Chapter 1637: Story 1637: The Crimson Horizon
The crimson glow lingered—like a wound in the sky refusing to heal.
Zara watched as the horizon pulsed faintly, rhythmic and alive, its hue neither dawn nor dusk but something caught between. The air felt thick, every breath tasting faintly of iron and ash. The golden light that once filled her veins dimmed with each heartbeat.
The T-Rex stood beside her, its massive chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Its golden veins flickered, as if struggling to resist the crimson seep creeping across its scales. The raptors circled nervously, their eyes darting to the sky that seemed to bleed from its edges.
“It didn’t end,” Zara murmured. “It only shifted.”
The silence broke when a gust of hot wind swept through the valley—carrying whispers. Faint, fragmented, like voices trapped between centuries.
—we remember—
—we fell—
—we burned—
The wind thickened into a storm of glowing red dust. Within it, Zara saw shadows moving—figures indistinct, writhing like ghosts trying to find form. Each one shimmered for an instant before fading, as if struggling against their own existence.
The T-Rex roared, snapping its jaws at the storm, scattering the figures momentarily. But the wind screamed back—an unholy sound that clawed into the mind.
Zara pressed her hands over her ears, her pulse syncing with the chaotic rhythm of the storm. Then, amid the red haze, she saw him.
A human figure—tall, cloaked in the same crimson aura that infected the sky. His eyes glowed like coals smoldering in deep shadow. It was Damien—or what was left of him.
“You’re still here,” she whispered.
“I destroyed you.”
You silenced my voice, Damien’s echo replied, his tone calm but heavy with grief. Not my memory. The world cannot erase what it fears.
Zara stepped forward, the ground beneath her feet cracking into molten gold. “Then help me fix this. You were human once—you fought for life, too.”
The echo tilted his head, studying her. The wind faltered.
Life is remembering, Zara. But memory without forgiveness is flame.
Her heart clenched. “Then what do I do?”
Damien’s hand lifted toward the horizon. The crimson pulse quickened, glowing brighter, hotter. Forgive the fire.
Before she could respond, the ground split open beneath them. From the chasm rose a colossal shape—half fossil, half flame. It resembled a dragon forged from the remains of all extinct things, wings made of bone dust and ember. Its eyes mirrored the same crimson horizon.
The creature roared—a cry so vast it silenced even the storm. The world trembled as its tail swept through the valley, scattering golden light like sparks.
Zara faced the beast. She didn’t run.
Instead, she pressed her palms together and whispered, “Then let it remember peace.”
The pulse within her reignited—blue, gold, and now a faint streak of red.
The colors swirled, merging into white fire.
She thrust her hands forward. The light expanded, enveloping the dragon, the storm, even Damien’s echo.
For one heartbeat, everything was still.
Then the crimson horizon began to fade—slowly, like forgiveness taking root.
But as the world calmed, a faint whisper lingered in the air:
Fire never dies. It only learns to remember.
The dawn returned—brighter, but forever tinged with red.