And it came to pass upon the seventh day of their wandering, that Apocrypha and the prophet beheld a sight both wondrous and sorrowful.
The earth around them lay in death: forests of charred timber, rivers of black mire, skies of sullen ash. Yet upon the horizon rose the remnants of a city made by the hands of men.
Solinar.
Its gates, though shattered by ages uncounted, stood as colossi of stone — monoliths carved with symbols no tongue living could name. Vast archways stretched skyward, higher than the tallest mountain trees, their crowns swallowed by mist and creeping vine.
The streets were paved with great stones, some wide as a man's dwelling, engraved with ancient script and reliefs of winged men locked in battle with beasts of many eyes. Towers crowned with impossible domes leaned wearily, yet defied collapse.
Massive plazas opened like mouths in the earth, where statues of beings neither wholly man nor spirit loomed, their faces eroded but their gaze still watching.
The heart of this forsaken place was a lake of flawless stillness, as though time itself refused to stir its surface. Upon its glassy waters rose a crumbled ziggurat of stone, crowned with a broken spire that touched the heavens. Vines clung to its walls, yet its form spoke of a glory the world no longer knew.
"What manner of men built this?" whispered the prophet.
And though no sound stirred within Solinar's walls, it seemed to watch them still.
And as Apocrypha and the prophet passed through the shadowed streets of Solinar, they came upon a gathering of men and women near a place of trade. A storehouse of fine wares had been broken, its windows shattered like the brittle bones of old kings, and its keeper rent his garments in sorrow.
The thieves, having taken what their hands could carry, had vanished into the streets, leaving behind fear and anger.
The people of Solinar, fair of face and clad in garments bright as dawn, turned their eyes upon the two travelers. For their cloaks were dark as midnight oil, and the dust of the wasted world clung to them.
The prophet raised his hand and spake unto them.
"Peace unto thee, men of Solinar! For the voice of the Most High hath called thee to repentance and to light, lest ye too fall as those who came before!"
But one among the gathering, a man of strong frame and haughty eyes, laughed aloud.
"The Most High?" cried he, his voice mocking as a jackal's. "What Most High walks with beggars clothed in the dead's raiment? What god sends filth from the ash to speak in His name?"
And the people laughed with him, for though Solinar was a city of old bones, its people yet held to pride and power.
The storekeeper, driven by despair and the loss of his goods, raised his voice above the mockery.
"I shall give good coin and food to any who find the thieves and bring them before me!"
The prophet turned to the man and answered, "We shall find them. By the word of the Most High, the wicked shall be delivered unto thee."
But the guards of the city, clothed in bronze and leather, stepped forth and barred their path.
"No place have ye here, strangers," said their captain. "This task belongs to the sons of Solinar. Begone, lest the earth drink thy blood."
A murmur passed through the crowd, and in that moment the city's pulse quickened. Yet the storekeeper, unwilling to lose his chance, shouted once more.
"Whoe'er bringeth them to me, be it stranger or son of Solinar, shall have his reward!"
And so it was agreed. A race was set — between the sons of Solinar and the strangers of the ash. To seek the hidden thieves through ancient streets and broken temples.
The prophet's eyes gleamed with a light not of this world.
"So let it be written. So let it be done."
And the chase began.
And it was so, that the prophet and Apocrypha gave chase through the streets of Solinar. The city was a labyrinth of ancient stones, towering archways, and narrow alleys that twisted like the roots of dead trees.
The sons of Solinar, proud in their strength, ran ahead with jeering laughter.
"Faster, wanderers of ash! Lest the dust choke thy throats!"
But Apocrypha moved like a shadow upon the earth, his feet stirring no dust, his breath steady as the still waters of the lake. The prophet followed, his eyes fixed on the signs of passage.
They found the thieves near a ruinous courtyard where statues of forgotten kings lay broken. A scuffle ensued — the men of Solinar falling upon the thieves with curses and blows.
Yet it was Apocrypha who caught the swiftest among them. His hand seized the man by the neck, and though he did not squeeze, the man's face turned pale as death.
"Thou art caught," said Apocrypha, his voice low as the wind in a crypt.
Fear filled the thieves, for they sensed something unholy in the stranger's grip. The guards arrived, and the matter was done.
That night, the prophet and Apocrypha were granted shelter in a house by the lake's edge — a dwelling small and bare, but sufficient.
But Solinar is a city of whispered oaths, and those whose pride had been wounded plotted beneath the cover of night.
In the third watch, as the stars dimmed and the mists rose, figures cloaked in grey gathered at their door. Blades gleamed like the teeth of beasts.
"let us end themere thedawn," one spoke.
They moved swift, but Apocrypha's senses stirred. The wind carried their scent.
He rose in silence, and when the first man breached the threshold, Apocrypha moved.
None saw his feet touch the ground, nor his hand's passage, but one of the assailants struck the far wall with such force his bones sang like bells.
The others faltered, terror writ upon their faces.
The prophet raised his voice. "Is this the hospitality of Solinar? Blood against the guest?"
But before blood could stain the floor, Apocrypha grasped a great beam — a remnant of old construction — and hurled it through the wall, striking the support of a stone bridge beyond.
The bridge, ancient and weary, groaned like a dying beast. It cracked, its stones crumbling into the waters below.
A great sound rose in the night and the city was awakened.
Thus was the first blow struck against Solinar.
The prophet beheld the fallen bridge and spake, "It hath begun."
And when dawn broke upon Solinar, the city stirred with fear. The bridge, which had stood for generations uncounted, lay in ruin, its stones scattered like the bones of old men.
The people gathered in the streets, speaking in low voices.
"A stranger hath done this."
"No man of Solinar could wield such might."
"A beast walks in flesh."
The guards came in force, armed with chains wrought of iron and brass, their faces hard as stone. They took Apocrypha in the morning hour, binding his hands though no chain could match his strength.
Yet he went willingly, his eyes untroubled.
The prophet followed close, crying out, "Woe unto thee, Solinar! For ye have laid hands upon one ye know not, and a reckoning cometh as the tide!"
But none heeded him.
They cast Apocrypha into the deepest cell of Solinar — a place known as The Well of Silence, where no man's voice could rise above a whisper. The walls dripped with ancient moisture, and old bones lay scattered where other condemned men had perished.
And though bound, Apocrypha sat in quiet, for the voice within him was still.
That night, as the city's council gathered in a great hall of towering columns, fear and anger filled their hearts. The high priest spake first.
"These men are not as we. Darkness clings to them. And the stranger whose hand shattered the bridge bears a spirit most foul. Let them be put to death."
But the king, a man weary with age yet unwilling to yield power, raised his hand.
"Nay," he said, "for if they be of darkness, let us test the measure of their curse. Cast him into the lake. If he perish, the waters be holy. If he lives — then it shall be a sign."
And so it was decreed.
But as they plotted, the waters of the lake stirred.
Something ancient moved beneath its surface. A shape vast and forgotten, older than the stones of Solinar.
The prophet, in his sleep, was visited by a vision. And a voice spake:
"The time is nigh. The watchers stir, and the earth shall bleed."
He woke, knowing what must be done.