The Chronicles of Marum - The Primordial

Desert of blood (Ózis) - Part I

ACT I

In the heart of the sky, the immense sphere of primordial fire hangs majestically, its colossal flame being the only barrier against the total consumption of the planet by the cold. This Sun, a burning giant of light and heat, bathes Arcríris with its faint light, tirelessly fighting to ward off the icy bite of the cosmic void.

Arcríris, an orb of frozen beauty, lies at the edge of the known universe as the coldest of planets. Its surface, a spectacle of brilliance and coldness, is coated with layers upon layers of translucent crystals. These crystals, formed over ages, cover not only the surface but also infiltrate deep inside, intertwining with the planet's very core. Like veins of ice, they run through the interior of Arcríris, creating a complex matrix that radiates a transcendental glow, emanating a subtle light that dances over the icy surface and illuminates the planet with a frozen splendor.

In the vast expanses of Arcríris, a unique geological phenomenon adds another layer to its natural tapestry: the red sand. Spread across its lands like a crimson mantle, this sand is endowed with divine properties. It seems to generate its own heat, subtle but persistent, permeating the planet's soil. This heat, originating from the sand itself, acts as a counterpoint to the dominant cold, preventing Arcríris from becoming a completely frozen sphere in the cosmos.

This red sand, in its uniqueness, not only modifies the climate of Arcríris but also bestows upon it a desolate beauty. The dunes and plains of sand, with their soft undulations and scarlet color, dramatically contrast with the bright crystals covering the planet, creating a panorama of colors that is both strange and wonderful.

Despite this intriguing mix of fire and ice, Arcríris remains the most inhospitable of known planets. To this day, there are no reports of living beings who have managed to call this place home. Its surface, a study in extremes, seems to repel life, leaving the planet as a solitary enigma in the void of space.

In the midst of this scene of extremes, Tempórious stands out. With his tall stature and erect posture, his alabaster skin flawless, contrasting with the striking dark, well-defined eyebrow that arches slightly above his eyes. The latter are a shimmering, clear gray, surrounded by long lashes, fixed on the distant horizon.

"Let's get moving! This cold is killing me!" Tempórious exclaims, his breath turning into small clouds of vapor in the icy air.

He rubs his hands vigorously, in a vain attempt to generate heat. His silver hair, even disheveled by the wind, frames his broad forehead, adding a touch of elegance to his weary face. His straight nose and thin lips, normally in a neutral expression, now twist in discomfort from the cold. The prominent cheekbones of Tempórious stand out even more under the faint light, and his defined jawline, though not excessively square, aligns smoothly with his firm chin.

"Stay quiet, Tempórious! Calm down, haste won't speed things up here," I respond with weary exasperation, feeling the weight of his impatience as an additional burden on my already overloaded shoulders. My voice, lower than his, reverberates with fatigue. "You know how resistant the Arcrírisian crystals are." The words come out of my mouth as I continue to hit the stubborn crystals with the blade of the dagger. Each blow is firm, methodically calculated, but the crystals seem to laugh at my efforts, shining coldly under the weak glow of the colossal fire sphere in the sky.

The primordial dagger vibrates with each contact with the crystals. "Even using the primordial dagger, it might take time to mine them." The dagger, although forged for much grander purposes than mining, is forced to adapt to this unworthy role. The blade, whose history is intertwined with the very creation of the Universe, is now reduced to a mere excavation instrument. "The primordial dagger was not created for this," I murmur, more to myself than to Tempórious, as I continue to work on the crystals, each blow resonating in frustration.