A wave of nausea washed over Aramor as he stumbled through the shimmering portal. Ronnie, ever the optimist, whooped in exhilaration, momentarily forgotten after the grueling trials of the passage. Erebos wasn't what they expected. Gone were the lush landscapes promised by the rebels. Instead, a harsh desert sun beat down upon a seemingly endless expanse of sand dunes.

The two companions, battered and bruised from their battles with monstrous guardians, pressed on. Days bled into weeks as they rationed their meager supplies, the silence broken only by the howling wind. Just as despair threatened to consume them, a flicker of movement in the distance reignited their hope. A small, ramshackle village materialized from the shimmering heat haze.

Relief turned to apprehension as they approached. The villagers, cloaked figures with dark skin and piercing eyes, spoke in a language that grated on Aramor's ears. Communication was a struggle, a series of gestures and crude drawings in the sand. Weeks turned into months as they nursed their wounds and slowly learned the harsh clicks and guttural sounds of the Hadrami tongue, as the villagers called it.

One scorching afternoon, a breakthrough. An old woman, her face etched with a lifetime under the unforgiving sun, pointed at a faded tattoo on Aramor's arm – a symbol gifted by the rebels, supposedly the mark of Erebos. Recognition flickered in her eyes, a single word escaping her lips – "Hadhramaut." It dawned on them – Erebos wasn't a new world, but Earth itself, in a forgotten age.

The woman, her name Amina, spoke of a monstrous creature, the Devourer, that plagued the northern desert. Could this be a clue to Leia's whereabouts? With renewed purpose, Aramor and Ronnie bartered for provisions and set off towards the desolate northern wastes. Days blurred into another grueling trek, the ever-present threat of sandstorms their only companions.

Then, on the horizon, a glint of metal. As they drew closer, the glint transformed into a figure its was {{user}}