The Days of the Dying Sun

01 - Dawn

A single swirl of grey sand coiled in the wind. It kept close to the ground, floating mere centimetres from the barren stone. Twice it dipped as the breeze changed direction, the lower motes brushing against the cool rock. An observer might have said that it danced, moving gracefully in the open air.

Observers are often wrong.

Without warning, the wind dropped, and the collection of seemingly-random particles collected in a little heap. There, they heated, exuding energy that had no discernible source, before expanding and forming a definite structure. As time passed, those same hypothetical observers would have seen the sculpting of once-familiar shapes. First a foot, dark brown and complete with five well-shaped toes; next a leg, grizzled with a coating of curled white hairs; then a pronounced set of masculine genitalia; before both torso and second leg, one expanding upward as the second grew to balance the body.

Weathered skin wrapped the form, wrinkled and loose in places, pulled taught in others, and again, the peppered coating of wiry strands, grey and white in bright contrast to the darkness of the dermis. A neck soon gave way to a head, perfect in its imperfection. The nose was wide, the lips full, and the eyes a drowning copper that shone in the final light of the star.

Once the body was complete, it lifted a hand, and more particles swirled, forming comfortable undergarments and then a heavy purple cloak to cover it.

Where there had been nothing in this constant wasteland, now a man stood. In the golden age, he would have been considered handsome, mid-fifties, and strong. Now, there were no benchmarks for such standards.

To his rear, two more swirls of chaotic dust began to coalesce. The man turned, and watched as the process was repeated twice more. His first companion was a young man, similar in colouring to himself, but with thick and healthy black hair that projected vitality. The second was female, shorter and more lithe than either of her comrades. She too, was dark, her eyes a gleaming jade, her skin smooth and fresh.

For coverings, the younger man was clothed in a tight black material that appeared seamless from heel to neck, sliced with occasional silver lines to accentuate his strong physique. The woman wore a luxurious yellow cloth that wrapped twice around her body, forming a dress of optical complexity that moved like liquid in the soft wind.

"This will take getting used to," she said. Raising one hand to her eye level she examined the back of her fingers. "But I like it."

They were the first words this world had heard in millennia.

"Do you see why I said it was important?" the eldest asked. His voice was deep, a soft bass that contrasted exquisitely to the woman's light cadence.

"We never argued," said the third. He too, examined his new body, casting his eye across his form and those of his companions. "A cloak?" he asked. "How very narcissistic."

"Vanity is something I wish to explore," the older man countered. "And there is a sense of the classical about it."

"Now what?" asked the woman. "The task you have set seems suddenly insurmountable. I am overwhelmed."

"Names," said the black-clothed man. "We will need a direct way to reference each other."

"Ah, yes," said the first. "I have been somewhat enticed by 'Merlin'."

"Vain and pretentious," smiled the other. "It's perfect, Merlin."

"I will take 'Dandara'," said the woman.

"I don't know the reference," said the man, "or was it chosen from the swirling dust?"

"There are many things you don't know," said Dandara, "and I am not here to teach you. Now, it is your turn."