From Dusk to Dawn was written late in the second era, nearly a generation after the Great Apostasy began (Hallashim enslavement of all other Anashim races, and takeover of all religious rights).

In the shadow of the towering statue of Gurth, the God of the Underworld, a group of Durashim whispered their ancient prayers, their voices barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the wind. This statue was a relic of a time when they could worship openly, grand and serene, depicting Gurth as the orthodox worshippers saw him—a mighty figure of reverence and power.

But now, under the yoke of the Hallashim’s oppressive regime, these clandestine gatherings were all they had left to connect with their past. The Hallashim, in their thirst for power, had banned the Durashim from honoring their ancestors in the traditional ways, forcing them to abandon the vast temples and imposing their own sanitized rituals upon all Anashim races.

Yet the Durashim refused to let their heritage be stamped out. In the dead of night, they would venture into the wilderness, away from the prying eyes of their captors, to secluded groves where whispers of their ancestors seemed to echo through the trees. Here, they would conduct their ancient rites, paying homage to the dead and seeking the guidance of Gurth.

The rituals were a vital link to their identity. They believed that their ancestors’ spirits lingered, watching over them, and that Gurth himself would protect their secrets. The Durashim knew that to fear death was to dishonor those who had passed, and to fear life was to dishonor themselves. So they persisted, their ceremonies a quiet act of rebellion.

One such Durashim, named Malrin, had become a de facto leader of these secret congregations. He had once been a priest in the grand temples before they were desecrated and had dedicated his life to preserving the old ways. Malrin was old now, his skin etched with lines of sorrow and determination. His eyes, once a vibrant silver, had dulled, but they still burned with an unquenchable fire.

On one such night, as autumn leaves fell like embers around the base of Gurth’s statue, Malrin and his fellow Durashim gathered. They painted their faces with ash and sang the mournful songs of their people, their melodies rising to the heavens, pleading for deliverance. They recited the names of their ancestors, each one a vow that they would not be forgotten.

As dawn approached, the Durashim dispersed, their ritual complete. They would return to their lives under the Hallashim’s rule, their outward expressions stripped of defiance. But within their hearts, the flames of rebellion and pride burned fiercely. They knew that as long as they could honor their ancestors and worship Gurth in the old ways, even in secret, their spirits could never truly be enslaved.

And so, the tale of the Durashim’s resistance continued, a quiet yet powerful testament to the resilience of faith and the indomitable spirit of a people who refused to let their heritage die, even as they walked in the shadow of oppression.