Memories of Lila

The desert stretched endlessly before Elias, the golden dunes rolling like waves frozen in time. The sun hung high in the sky, unrelenting in its heat, and the dry wind seared his throat with each breath. His steps faltered, his legs weak from exhaustion, but the faint melody in his mind kept him moving.

It was the same tune he had hummed in the cave, though now it felt richer, fuller, as if it carried layers of meaning he couldn’t yet decipher. The more he let it guide him, the more fragments of memory began to emerge, like pieces of a puzzle floating to the surface of his mind.

He stumbled on a loose patch of sand and fell to his knees. Grit clung to his skin, mixing with sweat and blood from scrapes he hadn’t noticed before. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he saw her.

“Lila,” he croaked, her name a whisper carried away by the wind.

She was standing on the crest of a dune, her dark hair billowing in the breeze, her slender figure outlined by the blazing sun. She turned to him, her face obscured but unmistakably hers.

“Lila!” Elias shouted, summoning strength he didn’t know he had. He scrambled to his feet, reaching out toward her.

But as he approached, the figure dissolved like smoke, leaving nothing but the shimmering heat of the desert. He fell forward, his hands plunging into the hot sand, and let out a frustrated cry.

Then, the melody changed.

It wasn’t just in his mind anymore—it was everywhere. The wind seemed to carry it, soft and mournful, echoing across the dunes. He froze, listening intently, and with each note, memories came rushing back.

They had lived in a small village nestled in a valley of golden fields. He could see it now, the stone cottages with their thatched roofs, the winding paths lined with wildflowers. Lila had been the heart of that place, her laughter as bright as the morning sun.

She would sit by the fire at night, playing her harp, her fingers gliding over the strings with effortless grace. Her music had a way of silencing the world, of drawing people in and holding them there. She used to say the harp was special, though she never explained why.

He remembered sitting beside her, mesmerized by the sound, as she told him stories of old legends. One in particular stood out: the tale of the Harp of Tasoula, an artifact of immense power said to be able to reshape the world with its music. Some said it was a gift from the gods, while others claimed it was a curse, its melodies capable of driving men to madness.

Elias had dismissed it as myth, but Lila… she had believed.

Elias’s memory twisted, darkened.

It was night. Flames consumed the village, the air thick with smoke and screams. He remembered running, his heart pounding as he searched for her. He found her in the square, her harp clutched tightly in her hands.

“Run!” she had shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

But he couldn’t move. His legs were rooted to the ground as he watched a shadowy figure emerge from the flames. A woman, cloaked in black, her face obscured but her presence suffocating. She extended a hand toward Lila, and the harp began to glow with an eerie light.

“Stay away from her!” Elias had roared, finally breaking free of his paralysis.

He rushed toward them, but it was too late. The woman whispered something—words he couldn’t hear—and then Lila was gone.

Elias snapped back to the present, his breathing ragged. His fists clenched tightly, the memory searing itself into his mind.

The woman In black. He didn’t know her name, but her face—or what little he had seen of it—was burned into his memory. She had taken Lila from him. She had taken everything.

And now he remembered why he had awakened.

Vengeance.

The song in the wind grew louder, more insistent, as if urging him onward. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling but his resolve unshaken.

The woman had taken Lila. She had taken her harp.

But Elias would find her. And when he did, he would make her pay.

He turned toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning its slow descent, and began walking.