The Keeper of Vows

— Sire, I beg you, — priestess Latifa stretched out her palms, blocking the path to the emerald ark. — We all beg you, — the elder, the caravan master, the interpreter, even her own student, slightly raised their bowed heads. — Do not do this. These are not stones, they are vows, a sacred gift to the Keeper, Ashra.

— Enough, — waved off the boy, Prince Darion, son of Girad the Conqueror. He smiled shamelessly, staring at the emeralds and imagining how many more were inside if there were so many at the entrance. — The vows of those who have no sword are worth nothing. Open it.

— Sire… — the elder shook his gray head. — Your father, King Girad, defeated us, but not the desert. The desert does not tolerate arrogance.

— The desert does not tolerate arrogance? — Darion snorted, snapping his fingers. — One more word, and I’ll take your very presence here as arrogance.

The captain of the guard nodded to two soldiers, and they gripped the lid of the ark. The sand around them seemed to sigh, springing upward and settling again, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

— Sire, — Latifa clenched the necklace on her breasts, terror flashing in her eyes. — Do not touch…

The lid shifted. A dry heat burst out from inside, as if the desert itself had exhaled its first breath. The stones did not shine as Darion expected. They pulsed like a heart, beating in rhythm with the wind.

— My God… — the young prince stepped forward in awe. — These treasures will make Marida the greatest country.

He took another step, and then another, until finally he was inside. The boy’s hand touched the nearest stone, and at that very moment the air in the sanctuary seemed to tear apart.

The emerald was not cold, as Darion had expected. It was warm, almost hot, like living flesh. The stone shuddered under his fingers, like a heart beneath skin, and struck back with a jolt straight into the youth’s chest.

— Milord, no! — shouted the interpreter, grabbing the captain’s sleeve.

But it was too late.

A whirlwind of sand shot upward, a rumble spread under the arches, and in the heart of the ark a figure rose. She looked as if she had stepped out of the frescoes: tall, with long blond hair cascading like a waterfall down to her feet. She was clad in a translucent fabric that seemed endless, flowing somewhere into the cave behind her.

— Ashra… — the elder croaked, falling prostrate. Everyone else, except the prince and his guards, followed his example.

— Stand up, — Darion said with a cold smirk, though his throat already trembled. — This is nothing but a trick. A mirage of the desert.

But the words froze when the goddess raised her hand, and even the wind fell silent in the sanctuary. Only her translucent garment swayed, as if the song of the dunes lived within it.

— You dared to touch what binds my people, — her voice spread as a soundless echo, as though the very air spoke. — A vow is a duty. Duty is destiny. You wanted to take a vow? Then take it to the end.

Darion staggered back, but the necklace hanging on Latifa’s breasts suddenly tore free and in an instant clasped itself around his neck. Ice pierced his skin, spreading through his body. He tugged at it, but the links had fused into his collarbones.

— What… what are you doing?! — he exhaled, and his voice no longer sounded like before.

— The guards rushed forward, but the goddess did not even look at them. A whirlwind of sand rose like a wall and hurled them against the sanctuary walls.

— You desired a vow? — Ashra stepped closer. Her bare feet did not touch the floor. — Now you will carry it forever!

And pain crashed down on Darion’s shoulders. He screamed, doubling over, feeling his fingers go numb as if they had turned into molten metal. Bones cracked, and his hands twisted, stretched, until instead of fingers there grew dark, gleaming feathers. He tried to clench his fists, but the feathers only whipped the air, like the wings of a bird.

— No! — Darion rasped, stumbling back. — This… this is impossible!

His body bent backward, his chest pulled tight by an unseen force. He choked for breath, feeling it tear from his lungs together with a new heaviness. His ribs compressed, his ribcage reshaping from within. Suddenly a sharp thrust ran through him, as if his heart had leapt forward, and the fabric of his tunic split open, baring swelling female breasts. They swung heavily, the necklace settling coldly into the valley between them, and every drop of air now sent a sweet, torturous shiver through his body.

— Milord! — Captain Brenn shouted, but the whirlwind slammed him against the wall, choking off his cry.

