Narrow alleys meet with wide, bustling streets.

  All jumbled around.

  The color of jewels, clothes, and food meets with the white of beautifully designed structures.

  Shops between temples above houses, doors stacked on yards coursing through rivers flowing down towards the inexistent ground.

  Stairways connecting everything from every angle, and at the same time, leading to nowhere.

  Vines, leaves, trees, and fruits all adorn the view.

  Or rather, making it seem even more nauseating.

  He tears his gaze away, lowering his head.

  Meeting the endless descent into the ground somewhere.

  His feet threaten to sway, even as they stand firmly on a horizontal pillar.

  A man sits in front, his waist tied to a rope to hold him from an endless fall.

  Countless passersby push each other around, restlessness present in every single one of their steps.

  [Come on, buy some. They're three Phills each.]

  [... Thank you. Though I do not want them.]

  [You're missing out, boy. The entirety of Asha craves these.]

  The boy shakes his head, listening attentively to the merchant's words.

  His gaze sets on the items, scanning around.

  Just as he tentatively reaches for one, a woman pushes him aside.

  [How much?]

  [Just three Phills.]

  [I'm buying.]

  The woman throws some coins towards the man, grabbing one of the items on display.

  Her fingers grip her face.

  Taking off her mask before putting on the new one.

  [I like the quality.]

  [Uh-huh. Thanks.]

  Waving, she leaves the stall.

  Plants open up as platforms, branches reform to resemble ladders, all providing unclear paths towards any and every part of Asha.

  The boy sighs, eyes darting around the unfamiliar faces.

  Or rather, masks.

  [Why do they all wear... those?]

  The merchant laughs, earning a confused expression from the boy.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  [Everyone has their reasons for hiding themselves.]

  [Some want anonymity. Others escape danger.]

  [Every single one of them, though, dares not to show their face to the Ever-Great.]

  [The King, sent by the Divines, who watches from above since the last millennium.]

  A fruit falls close to the boy's foot, spilling juice all over the ground.

  Turning, his eyes meet the king's residence.

  An oval structure, much larger than the opulent, piled-up buildings around it.

  Lofty pillars course through East and West, each smaller the further it gets from the structure.

  Though even the smallest seems to touch the sky.

  [A thousand years. Does it not seem to you to be too much time of lasting greatness?]

  [Maybe. But Asha has been great ever since, and will be remembered as such. Even as it someday falls.]

  [What would be of this nation if it crumbles? At the end, it does not matter the greatness of the past. What matters is the well-being of today.]

  Confusion courses through the merchant's face. Sighing, he ushers the boy away.

  [Your deep talk will drive my customers away. Nice meeting you... Uh...]

  [Ilmagh. My name is Ilmagh.]

  [Ilmagh. That's a really decorated name.]

  [I suppose. After all, I will become king of Asha.]

  His eyes scan the merchant's face, searching for any change in his expression.

  Then, the man chuckles, smacking his forehead.

  [Whatever you say, kid. Now go.]

  Annoyed, Ilmagh walks away from the stall, pushing himself through the crowd.

  A small hand wraps around his wrist, faint in its strength.

  The boy turns.

  A little girl, just a few years younger than him, bawls out amidst the busy marketplace.

  [M-My mommy and daddy... They're... They...]

  Her cries are loud, uncomfortable to his ears. Exhausted grunts and angered roars echo, too, crafting a numbing, jumbled cacophony.

  Ilmagh's eyes dart around.

  Tears flow down arid skin as a man lifts his mask to drink.

  Stones are thrown in broad daylight at those who dare change their veil.

  Abnormal movement. Impulsive, rash, though doubtful.

  As if mimicking the chaos of Asha's design.

  Fingers grip his wrist tightly, snapping him back to reality.

  Or rather, drifting his focus away from it.

  [Are you alright? What has happened?]

  [People... They're walking over... A-And my... my mommy and daddy... can't get out!]

  [Where? Can you lead me to them?]

  The girl nods frantically before pointing towards a labyrinthine passage of pillars.

  [There!]

  Just as he loses focus on the child, a sensation subsides, replaced by something else.

