8. The lands of the west

Start of the first arc: the lands of the west

Aris walked weakly. His left arm screamed in pain, but that was all it could do. His left leg supported a little more of his weight, but it was his right leg that was doing all the work. 

The blood had dried since then, but the wounds looked terrible on his battered body. Aris was strong but not invincible, and his pitiful condition was proof of that. 

He had been walking for two days now. The western lands had turned out to be much larger than he had thought. In fact, he couldn't see the end of them. It was as if the damn border between the world of humans and elves was a world unto itself. 

"Do we hate each other that much?"

Aris walked, sometimes stopping to tighten the few pieces of fabric on his torn shirt that he had put on to cover the wound on his leg, then got up and set off again.

In fact, he didn't really expect the elves to welcome him with open arms. He knew that relations between the two races were so tense that sometimes humans were executed just for setting foot on their land. And he was a king, which made things worse.

Kings could be used as examples to show their superiority in order to deter anyone from coming. Aris therefore thought it was a bit ridiculous to go there wounded and defeated. 

However, he only had to worry about such things if he reached his destination.

"Cursed lands of the west."

What more could he say? The western lands were gray. Very gray. Color was not welcome in these isolated lands. Sharp rocks often rose from the ground, sometimes up to twenty or thirty meters high. They served as shelters for the fallen king. 

Some rocks resembled blades as sharp as razors. From a distance, one would surely think it was a graveyard of swords.

There was no path. Only passages between the rocks. It was empty and lifeless. No trees, no plants, no animals. Actually, there were animals. Small creatures that ate the corpses of other small creatures on the side. Sometimes when Aris looked at them, these creatures looked back at him with a dark gaze. The message was clear: it was their food.

Then Aris's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in two days. He sometimes looked under the rocks to see if there were any other dead animals. But as soon as he bent down to look, there was nothing there; the creatures had already eaten their meal.

Aris would then get up and continue walking, convinced that he would survive this difficult period in his life. But the more he walked, the more his mind told him otherwise. Aris was strong, but not invincible...

The good news in these barren lands was that it rained very often. In fact, that was where the dark gray came from. Black clouds rose constantly above the land to water it. The rocks became slippery, but the droplets reflected what little light passed through the clouds.

Aris watched these little lights in the rocky desert. They were like lanterns in the darkness. They shone all the time except at night and warmed his heart a little. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

Sometimes he drank as many drops as he could. The rainwater wasn't very good, but it was all he had. There were no puddles in these barren lands. The water seemed to run off wherever it touched the ground. The worst part was that it didn't do it properly. Where it seemed to converge into a puddle, the small streams suddenly separated and flowed in another direction. As a result, no river more than three inches deep actually formed. It was depressing for the former king.

The desert was not welcoming at all...

The cloth covering his wound had almost fused with it. Aris tried to remove it but quickly realized that if he did so hastily, he would tear off a large part of his skin and the wound would reopen.

"Damn it."

Aris then walked on without paying any attention to it....

The third day arrived quickly. Aris had spent the night under a rock that rose diagonally upward. He looked at his pitiful state before getting up. Then he looked up at the sky. 

This time, no rays of sunlight were breaking through the black clouds. The darkness was almost overwhelming. His eyes had grown accustomed to the near-total blackness, but usually he had the company of sparkling droplets and small rays of sunlight. This time, he had only his senses to keep him from falling.

His body was healing slowly but very painfully. He had spent the night removing the sticky fabric from his wound. As a result, it had reopened slightly, but fortunately for him, he hadn't lost too much blood this time.

He sorely missed the medical care of his royal infirmary. He tried not to think about it during his journey. Dwelling on the past was useless. But he, who had lived in luxury and peace, was now living in fear, poverty, and his own blood. 

Aris wanted to cry, but that was not befitting of a king. 

What king?

He was no longer even a shadow of his former self. All he could do was walk and wait to see if the hope of the elf lands would either get him killed there, or make him a prisoner or a slave. The choices were truly terrible.

He struggled to his feet and looked in the direction of...

"Where am I?"

In fact, that was what the fallen lands were like. The landscapes all looked the same, the rocks were sometimes the same, the rain fell in all directions, there were no paths, the animals circled around you to see when you were going to die, the reflective drops shone in the same way, and it was impossible to find your bearings.

Aris spun around in panic. His mind was confused by hunger, thirst, the cruel lack of blood and care, and above all, he was lost. Spinning again and again, causing his brain unpleasant moments, he suddenly stopped.

Near the rock, there was a small sign raised on a stake. It was made of wood that looked very simple. The wood was cracked all over to such an extent that the sign seemed about to be destroyed. An inscription was written on it. The rectangular sign displayed a few words in the language of humans. As soon as Aris read it, he almost fell to the ground. 

It simply said:

"Welcome to the lands of the west."