ounce of her divine energy, Lak Ahm captured the memories of her fallen subjects. This noble act drained her, leaving her weakened and bound to her throne.

From this outpouring of grief and loss, the Screaming Trees were born—living monuments that held the final moments of the Lakhmids. Each tree echoed with the sorrow and terror of the lives that had been lost, a forest of memories forever crying out in pain.

~~

Back in the present, Lak Ahm's gaze hardened. "There were humans among the intruders… Who are they?" she demanded, her fists clenched with fury.

Xerxes nodded grimly. "One is a king from a human world—Rufus, they call him. As for the others, I don't know."

Lak Ahm's divine aura flared, her anger reigniting her godly power now that she was no longer burdened by the memories, the tower, and the roots that had bound her. She stood taller, radiating a fierce energy. "Those humans… will pay."

"They will," Xerxes said, a shadowed smile crossing his face. "And I will help you."

Lak Ahm shot him a glare. "I don't need your help."

"Don't you?" Xerxes replied. "Look around, daughter. You are alone. You have no worshippers, no temples, and no people left to remember you. Wandering this world alone will yield you nothing. Besides, they're receiving help from the Old Man of the Mountain, and even I have struggled to deal with him."

Lak Ahm's eyes narrowed. "If you can't defeat him, what good are you?"

Xerxes's smile widened. "I said I struggled. Not anymore."

Lak Ahm's eyes flickered with understanding. "Hamael…"

"He led us to Alamut, and revealed its location so that Perizad could destroy it. He can be trusted. I'll send him and a few others to hunt these humans down and bring them to you," Xerxes explained. "And in return, you'll fight alongside me."

Lak Ahm considered him for a long moment, her expression conflicted. But in the end, she nodded. "…Fine."

~~

Meanwhile, on the world of Isra…

Outside the great city of the djinn, the herder named Rustam gazed up at the sky, lost in thought. A warm breeze stirred the sands, carrying with it a sense of foreboding. As he daydreamed, the goddess of the djinns, Al Rahman, appeared beside him.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked softly. "Even from here."

Rustam nodded slowly. "Arslan and Xerxes are preparing for war. Or perhaps they're already at war, just waiting for a decisive battle to crown the victor."

Al Rahman's expression was troubled. "But there will be no victor, Rustam. Heaven will suffer, and in the aftermath, our realm will be weaker—easy prey for the outer gods. The berserkers will ravage our lands, the aracnes will burn our ships… and let us not forget the worst of all, the demons and children of Pandora."

Rustam's gaze darkened. "Neither of them will see it that way. To them, only one can rule our heaven, and neither will accept any compromise."

Al Rahman sighed, her voice weary. "Is this truly our fate? To be torn apart by their pride, with no other choice left to us?" She looked into the distance, her gaze distant and haunted. "I remember feeling this way once, when I lost Bubu and Cyrus was chained by the great white demon. People believed the end times had come. The berserk war packs still ravaged nations, and the greatest god was held captive. But then came a hero—a herder who banished the white demon and freed Cyrus. Just when hope was lost, you appeared and brought light back to our world."

Rustam looked away, uncomfortable. "You give me too much credit, Al Rahman. I'm just a herder now. I don't have the power to stop gods or change the fate of heaven."

Al Rahman smiled, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "You underestimate the power of a single individual who dares to dream, Rustam. Heroes are not born; they're made through their choices and their deeds. Your compassion, your courage, your ability to inspire—these are your true strengths. You don't need to be a god to change history. You've done it once already, hero… and I believe you can do it again."

Rustam studied her, his expression unreadable. "And why are you not intervening?"

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of sorrow. "Because I am a god for my people, and we are few. My people are easy prey for the children of Pandora and the demons. Besides, I am not as strong as you, great hero—the savior of Cyrus."

Rustam looked back at the horizon, his mind churning.