The lowest moon is touching the horizon when morning comes.

I crouch against a dune as the sand stirs, my eyes sweeping the dawning desert. There are no clouds and a cursory glance upward reveals a mess of stars fading beneath the sunrise. They’re jumbled in an unfamiliar mural, a kaleidoscope of color periodically struck by purple and pink.

The sound of lapping water pricks my ears and I twist to face the ocean. Its ripples are disturbed, like the rhythm hiccups between waves, and I search for what pauses the motion.

There’s a glow, dimly radiating beneath the water’s surface. It’s several meters out and a quick calculation puts the source deep beneath the waves. It’s unmoving. Still, I distance myself from the beach, slipping over several dunes to put space between myself and the water.

My stalk through the sand is slow and I tighten my cape against my shoulders to reduce the rustle of movement. Fatigue clings to my limbs. It comes with a ubiquitous ache. I want to lie down, to spread out in the sand and rest my worn-out body.

A yawn crawls up my throat and I grit my teeth against it. I blink back heavy eyelids and focus back on the beach. The glow is still in its original position.

I squint at it, daring it to move.

Thankfully, there’s no response and my eyes track from the glow’s point to the furthest I can see of the beach. It’s changed trajectory – the shore. There’s a curve to it, sharp enough that the angle is readily apparent in the brightening sky.

I pause and pull out the compass, studying the point of the needle.

Up to this point the beach and compass had been in agreement. Not now though.

I rub at the skin between my eyes and consider.

“Huh…”

This…this is a dilemma.

There aren’t any clear options. On one hand, I’m not even sure the compass is operational, and even if it is there’s no telling what it’s pointing at. It doesn’t follow traditional north, according to the arc of the sun, but that only left endless possibilities. As for the ocean, I’d been following it for, what was it? Seven days now? And it had, so far, led me nowhere helpful.

Which brings me back to my dilemma. Do I follow the cryptic compass or the curving beach?

I plop down on the sand.

A sigh hisses through my teeth as I tilt back to look at the sun. Light flickers over the dancing sand, and I marvel at how much safer it feels outside of the night. It’s an empty ease, based on nothing more than memories of the wolf, but I soak it in.

My hands are trembling.

I want to cry. I want to lay back in the sand and sob. I’m tired, and scared, and…and lonely. It’s been less than two weeks since I woke up, but there’s an emptiness in my chest that I can’t account for. It echoes the cave in my mind, ricocheting off barren walls.

My stomach rumbles and I’m torn from brooding thoughts.

I look down at the blue sand, grimacing reflexively. It was that time again.

It’s fine.

I scoop a portion as big as a coin, noting the tickling of thirst that emerges alongside it.

It’s probably not as bad as you remember.

It takes a second, sand swimming across my tastebuds and dribbling down my throat before…

“Ugh!” I spit, spraying half the sand on my cape. “How is it worse?” The bitterness pools in my mouth and I rake my tongue across my teeth.

Five days then… I wonder if I can push it out further, let the thirst and hunger build before submitting myself to the blue granules. I mean yeah, going nearly a week without any sustenance is pretty impressive, miraculous even by my memory’s standards. But it’s hard to get past the little aftershocks of acidity.

I shudder, raking my teeth across my tastebuds, and jerk the backpack off my shoulders. The movement is clumsy and erratic, but I’m looking for a distraction, not perfection.

I upend the bag dumping its contents. Little white shapes tumble out, clinking together as they spill over the sand.

After a couple of minutes, the bitterness has dimmed considerably and I’ve sorted my stash by shape – cubes, cones, cylinders, spheres, and undefined. I run a finger across each, refreshing the patterns in my mind.

Including the box, compass and stick there are 28 tiny objects, all under three inches at their greatest dimension. My guess is that the ones found with the skeleton are more useful for survival than their counterparts, if only because the creature was carrying them around. The box, compass and stick on the other hand might be leftovers, or they could be items valuable enough to widely produce. There was no way to know, at least without further experimenting.

After several days of tinkering I had narrowed down items that were promising.

I hum, and rearrange the objects again, this time into three separate piles. In the first, I place items that look familiar in some way – five total. In the second I sort seven items. These are shapes with an obvious trigger. The last pile, with the remaining 16 items, I’ve made no progress with at all.

I sweep the first pile towards me and line up the shapes in the sand.

Number one is the compass – blue glass, blue background, white needle. Two is the box. It is as far as I can tell…a box. Three is the white stick, but I’m almost 100% certain it’s not just a stick. If it is, I cannot express how disappointing that would be. An actual stick would be more useful. At the very least, it would have the added benefit of becoming firewood.

It’s…vexing that three of the five items I recognize may be the most useless. Well, could be useless. There’s no point in working in assumptions that may not be true.

The fourth shape is a sphere. It’s completely smooth, with no discernible depressions or ridges. Truthfully the memory that comes up when I look at it is a red, bouncing ball. It’s not a strictly familiar object, in anything other than its shape, but still I leave it in the recognizable pile.

The last item is…hmm… what was the word?

It takes a second, and the image floats into view, hazy and little rough around the edges. A turtle. The image slips away as quickly as it comes and my mind groans in protest. It twinges behind my eyes, a tiny ache that niggles in protest. The memories have come more easily. They’ve slipped through the cracks, surfacing more often when I’m not actually looking, while the ones I chase are most allusive – and with them comes that tiny, little ache, like a pin is pressing against my brain, stuffing it up.

