Chapter 757

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rugged terrain of Tajikistan, painting the mountains in hues of orange and deep violet.

Inside a modest dwelling in a small village nestled in a valley, a man named Rustam sat by a window.

He was thirty-one, with eyes that held a weariness beyond his years, a reflection of the hard life etched into the lines of his face. Rustam watched the sky, a habit ingrained since childhood, especially now, as the anniversary approached.

Each year, at the close of the ninth month, fear descended from the heavens.

It wasn't a deity, nor a natural disaster in the traditional sense, but something far more terrifying and inexplicable: the Drifting Cloud Dragon.

Legends spoke of it as an ancient entity, a being of immense size and destructive power, that traversed the world's skies, choosing a place to unleash its wrath annually.

No one knew why it selected its targets, no pattern could be discerned in its choices, making every location potentially vulnerable.

Rustam remembered stories from his grandfather, tales whispered around crackling fires on cold nights.

Stories of ships swallowed whole by sudden storms in clear skies, of planes vanishing without a trace from radar screens, and of entire towns flattened as if by an invisible fist. This was the terror of the Drifting Cloud Dragon, a phantom menace that materialized into devastating reality.

His younger sister, Gulnoza, entered the room, breaking his thoughts. She was barely twenty, her youthful face clouded with the same anxiety that gripped the village. "Have you heard anything new, Rustam?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur.

Rustam shook his head, his gaze never leaving the sky. "Nothing. Just the usual whispers and rumors. Someone in the next valley said they saw strange cloud formations yesterday. Others claim it's all just old wives' tales."

Gulnoza fidgeted with the hem of her scarf. "But you don't think it's tales, do you?"

"Tales can't explain the ships lost at sea with no wreckage, or planes that simply disappear mid-flight," he responded, his voice low and serious. "Something is out there. Something… else."

The village was quiet, the usual evening sounds subdued, replaced by an undercurrent of apprehension. Children were kept indoors, livestock secured, and the elders spoke in hushed tones, recounting past years and offering prayers.

This yearly dread was woven into the fabric of their lives. It was a grim expectation that loomed as surely as the changing seasons.

Rustam stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against his face. The sky was deceptively serene, a vast expanse of deepening blue, sprinkled with the first stars beginning to emerge. It was this deceptive calm that was most unnerving. The Dragon could appear at any moment, from any direction, with no warning signs except for the primal fear that prickled the skin.

He saw other villagers outside their homes, similarly watching the sky. Faces were etched with worry, eyes darting around as if expecting the sky itself to tear open. A low murmur passed among them, a collective exhale of held breath and unspoken fear.

A dog barked in the distance, its frantic yelps adding to the mounting unease. Then, silence fell, a silence so profound it felt heavy, pressing down on the village like a physical weight. Even the usual chirping of crickets seemed to have ceased.

From the east, a faint whisper of wind began to rise. It was an unusual wind, not the familiar mountain breeze, but something colder, sharper, carrying with it an unnatural chill. Rustam felt it on his skin, raising goosebumps despite the layers of clothing he wore.

The wind intensified, picking up speed, turning into a gust that rattled the windows and doors of the houses. Dust swirled in the village square, and loose objects began to dance and spin in the sudden currents. The sky, moments before tranquil, now seemed to darken, even though night had not yet fully fallen.

A collective gasp rippled through the villagers. They pointed, their voices rising in pitch, their fear becoming palpable. Rustam followed their gaze, his heart pounding against his ribs. In the eastern sky, a cloud was forming.

But this was no ordinary cloud. It was vast, impossibly large, and it moved with a directed purpose, unlike any natural cloud formation.

It was dark, almost black, and it seemed to absorb the fading light, casting a growing shadow over the land. And within its swirling mass, faint flickers of light pulsed, like the beating of a colossal heart.

The Drifting Cloud Dragon had come.

Panic erupted in the village. Screams pierced the air, prayers were shouted to the heavens, and the scramble for shelter began. Rustam grabbed Gulnoza's hand, pulling her towards their small home. "Inside, now!" he yelled over the rising wind, his voice strained.

They rushed into the house, slamming the door shut and bolting it. The small dwelling trembled as the wind buffeted it, the sound escalating into a deafening roar. Through the cracks in the wooden walls, Rustam could see the world outside transforming into a maelstrom of dust and debris.

"What will it do this time?" Gulnoza cried, her eyes wide with terror, clutching his arm tightly.

Rustam could only shake his head. "We don't know. No one ever knows."

The Dragon was upon them. A sound like thunder, but deeper, more resonant, filled the valley. It was a sound that vibrated in their bones, a sound that seemed to tear at the very fabric of reality. The house shook violently, threatening to collapse around them.

Outside, the village was being ravaged. Trees were uprooted, roofs were torn off houses, and the screams of people and animals mingled with the monstrous roar of the Dragon.

Rustam pulled Gulnoza into the safest corner of the room, away from the windows, and wrapped his arms around her, trying to shield her from the chaos.

He peered through a crack in the boarded-up window. The sight that greeted him was nightmarish.

The dark cloud filled the entire sky, blotting out the stars, and from within it, tendrils of black vapor lashed out, striking the village like colossal whips. Where they struck, buildings crumbled, earth was gouged, and fire erupted.

It wasn't just wind, or rain, or lightning. It was something else, something alien and destructive, unleashed with terrifying abandon. The Dragon was not merely passing over; it was attacking, deliberately, with focused fury.

