The City In The Waste

The desert was unrelenting. The sun, a fiery sentinel in the sky, burned hot against Elias’s skin. Each step forward felt heavier than the last as the dunes shifted underfoot, forcing him to push against the earth itself. His throat was parched, his lips cracked and bleeding, but he did not stop. He couldn’t.

The melody In his mind continued, guiding him forward like an invisible thread. Every so often, the wind carried faint echoes of the song as though the land itself were singing back to him. It was a cruel comfort, a reminder that the past he couldn’t quite recall was still out there, waiting for him to uncover it.

But survival demanded focus. He needed water. Shelter. Anything to stave off the desert’s cruelty.

Hours passed before he stumbled upon something out of place—a line of uneven stones protruding from the sand, partially buried and worn smooth by time. Elias knelt, brushing away the sand to reveal what appeared to be the foundation of an ancient structure.

Symbols, faint but distinct, were etched into the stone. They were similar to the ones he had seen in the cave. He traced his fingers over them, and a familiar chill coursed through his body.

The harp. The thought struck him unbidden, but it felt true. This place was connected to it somehow.

As he examined the ruins, his ears caught a new sound: voices.

Elias crouched low, his muscles tensing as he listened. The voices were distant, carried on the wind, but growing louder. He moved carefully toward the sound, climbing a nearby dune to get a better vantage point.

Below, in the shadow of a rocky outcrop, a small caravan had stopped to rest. There were four of them—nomads by the look of their clothing, wrapped in layers of cloth to protect against the sun. They were gathered around a fire, even in the blistering heat, their camels resting nearby.

Elias’s heart leaped at the sight of water skins hanging from the camels’ saddles. His body screamed for relief, but his mind warned him to be cautious. He didn’t know these people, or how they might react to a stranger.

The melody In his head quieted as he descended the dune, his steps slow and deliberate. When he was close enough to be seen, he raised his hands, palms open.

“Water,” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

The nomads sprang to their feet, drawing curved daggers. One of them, a tall man with a sun-scarred face, stepped forward.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, his voice wary.

“My name is Elias,” he said, his words scraping out of his dry throat. “I mean no harm. Please… I just need water.”

The nomads exchanged glances, and after a tense moment, the tall man nodded. One of the others retrieved a water skin and tossed it toward Elias.

Elias caught it and drank greedily, the cool liquid reviving him like a second life. When he finally lowered the skin, he saw the nomads still watching him, their daggers not yet sheathed.

“Why are you out here alone?” the tall man asked.

Elias hesitated. “I… I’m looking for someone.”

“Someone?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Or something?”

Elias’s jaw tightened. “Both.”

The man studied him for a moment, then gestured for Elias to sit by the fire. “You’ve been marked by the desert,” he said, his tone softer now. “It takes something from everyone who crosses it. Perhaps we can help you, if you’ll tell us your story.”

Elias hesitated again. He didn’t trust them, not entirely, but he needed allies—or at least information. He sat down, the fire’s heat competing with the sun’s, and began to speak.

As Elias told his fragmented story, the nomads listened in silence. When he finished, the tall man leaned back, his expression unreadable.

“You speak of a harp,” he said finally. “An artifact of great power. Some say it’s a myth, but others…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “Others say it’s real, and that it’s cursed. Are you sure this is a path you want to follow?”

Elias’s hands clenched into fists. “I have no choice.”

The man sighed. “If that’s true, then you’ll need more than water to survive. The desert is dangerous, but the things beyond it are worse.”

The nomads gave Elias provisions—a skin of water, a small pouch of dried dates, and a sturdy walking stick. Before he left, the tall man pulled him aside.

“There’s a city to the west, Veridion,” he said. “Traders there speak of strange things. You might find answers—or more questions. But be careful who you trust.”

Elias nodded and turned toward the horizon. As he walked away, the melody returned, faint but persistent. The nomads’ warnings lingered in his mind, but his resolve was stronger now.

Veridion was his next step. And he would not stop until he found the woman in black.

The first thing Elias noticed about Veridion was the walls—massive sandstone barriers etched with intricate carvings, their surfaces glittering faintly in the sunlight. The city rose like a mirage from the desert, a stark contrast to the endless dunes. Its spires shimmered as though crowned with gold, and beyond the walls, a haze of bustling life seemed to hang in the air.

As he approached the gates, the melody in his mind grew softer, almost imperceptible, as if the city itself muffled its call. Two guards flanked the entrance, their armor burnished from the desert sun, spears crossed before them in a silent challenge.

“Halt,” one barked, his voice firm. “State your business.”

“I’m… looking for someone,” Elias said, his voice hoarse. His days in the desert had left him ragged, his clothes torn and stained, his skin baked by the sun.

The guard gave him a once-over, his lip curling in mild disdain. “The market’s full of wanderers. You’ll find no charity here.”

“I don’t need charity,” Elias said, pulling himself up straighter despite his exhaustion. “I need answers.”

The guard raised an eyebrow but eventually stepped aside with a gruff wave. “Don’t cause trouble.”

Elias stepped through the gates, and the world transformed.

Veridion was alive in every sense of the word. The streets were a maze of winding alleys and open squares, crowded with traders hawking their wares and citizens haggling over prices. Stalls overflowed with exotic goods: spices that painted the air with their pungent aroma, bolts of brightly colored fabric that shimmered like liquid, and strange artifacts whose origins seemed impossible to guess.

But beneath the vibrant exterior was an undercurrent of unease. Soldiers patrolled in pairs, their eyes scanning the crowd for any hint of trouble. Whispers passed between merchants, and more than one set of eyes darted nervously toward the massive tower that loomed at the city’s center.