A distant hope

Chapter 2: A distant hope

A faint glow spread across the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the vast desert. The golden dunes, stretching endlessly in every direction, seemed to shift with the evening breeze. The once-blazing sand had started to cool, no longer burning against her skin.

She had been unconscious for hours, and when she finally woke, a strange stillness filled the air. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring blankly at the sky, as if her mind had yet to catch up with reality.

Then, as her senses returned, so did the memories of her struggle—the endless walking, the unbearable heat, the thirst, the desperation.

She pushed herself upright, her back pressing against the rough bark of the ancient tree. Her limbs felt heavy, drained of energy. The small shade had been a sanctuary, shielding her from the merciless sun, but now, as dusk approached, the desert felt different. Quieter. Almost haunting.

A deep sigh escaped her lips.

She was still afraid. But she was calmer now—at least, calmer than before. She had time to think, to understand what she needed to do.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, curling into herself as an overwhelming sadness settled in her heart. Home.

She had never felt such longing for it before.

In the past, she had always dreamed of adventure. In her fantasies, she imagined herself in distant lands, facing exciting dangers, exploring the unknown. But now, reality had crushed all those illusions. This was nothing like the stories she had imagined.

She had no strength, no knowledge of survival, and no idea where she was.

And worst of all—she was alone.

She clenched her fists, her nails pressing into her palms. The thought of leaving this place, of stepping into the vast emptiness once again, terrified her. But she couldn't stay here forever.

The old tree was nothing more than a momentary shelter.

She knew that.

But still, she hesitated.

The desert was endless, stretching far beyond what her eyes could see. It offered no signs, no paths, no guidance. The tree, despite being ancient and withered, felt like her last connection to something solid.

She stayed there as the night fell.

—

The air turned colder with each passing hour. At first, the drop in temperature was a relief, soothing her sunburnt skin. But soon, the coolness deepened into an unbearable chill.

A desert was cruel in many ways—not just in heat, but also in cold.

She curled up against the base of the tree, pulling her knees closer to her chest. The wind had changed. The dry, sharp gusts that carried heat in the day now swept across the sand in icy waves. It slipped through the thin fabric of her clothes, chilling her to the bone.

She held herself tightly, shivering under the cold sky. The night felt endless.

Tears welled up in her eyes. They weren't from the wind or the cold—they were from the helplessness sinking deeper into her heart.

She wanted to go home.

Back to her family, to the warmth of her bed, to the streets she knew so well. She had never realized how much those ordinary things meant to her until now.

For hours, she sat there, her body trembling, her mind lost between fear and exhaustion. She didn't know if she would survive this, but one thought kept her from breaking completely:

She couldn't give up.

Even if she wanted to.

Even if it hurt.

Because deep down, she knew—if she lost hope now, she would never make it out of here.

—

Morning came, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson.

The first rays of sunlight spilled across the dunes, illuminating the vastness of the desert once again. The wind had calmed, and the silence of dawn felt almost peaceful.

She opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness. She didn't know if she had actually slept, or if exhaustion had merely forced her into a daze. Either way, she was still here.

She tilted her head back, gazing at the twisted branches above her. She had survived the night, but now came the real challenge—moving forward.

The thought of leaving the tree made her uneasy. It had been her only comfort in this endless, empty world. For a single night, it had been her guardian, her home.

But she couldn't stay.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hands against the sand and slowly pushed herself up. Her legs wobbled, still weak from exhaustion, but she steadied herself.

The sun was rising in the east. She turned west.

Because that was all she could do.

One step at a time, she walked forward. Following the sun.

Ling Yue took slow, small steps through the endless dunes, her feet sinking into the soft, shifting sand with every movement. The desert stretched out before her, vast and merciless, offering no clear path, no sign of direction—only an unbroken expanse of golden waves beneath the rising sun. She kept moving west, following the sun, because that was the only guide she had.

As the morning deepened, the sun climbed higher, and with it came the relentless heat. The coolness of dawn faded, replaced by an oppressive warmth that pressed down on her like an invisible weight. Her throat was dry, and thirst clawed at her, making every breath heavy. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she had long since learned to ignore it. The only thing she couldn't ignore was the exhaustion seeping into her bones, dragging at her limbs with every step.

But stopping wasn't an option. If she collapsed now, she would become part of the sand, just another lost soul swallowed by the desert's unforgiving embrace.

Her steps grew weaker, but she forced herself forward. One step, then another. She gripped the dry, twisted branch she had taken from the ancient tree, using it as a walking stick to keep herself steady on the unstable ground. With each step, the golden dunes stretched endlessly ahead, shifting and reshaping as if the desert itself was alive, watching, waiting.

The sun burned overhead, and the air shimmered with heat. Every breath felt like fire in her lungs. Her vision blurred. The edges of the world swayed, distorting into waves of nothingness. She didn't know how long she had been walking. Time had lost meaning. Hours, maybe more.

Just when she thought her legs would give out beneath her, her hazy eyes caught something in the distance. She blinked, unsure if it was real. A shadow of trees, dark and firm against the endless sand, and beneath them—a pool of water.

Her breath caught.

It wasn't a mirage. It wasn't an illusion.

It was real.

A spark of hope ignited within her, pushing her to move faster despite her drained energy. She stumbled forward, her heart pounding with desperate relief. She didn't care about the pain in her legs, the dizziness clouding her mind, or the burning in her chest. The only thing that mattered was reaching that place.

When she finally did, she collapsed to her knees beside the pond. The water was muddy and thick with sand, carrying the scent of earth and salt. It wasn't clean. It wasn't pure. But it was water, and she was dying of thirst. She scooped it up with trembling hands and drank, not caring for the bitter taste that burned her throat.

She drank until her breath steadied.

Then, she reached for the date trees, plucking the ripe fruit with shaking fingers. The sweetness filled her mouth, soft and rich, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt something close to relief. She leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, allowing the shade to cool her burning skin.

She was still stranded. Still lost. Still alone.

But she was alive.

And for now, that was enough.

She sat beneath the date trees, her back pressed against the rough bark, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over her. The desert stretched endlessly beyond the small oasis, reminding her that this moment of relief was only temporary. She didn't know where to go next, nor how far she would have to walk before finding another source of water, another chance at survival.

But for now, she closed her eyes, letting the faint rustling of palm leaves and the distant whisper of the wind lull her into a fragile sense of peace. She had made it through another day.

Tomorrow, she would have to keep moving. But tonight, under the watchful sky, she allowed herself a moment of rest.