The house groaned again, louder this time. Rustam felt the floor beneath them shift and buckle. He held Gulnoza tighter, whispering words of comfort he didn't feel himself. Hope seemed to drain away, replaced by the cold certainty of impending doom.

Suddenly, the roaring wind was replaced by a strange, unsettling silence. The violent shaking stopped. The monstrous roar subsided into a low, menacing hum. Rustam cautiously moved towards the window crack again, his heart pounding in his chest.

The cloud was still there, hanging in the sky, but the violent tendrils of darkness were gone. Instead, a beam of intense, white light emanated from the cloud's core, focusing downwards. It was a beam of pure energy, cutting through the darkness like a celestial blade.

And it was aimed directly at their village.

Rustam understood, with a sickening lurch in his stomach. This year, their village was the chosen one. They were the target of the Drifting Cloud Dragon's wrath. The stories of flattened towns, of entire communities obliterated – they were about to become reality.

"Gulnoza," he said, his voice trembling, "we have to get out. Now."

He pulled her to her feet, ignoring her terrified whimpers. He knew running was futile, escape impossible, but they couldn't just stay huddled in a collapsing house and wait to perish. They had to try. They had to do something.

He kicked open the door, bracing himself for the devastation outside. The scene was beyond anything he had imagined, even in his darkest fears. Houses were reduced to rubble, fires raged uncontrollably, and the ground was scarred and torn.

The air was thick with dust and smoke, and the stench of burning wood and something else, something acrid and unnatural, filled his nostrils.

Villagers lay scattered amidst the ruins, some still moving, most still. The silence, after the roaring chaos, was even more horrifying, broken only by the crackling of flames and the distant hum of the cloud dragon.

Rustam saw a figure moving weakly near the remains of what was once the village center. He recognized old Karim, the village elder, his grandfather's closest friend. He was crawling amidst the debris, his clothes torn, his face covered in blood and dust.

"Karim-baba!" Rustam shouted, rushing towards him, pulling Gulnoza along.

Karim looked up, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow. He reached out a trembling hand towards Rustam. "It… it chose us," he gasped, his voice weak. "This year… it chose us."

Rustam knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. It was faint, barely there. "We have to get you to safety," he said, trying to lift him.

Karim shook his head weakly. "No… no time… for me." He looked towards the sky, at the beam of white light still focused on their village. "The light… it's coming… for everything."

Gulnoza sobbed, clutching Rustam's arm tighter. He looked at her, her face pale with terror, her young life about to be extinguished by this monstrous entity. He felt a surge of fierce protectiveness, a primal need to shield her, even if it meant his own demise.

He lifted Karim gently, ignoring the old man's protests. "We're not giving up," he said, his voice strained but firm. "We will find somewhere safe. We have to."

He started to move, carrying Karim in his arms, Gulnoza stumbling beside him, through the ravaged remains of their home.

He didn't know where they were going, what safety could even exist in this wasteland, but he had to keep moving, keep trying, for Gulnoza, for Karim, for any sliver of hope that remained.

The white beam intensified, the humming from the cloud growing louder, closer. Rustam could feel the heat emanating from the light, a scorching, unnatural heat that burned his skin even from a distance. The very air seemed to shimmer and distort around it.

He saw another figure moving amidst the ruins, closer to the village edge. It was another villager, a young woman named Zaynab, carrying a small child in her arms. She was running, desperately trying to escape the beam of light, but it was following her, relentlessly, inexorably.

"Zaynab!" Rustam shouted, hoping she could hear him over the humming. "This way! Come with us!"

Zaynab turned, her eyes wide with despair. She saw him, saw Gulnoza, saw Karim in his arms. She hesitated for a moment, then started running towards them, her face streaked with tears.

But it was too late.

The beam of light reached her. It engulfed her and the child in an instant, a flash of blinding white, and then… nothing. Just empty space where they had been, as if they had been erased from existence. No scream, no sound, just absolute, silent obliteration.

Rustam stopped, frozen, staring at the spot where Zaynab and the child had vanished. The horror of it, the finality, the sheer inhumanity of it, washed over him, paralyzing him. He felt Gulnoza tugging at his sleeve, heard Karim's weak cough, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.

He understood then. There was no escape. There was no hiding. The Drifting Cloud Dragon had chosen them, and its judgment was absolute. They were insignificant, meaningless in the face of its power. Their lives, their village, their entire world, were nothing more than dust motes in its path.

The beam of light began to widen, expanding outwards, engulfing more and more of the village. The humming intensified, reaching a deafening crescendo. Rustam looked at Gulnoza, her eyes filled with tears and acceptance. He looked at Karim, his face peaceful, resigned.

He lowered Karim gently to the ground, then turned to Gulnoza, taking her face in his hands. "I love you, sister," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Remember me."

She nodded, tears streaming down her face, her lips moving in silent prayer. He embraced her tightly, holding her close, feeling her warmth, her life, one last time.

The white light reached them. It enveloped them, burning, searing, obliterating. There was no pain, no fear, just a final, blinding flash, and then… nothing.

The Drifting Cloud Dragon moved on, leaving behind a silent, smoldering crater where a village once stood. The sky returned to its serene darkness, the stars reappearing, indifferent to the human tragedy that had just unfolded beneath them.

The world continued, oblivious to the village in Tajikistan that no longer existed, another nameless casualty in the path of the drifting terror from the clouds. The cycle would continue next year, somewhere else, another place chosen, another people erased.

The Dragon drifted on, an eternal, unknowable horror in the skies, forever seeking its next victim in the vast expanse of the world.