A distant howl is heard.

Yeah, they’re coming.

Ilídia is sitting on a tree branch in the eastern region of Hor Murum. If she squints hard enough, she can see the nameless village through the living wall, its inhabitants running back and forth. They're rushing for shelter at the sound of a long stone instrument—cylindrical, full of holes. The alarm blares, loudly announcing the arrival of the desert creatures.

So much like the desert dunes, these massive beasts appeared out of nowhere one year and started haunting the area. They have beige fur, soft and thick, looking like a heavy, fluffy ball balanced on four long, thin legs. In the middle of their bodies lies a black hole filled with what seems to be teeth. They wander near the trees, gather in packs near the oracle’s cave, and leave when the moon does. No one knows what they are, but both the Hor and the rest of the world fear angering them. They radiate a strange energy and an overwhelming presence. Over time, they came to be called the Thirteen, a number representing both good and ill fortune—the coexistence of opposites in one being.

Back to Ilídia Hor, the first child of the seventh Hor generation—she shrinks her shoulders in quiet anxiety. Unlike the rest of her family, she gets along quite well with the Thirteen.

The youngest of the brood recognized her instantly and walked toward her.

“You know exactly where I want to go today, Twelve,” she whispers into the creature’s fur, wrapping her arms around it. “Let’s go before someone notices we’re gone.”

Ilídia climbs onto Twelve, a young Thirteen just about two, maybe two and a half meters tall. It bristles its fur and heads toward the heart of Hor Murum. She pulls a coat from her bag and puts it on—the trees are so tall and dense that it’s cold in there. Their lush, flowing, silky canopies create a dark green sky above. The girl stretches her palm upward, fingers spread wide, then closes them, trying to imagine what it would feel like to touch that leafy velvet. A sudden sunbeam breaks through the canopy and she quickly shuts her eyes, breathing deep, savoring a brief warmth from the outer world.

When Twelve comes to a stop and settles, Ilídia opens her eyes.

The cave looks like a spider with massive rocky legs. Oddly, the rocks that form it grow around tree trunks, weaving through each one. A strange epiphytic behavior for something seemingly inanimate—non-vegetal.

She dismounts, gripping the creature’s fur tightly. Together, they step into the mouth of the sleeping predator. Today would be the day she ventured beyond the limits she once reached with her family as a small child—she barely remembers the details. In truth, whether she remembers or not, everything feels both familiar and... different. Hard to believe a 14-year-old child could recall a place she last saw at the age of 4.

At the back of the cave lies a strangely large lake... I mean, it’s impossible for there to be this much space, judging by the outside dimensions.

“Look at that, Twelve!” she exclaims, scanning the space—then freezing, stunned, as something begins to emerge from the water. “Is that... a throne?”

It’s a kind of ice chair, roughly carved with geometric ornaments and a massive backrest, its tip glowing with an inexplicable blue light. Ilídia steps closer, tugging at her dune-creature companion with excitement. With every step, a ghostly outline appears, seated on the throne.

Now knee-deep in the water, the specter gains a nearly complete form. A plump woman sighs, resting her head on her hand, elbow on the icy armrest.


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“It’s already night,” the oracle mutters, gently pushing Ilídia back toward the entrance. Twelve follows closely. “Time passes differently here.”

“But now what? What do I do? How do I face my parents?”

“That’s for you to figure out. I’m sure you will,” she chuckles. “Send Twelve back to its herd and go home. Tomorrow is a big day. If you choose to take my mission, meet him at sunrise on Hor Murum’s border.”

“But why? What for?”

“Now that’s a question! Just go. And don’t let anyone suspect a thing.”

Planting her feet firmly on the ground, Ilídia says:

“What if everything goes wrong?”

And just like that, she’s back in the forest.

The cave feels miles away now, eerily quiet and shadowed. Yes, time passed like a whirlwind—too much in her mind, too little time to react.

Twelve lets out a relatively loud bellow, as if sensing Ilídia’s unease. It's a chilling sound—one that would terrify anyone. A tone far too deep, fractured and resonant, crawling up from the void and leeching into your insides. That dreadful cry, coming from the Thirteen’s black hole of a mouth, was known to all as the Echo from the Well of Souls. Ilídia is used to it, though. She knows no one else would understand her calm.

“I created the Thirteen. Every one of them,” the oracle—Ilídia’s grandmother—once told her. “They were rocks at first, large totems that helped me channel my power and protect our... new home. But when that war came… your grandfather’s call… everything became so dark. Our family changed as quickly as the wrinkles that appeared on my face.”

Ilídia recalls her grandmother’s words, unraveling the stained fragments of memory...

And at that moment in the cave, before the girl could go too far in her attempt to leave, the oracle rose and cast a spell to stop her. Visions burst all around and flooded her.

From wars to shadowy, suspicious acts in alleyways, blood and screams stained the clarity of her eyes. While magic-wielders were hunted, imprisoned, and tortured, the family beside the king incinerated entire enemy nations. With each marriage, a new black seed sprouted and fed on its host.

“I know you’re only thirteen… fourteen, maybe,” the oracle turned the girl’s body gently—Ilídia was still in shock. “But there’s something waiting for you in the future. All that’s left is for you to choose whether or not to follow it. One day, you might even help your brother escape this too... This calling isn’t coming just for you, but the fabric of fate will only begin to weave if you decide to take the first step in this thread. Only you, not your brother. It isn’t his path to walk… not yet.”

She heard the sound of a celebration—lively, distant—echoed through the cave, warning them of how much time had passed. The wedding was only days away. Every Hor was encouraged to marry within the family. Her parents said it was to keep the Aeon magic from dissolving if mixed with common blood. But if the oracle was right, then this marriage would be the very trap that would ruin her life. How could she believe that?

So... Doze soon vanished, leaving her behind with her swirling thoughts and the sense that her one safe harbor had crumbled.

From what she’d seen in the oracle’s visions, every event held multiple truths—those of the victors, the defeated, the rebels... The same object seen through different eyes, producing different outcomes. So what can we truly believe in? Since the dawn of the world, wisdom has been shaped by human hands. And people… are fickle, complex, their truths relative to the moment they live in.

So then, isn’t everything we understand as “truth”… also relative?
The winner and the loser—two sides of the same coin—both convinced they are right, loyal to the belief that the other is wrong.

What, then, is truly a lie?