Leaving the Western Desert was a gamble that drained every drop of reason and courage from me, yet I felt it was worth the steep price. The desert winds lashed our faces with a ferocity that seemed bent on tearing at our hearts, and the sun scorched us with its merciless gaze. Still, we did not lose hope. My siblings, Cyrus and Sienna, and I gathered amid endless sand dunes, knowing that our only chance of survival lay in pressing onward.
At a dawn so vivid with rose-hued light, I finally caught a rare quail. A rush of triumph coursed through my bones, and when I held the small carcass in my hands, my siblings' faces shone as if rebounds of starlight after a long night. We sprinted back to our humble camp, where a fire had been lit from a handful of dry wood we'd gathered the night before.
The flames roared to life in an instant, performing a symphony of light and heat. We stood before it like creatures devouring a nightmare that felt more beautiful than our bleak reality. With every bite of that golden meat, steam rising with the scent of blood, I felt life reaffirm itself within me. We fell silent for a few moments, then only the whispering wind bore witness to our chewing until we consumed the final morsel.
When we finished, I lifted my gaze to the sky and saw dust clouds rising like an army dispersed from a once-thriving land. I realized that this harsh realm would not guard our fates much longer—and that the time had come to set out toward the distant green horizon.
The next morning, as the first rays of dawn crept across the desert, I awoke to find a massive spear lying beside me. I shook off the chill of the early light and turned slowly toward it. Its pointed head pierced the parched grass, and its long shaft was etched with markings I'd never seen before. It might sound strange to you, but I have no memory of how I obtained this spear; I simply woke to find it, with not a shred of recollection before that moment. It was as though an entire chapter of my life had been severed without warning.
In the ancient age, the catastrophe was far more chaotic and brutal: daytime was a solar eclipse, with a black sun ringed by a golden halo, and the demonic beasts emerged from dawn until dusk. Unlike that calamitous era, in our present age the phenomenon remains both strange and mysterious.
I hesitated to touch the spear, but the cold metal slid away from my hand as though rejecting the warmth of mortal flesh. I tried to summon images from my childhood or even memories of the moment I acquired this weapon, but everything was shrouded in fog. Fate itself seemed incapable of detailing its origin, and the spear felt more symbolic than real.
I didn't dwell on these questions for long—my priority was to give Cyrus and Sienna reassurance and the courage to see a goal ahead. I gathered my meager belongings, and we divided our roles: Cyrus carried his old dagger, inherited from our father; Sienna bore a small pitcher of water; and I bore the new spear, as if it were a guiding light.
We began to traverse the distance to the green plains. The path wound between razor-sharp dunes and flat expanses as smooth as a frozen lake. Each morning, we slipped away before the night fully ended to avoid the demonic desert beasts that lurked beneath the sands, only to burst forth and rend their prey with savage ferocity.
One night, we were awakened by a roar akin to the rumbling of subterranean thunder. A pack of those creatures, with long claws and ember-red eyes, descended upon us. The battle flared, and smoke billowed from a fire we'd kindled next to our tent. Cyrus stood at the forefront, fighting with every ounce of strength in him, and Sienna followed with a fierce bravery that belied her innocence. Compelled by necessity, I drove my spear into the chest of one of the beasts; its foul scent vanished in an instant, and it collapsed, one down after another.
This fighting continued for weeks, though we occasionally found temporary shelter among towering rock formations. On the sixty-sixth day of our journey, I decided to leave camp alone to collect water from a distant spring called "Saise." I had barely traversed half the distance when the moon's silver glow enveloped me in its soft warmth.
I reached the spring with great effort. Water trickled steadily among the stones, and the cloak of night lay over everything, offering a rare calm. I filled the clay pitcher and hurried back.
But my sprint over the shifting sands drained the last of my strength, and I arrived to camp under a foreboding twilight. As I drew near, the crackle of the fire within the tent had died. I crept in cautiously—and witnessed a sight my childhood eyes could never have imagined.
Cyrus lay on the ground with blood streaming over the pale desert sands, a fatal wound explaining his tragic fate. Beside him, Sienna was motionless, her trembling lips forming my name in a silence more terrible than any roar. Time froze, the scene petrified in my mind.
I ran to them, lifting Cyrus's body first, then Sienna's, seeking a pulse—only to be answered by utter stillness. I couldn't fathom how those monstrous claws reached them in my absence, nor how my promise to protect them had been broken so cruelly.
I buried them beneath the thirsty sand, entombing a piece of my soul with them. I dug their graves with trembling nails and kindled a small fire atop each mound as a final salute. Staring at the sky, I whispered, "I will avenge you, no matter the cost," my voice catching in the desert's cold that no longer seemed unconquerable.
The next morning, I slung the spear over my shoulder and departed without looking back. I walked for days, haunted by the silence left behind by tears long since dried. The shifting sands carved lines of hardship across my face, while the wind seemed to offer respect for the unrelenting cruelty I had endured.
After three grueling months of travel, I reached an emerald hill that revealed the plains stretching before me like a verdant tapestry. The fragrance of grass filled the air, and wildflowers danced with a vitality I had not known since birth.
Beside a gentle river that wound between the lush greenery and the edge of the sands, I saw a young woman standing on the bank. Her hair was golden silk in the night breeze, and her eyes blended gold and blue—a radiance as though a star had fallen to light my path.
My face blushed when she turned and looked at me, and I stood unable to speak. The old symbols of journey and dread vanished; the mysterious spear felt like an extension of my arm. In a quiet voice, I asked:
"Who are you? And how did you come to be here?"
She smiled softly and lifted her gaze to a sky without end. I felt as though the chapter I had closed was sealed, and a new one was about to begin—one defined by absence, vengeance, and mystery. Here, in the moonlight by the waters of the Saise River, I end this chapter and embark on the next, steeped in secrets and enigmatic encounters, hoping to find the path back to my lost memories and th
e justice demanded by a heart torn apart.