The youth’s legs arched, feathers creeping up his thighs, skin stretching and cracking. Toes fused into sharp claws. His short tangled hair burst downward in a heavy wave, veiling his face, brushing against his bare shoulders.

— What… what’s happening to me?! — he cried, but the voice was no longer the prince’s. It belonged to someone else, someone far less powerful. High, thin, with a delicate rasp.

Darion collapsed to her knees, pressing her feathered “hands” to her breasts, trying in vain to cover herself. The weight of her new forms dragged her down, the emptiness between her legs felt undeniable, and the earrings in her lobes suddenly flared to life, glowing with a soft green light. Darion shuddered: the heavy jewel-drops clinked at every movement of her head, as if mocking her attempts to hide. She flung her wings wide — and only then noticed golden bracelets clasped around her feathered wrists, set with onyx stones that chilled her skin with every beat.

A diadem lowered on its own, like a crown, tightening against her temple; in the center above her brow, a ruby stone flared. From its heat her head spun, and every breath poured unbearable sweetness into her breasts, into the heavy body that no longer belonged to the prince.

— Kill her! — Darion cried hoarsely, trying to force into the command some shred of former majesty. But her voice broke, trembling like a plea more than an order. She turned sharply and saw that only Brenn remained, standing amid the whirlwinds and sand.

The captain of the guard stood clutching his sword with both hands, muscles in his neck bulging, his hair plastered to his face by the sandstorm. His eyes darted between the goddess and the creature his master had become.

— My lord… — he rasped, not knowing what was wiser. His loyalty to Darion was absolute, yet his mind told him he might only make things worse.

— I said kill this filthy creature! — Darion struck the sand with her wing, feathers scattering golden dust, and her breasts swung painfully, tearing the breath from her lungs.

Brenn stepped forward, raised his sword, but:

— Useless, — Ashra said calmly, her eyes blazing with amber light. — He cannot. No one can.

She stretched out her hand, and the air trembled like cloth being torn apart. The gems on Darion’s ornaments flared — the ruby pulsed like a heart, the blue crystal of the necklace breathed, the earrings rang in unison.

— You wanted to steal the vows of my people, — the goddess continued, her eyes glowing like sand under the sun. — Now you will become the keeper of all vows. No one will ever remember your name, no one will remember the prince.

— No! — Darion lunged forward, her hair whipping across her face, her heavy breasts jolting with the sharp movement. — I am the heir to the throne! I… I am Darion!

Ashra tilted her head and smiled.

— There was never any Darion. — She snapped her fingers, and the sand surged outward, carrying memories away. — There was only a girl with wings, forever bound by vows, whose flesh is the very seal of the desert.

The world around trembled. The goddess vanished as if she had never been. Brenn, frozen by Ashra’s spell and straining with every muscle against the invisible barrier of air, suddenly seemed to switch to another thought. His face relaxed, as though years of tension had slipped from his shoulders. Around him, like a mirage in the scorching air, light streamed. Out of the sand whirlwinds emerged the outlines of columns, carved arches, fountains — the interiors of a palace where, at that very moment, in another reality, Brenn sat in the shade of a garden, leaning against a marble edge. In his hands was a cup of wine, a shield at his feet, and he was calmly talking with other guards, as if he had never set foot in the sanctuary.

Darion’s eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her breasts so hard that the necklace bounced in time with each beat.

— No… — she whispered, taking a step forward. — You were here! You saw everything!

The mirage shivered, and Brenn was gone. No caravan, no convoy, no people. Only the desert and Darion, who had not yet fully grasped the goddess’s words, but already understood that from this moment, the old life was gone forever.

She fell to her knees, feeling the emptiness between her legs emphasize the loss even more. The earrings clinked, the ruby on her brow flared and went dark.

— Ashra! — her cry spread through the desert like the cries of seagulls before a storm. There was no answer. The entrance to the cave glowed. The emeralds, the same as those on her ornaments, beckoned her inside. Something told her that if she entered, the door would close — but what other choice did she have? To become prey for monster hunters, or… step into the cave?