  Cold grips his wrist.

  Screams drill into his mind.

  As the girl is pushed away.

  Let to fall.

  ——

  A mantle flaps as harsh winds course down the street.

  The empty, narrow street.

  The piece of cloth sets flight, only to be caught before it's carried by the wind.

  Carriage wheels bump along the dirt road.

  The mule brays, exerting itself.

  Sacks of sandstone are carried, along with a teen.

  [Why would you even want to come to these parts?]

  [Asha is greater than this.]

  The old man ties the mantle around himself before drinking water from his water skin.

  [I do not know. It seems it is what my heart wanted.]

  [Then fix it, kid. Greatness doesn't touch this part of Asha anymore.]

  [... I understand.]

  Warm sand brushes against skin.

  The teen closes his eyes, shaken to faint screams, the halting of the carriage...

  And a palm pressing on his wooden mask.

  [Hey there.]

  His eyes meet a boy and a girl standing in front of him on the carriage.

  They seem to be around Alfie's age, in their late teens.

  Their dull, black hair is of the same length, reaching to their lower backs.

  They wear cheap, gray clothes. A contrast to Alfred's pristine white robes.

  The old man is nowhere to be seen, nor the mule.

  The boy crouches down, smiling.

  [You come from the center, right? I wouldn't advise wearing a mask around here. You'll get killed.]

  The girl nods, parting her lips to speak.

  [The Kavrie dislike people who fear or respect the Ever-Great.]

  [What?]

  Girl: [The Kavrie dislike people who fear or respect the Ever-Great.]

  Boy: [Yep. What's your name, by the way?]

  Alfie hesitates before answering.

  [Alfred.]

  Girl: [I'm Issa. My brother's name is Ilmagh.]

  Alfie freezes. The boy jumps out of the carriage before helping her sister.

  [Il...magh?]

  [Yup. What about it?]

  [... Nothing. I just—]

  A gruesome scream carries through the drifting sand.

  Issa winces, signaling her brother to hurry.

  Ilmagh: [Follow us. You'll want to see this.]

  The boy smiles widely, offering a hand to Alfred.

  An unusually dry, rigid hand.

  Alfie shakes his head, standing by himself.

  Arrows made of black, gooey flesh pierce the carriage the moment he steps down.

  Spreading thick miasma around.

  Ilmagh gasps, jerking his head towards his sister.

  Issa grabs Ilmagh's hand before fleeing into a crumbling, cramped passage.

  The smell stings Alfie's nose.

  As if the thick, dark element rubbed his heart.

  With clenched teeth, he runs.

  Towards the twins.

  Trying his best not to die.

  Nor to let horror get to him.

  The darkness veils his eyes in the passages.

  The sun glares into his eyes outside them.

  Yet the cost of losing sight of the twins is much greater.

  Much fear-inducing.

  Like a snake slithering through boiling sand, he runs.

  A hand jerks him to the side.

  His head hits the ground, the taste of sand now present in his mouth.

  Four walls shield him, however old and sandy.

  Alfie pushes off the ground, groaning in pain. And, much to his dismay...

  A crack adorns his mask.

  Issa: [Careful where you step.]

  Careful, indeed.

  Alfred's foot sinks on something, sudden heat enveloping it.

  An open ribcage, its owner a squirming body.

  He quickly steps back, shocked.

  Ilmagh covers Alfie's mask with his hand, obstructing the view.

  [Welcome.]

  A gentle voice carries itself to their ears.

  Ilmagh: [We've brought a guest.]

  Issa: [A really careless one.]

  The ambient leaks stillness.

  A precious one.

  [Careless enough to wear white.]

  [Utterly unaware that it will stain itself red.]

  [Come forth.]

  The words echo inside Alfred's mind before they associate themselves with someone.

  A figure, sitting down.

  Black cloth bound closely to the skin.

  Lengthy black hair, all tied in a braid.

  Hair that once sprouted, now fated to sway furthest away from its origin.

  Eyes of the same color, though still, they shine.

  Corpses, much alive, much dead, fill the surroundings.

  [Alfred, the most craven of soldiers.]