Prologue

He could feel the warmth leaving him.

Through the thick and rustling reed grass, he moved slowly and silently so as to not spur any sudden noise in the quietness of the night. Even so, his bones were trembling from the impaling of cold air reaching almost every muscle and piece of skin that he could feel. 

His bones were trembling, not because he was frightened, but rather because he knew that he could not fail, or else he would evoke the horrors that crept across the desert of desolation.

No, the Pyrtoma did not come out at night, as they could not endure the atmosphere that the Moon brought down. They would just crawl back into their man-made, sultry craters that no human would dare set foot on due to the sweltering heat that arose from them. 

The craters were intended to give warmth to the Pyrtoma when they could receive none from the Moon at night. When the Sun rose, they would return to the dunes and search for prey.

Human prey.

No, Lars Larthu did not fear the Pyrtoma. In fact, he knew a lot about them, so much that it was enough to dispel any cowardly thoughts he would have if he wanted to traverse the land in the sunlight. 

He knew that they needed human blood to survive because of the vital life energy the blood provided them. He knew that once they didn't have enough of this blood left in their dull-gray bodies, they would shrivel up in the blistering heat of the Sun and cease to exist.

And the most valuable thing he knew was how to kill them.

Decapitation was all it took for a human to kill a Pyrtoma. Even though Lars did not know why this was the case, he did not show any interest in finding that out. 

After all, he was not a scientist, nor did he want to begin researching these hideous things and earn some sort of pleasure from it. He wanted to get rid of every one of them until there were none left, and maybe then the world as he knew it could be rebuilt to a utopia.

Looking around now at this metamorphosed land, he realized this dream was far from his reach.

The island of Empyrea, where Lars was born only four years after the Firmament happened, was far from a paradise. The western lands that were once green and fertile dried up into wastelands, deserts of pale orange that originated from the dunes in the north and expanded to almost the entire island. Spacious lakes and rivers evaporated into the earth, and forests of lustrous trees and wildlife became barren with death and turned black.

There were only the eastern lands whose environment survived up until now, and these were home to the only remaining humans on earth.

Or that was what Lars was told, as the elders in his village explained that the Sun had given them mercy after she turned red, bringing devastation and death upon the rest of the world beyond. 

That was how they explained the Firmament, which was when the Sun created a dome around Empyrea and protected the people from the raging steam bath that descended onto the Earth.

There came a cost. The Empyreans could not be in sunlight, or else they would turn into molten corpses, mindless beings that succumb to any of their conscious will and freedom. They'd wander among the dunes of death, hungry for human blood to survive.

Lars halted his views of the Pyrtoma for now. Thoughts of hunger crawled back into his mind. He remembered what he was supposed to be doing for the night, which was hunting for food.

He and his little sister Titia hadn't eaten anything since the afternoon, and Lars could not go and hunt for food at that time since the Pyrtoma were at large. Nighttime was the only time when Lars could get food, water, and other supplies for them to survive.

That is why I hate the Sun, Lars thought with a fierce look in his eyes, successfully tracking down his prey after dashing through the wet reed grass. The elders and my village worshipped the Sun, telling me that she spared our lives, and we should be thankful for her mercy. 

But I hate the Sun. She is the reason why I live like this.

Yes, the Sun was who Lars ultimately hated the most. It was not because she introduced the Pyrtoma onto this land, but it was that she took away his individuality and turned him into a violent animal. So, he despised her for it.

Alternatively, he praised the Moon for allowing him to continue feeling like a human.

The Moon is who we should worship instead, Lars reasoned. But I suppose that we as humans obey what we fear and ignore what cannot harm us.

Nevertheless, Lars's belittling of the Sun was still mostly from boiling emotion, as she had taken many things away from him. Titia was the only one he had left, and he didn't want to lose her as well. Thus, he would climb back to his instinctive roots and do whatever he needed to keep her by his side.

One of those roots, Lars identified, was hunting down a pair of common quail who were casually trotting along a wetland. It was home to many types of birds and fish that resided in this area because of its survivable environment. 

The eastern land of Empyrea was home to three lakes, which were now the only sources of water humans could attain for themselves. The lake Lars arrived at, called Nizizli, was a large lagoon in the center of eastern Empyrea, home to many wildlife and brackish water. It was a perfect place to live since it had all the necessary essentials to survive, but there was only one problem.

