The Vision

Ysabel's eyes snapped open in shock as she took in her opulent surroundings, the gilded walls and shimmering silver. 

Before her lay a lavish room glimmering with golden andsilvery riches, and she was dressed in nothing but a meek loincloth, held together by a frail belt of reeds with a single bejewelled buckle of gold. Panic surged through her, and she lunged towards the fortified door guarded by two imposing female warriors.

But fear forced her to flee in the opposite direction, towards the balcony, and with a trembling hand she made to lunge for it. But what greeted her left her more stunned than before a breath-taking vision that seemed too unreal to be true.

A city glittered brilliantly with an energy invisible to her eyes. It radiated with an indescribable luminescence that outshone the sun itself.

Ysabel was mesmerized by the view as she continued to gaze at the city in front of her. Even though it was far more advanced than anything she ever seen, she could not help but be captivated by its beauty.

The city rose up like a strange crystal Formica with an array of colors depicting the culture and activities of the inhabitants. It was as if she were viewing an abstract artwork, a living painting taking up the whole of the skyline.

The platinum dome was topped by three golden spires that rose high into the sky. These spires glistened in the sunlight like metallic mirrors. Sparkling waterfalls poured into large basins that collected water that flowed in canals throughout the city.

The buildings were constructed with a craftsmanship that surpassed anything Ysabel had ever seen.

The alleys around the palace formed a labyrinth that led nowhere in particular; there was no destination. The city sparkled with grandeur.

Ysabel was standing in a garden in the city's tallest tower. The air was heavy with the smell of pipeweed, along with two scents unfamiliar to her. Above them, there was a canopy of light that appeared to guard the entire city.

 Suddenly, a deep voice spoke.

"Your Grace, we have heard of your awakening. We were worried about you."

At that moment she saw another bull humanoid bowing and dressed in solid silver armor.

Her blood ran cold and she collapsed on the floor.

John Carter

General John Carter was jolted from a deep, dreamless sleep by the sound of an unfamiliar voice whispering his name. The voice was soft yet insistent, pulling him from the clutches of unconsciousness. As he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dimly lit room, the remnants of his dreams fading into the shadows. But then, a sharp, deafening sound tore through the silence—a gunshot.

Panic surged through him like a bolt of lightning. "No... no, no, no!" he murmured, his voice growing louder with each desperate step as he bolted down the corridor toward his son's bedroom. The world around him seemed to blur as he ran, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a drumbeat of dread.

When he reached the door, his trembling hands fumbled with the handle before he finally flung it open. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he stepped inside, his worst fears realized in an instant. There, in the middle of the room, lay his nine-year-old son, his tiny body crumpled on the floor in a pool of dark, glistening blood. The boy's small fingers were still wrapped around the cold metal of Carter's service weapon.

For a moment, the world stopped. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and death, a suffocating blend that made it hard for Carter to breathe. His vision blurred with tears as he dropped to his knees beside his son, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he reached out to touch the boy's cold, lifeless face.

"No... no, please... not you," Carter whispered, his voice breaking as he cradled the lifeless body in his arms. "Not my boy... not my sweet boy..." His words dissolved into a heart-wrenching sob, a sound so raw and agonized that it echoed through the room, reverberating off the walls like a prayer unanswered.

He clung to his son, his tears falling onto the boy's pale cheeks as he rocked him back and forth, as if somehow his love, his pain, could bring him back. But the truth was undeniable. His son was gone, ripped away from him by a moment of unimaginable despair.

Carter's world shattered into a million pieces. The memories of laughter, of bedtime stories and gentle kisses goodnight, all crumbled beneath the weight of his grief. The only sound that remained was the unfamiliar voice, still calling out his name, growing louder and more insistent.

Then, everything went dark.

When Carter opened his eyes again, he found himself lying in a sterile, white room, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, as if the grief itself had taken on a physical form, weighing him down. It took a moment for him to realize where he was—a military hospital. The last place he wanted to be.

"John, you were lucky this time," came a familiar voice. It was Admiral Cruz, standing at his bedside, his expression a mixture of concern and relief. "The second team arrived on the scene in time. They found you and two civilians in the hospital's isolation rooms."

Carter blinked, the memories of the mission slowly coming back to him. The hospital, the creatures, the blood... but none of it could push aside the image of his son lying lifeless on the floor. It was all he could see, all he could feel.

"We have seven casualties in our ranks," Cruz continued, his tone somber. "Despite the failure to capture one of the creatures, the team managed to collect enough evidence for Dr. Palma to piece together a few clues regarding their existence."

Cruz's words began to filter through the fog of his grief. "These creatures," Cruz said, "can be traced back to ancient Mesopotamian cultures. Rituals were performed to summon monsters—chimeras, dragons, griffins—created from parts of other animals. And there's more. Dr Palma's research suggests that these sentient relics require summoning through a child called 'Mana Machal'—the weaker vessel, as the Akkadians called it."

The implications of what Cruz was saying were terrifying. These creatures weren't just aberrations—they were the product of something far more sinister. And somewhere, somehow, a child was at the center of it all.

"Ysabel," Cruz continued, his gaze shifting to the door where Dr. Palma stood, her face pale and drawn. "She's uncovered ancient symbols—inscriptions found in Paris and the Middle East, tales from ancient times. The term 'jinn'... it comes from the ancient root meaning 'to hide' or 'to be hidden.' These creatures have been with us through the ages, lurking in the shadows, waiting."

Ysabel stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly as she held up a series of papers covered in ancient symbols. "These symbols point to the origin of the ritual—the Garagum ýalkymy, it seemed like all roads led back to Darvaza crater — where most secrets and mysteries originated from.

Ysabel held her secret tightly, unsure if her visions were just her imagination or real. She was afraid that if she told anyone of them she would lose all credibility and be seen as crazy. As she lay in bed at night, one question kept spinning around in her mind: how could she find a way to return to the place she had seen in her visions?

It was then that ysabel resolved herself into finding a way back there and to uncover the truth behind what she had been experiencing. She began gathering supplies for a journey while working with general carter on an investigation regarding the origin of these creatures. After much planning, they eventually set off on their expedition across central asia — heading towards a land shrouded in myths and legends.