Zak Qlikman stands alone on the barren plateau, their breath ragged in the thin, bitter air. S/He raises their eyes, tracing the spirals of the wind as it tears across the horizon.
Zak has lived their life in its shadow, a life now nearing its end. Their time has come.
The visitors watch from a distance, their faces hidden beneath the hoods of tattered robes. They murmur ancient prayers, their voices blending with the howling wind. Zak knows these words, but s/he does not speak them. Their thoughts are with the life s/he leaves behind—a life of struggle, of fleeting moments of joy amidst the endless fight for survival.
As the final prayer is uttered, the visitors nod, and the sky seems to darken in response. Zak strips off their clothes, feeling the icy wind bite into his skin. S/He lies down on the cold, hard earth, arms spread wide, exposing themself to the heavens.
The birds come first—a flock of massive carrion creatures with eyes like black pits and wings that stretch across the sky. They circle above, drawn by the scent of death.
Zak closes their eyes as the first beak tears into their flesh, a sharp pain that quickly fades into numbness. S/He feels themself slipping away, their body becoming one with the earth, with the sky.
In their final moments, s/he hears the wind speak their name, a whisper in the vastness of the atmosphere. S/He is no longer Zak Qlikman, a life form of flesh and bone. S/He is part of the sky now, their essence carried away in the currents of the eternal storm.
The visitors gather around the remains, their faces solemn as they ignite a fire. The flames consume Zak's remnants, sending sparks spiraling up into the darkened sky.
The visitors bow their heads in reverence as Zak's remains are taken, scattered across the land by the wind.
Zak Qlikman is no more, yet s/he will forever be.