It was already taken.

Lars soon remembered who he feared the most. He feared humans, who were so desperate to survive that they would kill their own kind and conquer uninhabited eastern lands for their survival. Even if they had enough, they would take even more just to make sure that they were the ones who survived and not anybody else.

They take, and take, and take, and then kill people who try to take what they have taken. It then repeats in an endless cycle until there is no one left to take anything anymore. That is when the world will end, not when the Sun is assumed to turn fully red and disintegrate us into ash.

Lars wiped some of the sweat off his brow. He had exerted a lot of energy just by thinking about his situation. 

He regained his senses and focused on the quail again, and they still did not notice him hiding in the reed grass with a stiff, wooden amentum in his right hand. This was the only weapon Lars had, and it worked most of the time when he traveled out at night to hunt.

The amentum was a weapon that Lars's father used to hunt with, a wooden spear. A brown leather strap was knotted in the middle, creating a tightened loop that Lars would put two fingers on and arch them back as well as the spear. 

This would give the spear more momentum when thrown. The spear was firm enough so that Lars could defend himself against any sudden attacks.

With his eyes fixated on the quill, Lars took the amentum, twilling his middle and pointer finger inside the loop. He used his shoulders and knees to support his position while moving the spear back until it was behind his head. 

Focus, you only have one shot, Lars told himself repeatedly. Don't think anything else, only the quail, focus only on the quail and how delicious it will taste after I cook it and give some to Titia in our hideout.

Aim at its neck. That is the weakest spot of the quail, where the meat will be less enticing. I don't want to spoil the stomach; that's the part where the meat will taste the best. Look a bit below its eyes.

Aim at that spot, and then release!

Focus…and... release!

He launched the spear forward, the strap releasing from his fingers and slinging with the spear. It landed perfectly in the neck of the now motionless quail. 

The other one had fled almost immediately after seeing what had happened to its friend, but Lars did not care that it had escaped. He only needed one quail for his sister and himself. After they finished eating this one, he would go back to the lake and hunt for another.

He stood up from his crouched position. While exiting the reed grass, he silently walked towards the lakeside the quail had lounged at. His amentum and quarry were awaiting him.

Lars gave out a sigh of relief, as his skills as a hunter did not falter and they would not go hungry for the night. Lars could recall many of those nights, and they started in the beginning. They were helpless and afraid then, hiding in the darkness, and frightened of the terrors that wandered the dunes outside.

But he wasn't helpless anymore. He was able to run, hunt, attack, and most of all, protect. He was strong and could protect Titia. He was strong and worthy enough to survive the aftermath of the Firmament. 

He and Titia deserved to live.

Whoosh!

Lars turned his head, only a few steps from the dead quail, and he saw two obscure figures pounce on him from the reed grass. Lars toppled over from the impact, his back colliding with the mud that splattered all over his clothes. He was unable to move, pinned on the ground by one figure while the other one went over to the dead quail.

"No-" Lars tried to muster. 

But his mouth was clung shut by the attacker's palm, while they both sneered and looked at their victim and how helpless he was.

"We'll be taking this," one of the attackers told Lars.

He couldn't fail this way. It was shameful, how they ambushed Lars and stole his prey from him. 

But he remembered that there existed not even a modicum of honor or pride in these people, and it was because they were stripped of it after they became slaves of the Sun.

Even though his attacker had pinned him down, Lars knew that he was stronger. He grabbed onto the attacker's legs with his own. Using them as a pillar, he hurled his body upwards and headbutted the attacker in the face. 

The attacker stumbled backward with blood coming from his nose. Lars took this opportunity to grab his shoulders and knee him in the face again. This time he fell into the mud and lost consciousness.

With blood on his face, Lars grinned maniacally at the other attacker. The attacker stepped back, and Lars could tell that she was frightened of him.

"Yes, be afraid!" Lars cried. "Cower in fear and beg for mercy like I am the Sun. Show me that you want to survive!"

Before she could, two hands of death emerged from the reed grass, pulling the attacker in. With one final scream, Lars heard a crunching sound and silence afterward. 

Then, emerging from the reed grass, with eyes of luminescent yellow and teeth stained with blood, appeared a Pyrtoma with a wicked grin on its face.

And at that moment, Lars could feel fear again.