I look down at the… turtle, in my hands. It’s a passing resemblance. The shape is more cobbled together than a map of discernible parts. In fact, outside of the ball and box, the other lookalikes are all slightly “off”. Nothing quite matches, and I consider the disjointed feelings as I pull the second pile towards me.

These are more promising as far as actually being usable. At least, they have noticeable reactions and/or buttons.

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I pick up a cylinder first. All three in this pile are the same – an inch and a half long, half an inch diameter, with a small depression on one end. I adjust the one I’m holding, sliding my thumb over the depression before clicking once. The object vibrates mutely and a second cylinder, thinner and shorter than the first, pops out of the opposite end. It’s blue. My first thought is that it resembles a marker. The memory takes a while to come. It tastes of guilt and joy and revolves around a wall covered in colorful scribbles. I consider that the object in my hand might have similar use.

A quick tap into sand does nothing. All I’m left with is a tiny divot in the sand that immediately fills in. A touch on my shirt and shoes yields a similar result.

Well that’s…unfortunate.

I consider testing it on my skin, but immediately dismiss the idea. If it turned out to be a weapon I would bleed out in the desert before anyone found me, except the wolf maybe.

Instead I tap the button with a sigh, watching the blue cylinder retract.

Next, I pick up a cube. This one has three rotatable portions – top, middle, and bottom. They twist freely in my hands and for a couple of minutes I mindlessly twirl the sides, moving them into different patterns or shapes. Unfortunately, nothing activates, not even a tiny vibration.

The following cube shows a bit more promise. It’s covered in the same symbols as the tower. These, however, are black. A tap against the text causes flickering blue light to illuminate the script, but it quickly dies. The undefined shape beside the cube is similar. It’s almost a rectangular prism, parallel sides lined with flickering symbols.

Do they have some sort of battery? Is it dead? Can I recharge it?

My eyes dip to my fluttering cape. Did it have a battery? If so…was I living on borrowed time?

The morbid thought sticks, and settles, rippling through my mind as I pick up the last shape.

It’s amorphous. Squeezing it with my hands triggers a change and the mold shifts. One squeeze twists the shape, turning into a spiral of spines. Another melts into waves, rippling from top to bottom. A final squeeze flips it back to an undefined blob. There’s no blue glow, and I wonder if that’s more important than I’m realizing, like maybe the compass and cape are the only ones with a charged battery.

I probe the shape further, searching for more hints as to its purpose, but another ten minutes produces no additional information.

“Ugh!” I chuck the shape into its pile, casting a dubious glance at the remaining mystery objects.

“Nothing. Literally nothing works.”

Who knew I’d find a cornucopia of treasure only to find it completely useless?

The cape is the only exception…for now. And the bag was a bag, so… that’s something.

I slowly gather up my piles delicately stacking them back inside the bag. Now that I know some of them have buttons I’m wary about setting them off. Although at this point, an accidental trigger might be the breakthrough I need.

I drop the bag on my lap, fingers running over the material. It’d be nice if it was as cool as the cape. Surely a bag found with crystalline armor and a cloaking device would have additional features.

I flop on my back to look at the sky. A little cloud floats overhead, touching the edge of the sun.

Anti-theft would be nice. Maybe keep my slew of useless items from falling into nefarious hands? Or…oh, wouldn’t it be cool if it teleported back if someone stole it?

I look back at the bag. It’s slouched over my stomach, showing no sign of great powers.

I had to be missing something.

I think back to when I activated the cape. I’d touched the clasp and there’d been a… a sucking sensation. That hadn’t happened when I’d put it on. So was that the trigger? But what was different? What was I missing? Thinking about it reminded me of the voice — the one that wasn’t mine.

It hadn’t felt…bad. Shocking yes, but not bad. It’d been filled with a sense of urgency, with intent. And ultimately it had saved my life.

I haven’t heard anything since, and for now I’m okay with that. I’m not sure I want to delve into whatever problems a disembodied voice could be hinting at.

“Hmm… Rather than that, maybe I should consider that despite the horde of tools the skeleton was carrying, it still definitely died.”

Yeah, probably shouldn’t be relying on them for survival.

Which brings me back to my dilemma. If I can’t rely on the compass and I don’t actually know where the ocean leads, which of them do I follow, or do I follow neither?

The compass is a mystery, and as for the beach…

I try to search for a memory. It’s hard, like pulling thread that’s nailed to a wall. I tug and I tug, only to strain the strings.

The image ripples, finally, disjointed pieces flickering into existence. I grab the edges, gripping as it rocks dizzily in my mind before settling.

A thicket of trees falls into view. It’s split by a sparkling stream and sunlight glimmers over the rapids. There’s a scent that comes with it.

…Hmm, the word takes a second.

Pine. It smells like fresh pine.

The image shifts. It dips and turns, tumbling over ledges as it follows the stream. It nearly peters out, but falls into a greater pool in a final rush of water. It’s here that I see a house – bright white siding and red windowpanes.

The view settles, the picture fluctuating until it dissolves, disappearing back into the darkness.

I blink open my eyes.

Follow the water then. Water leads to houses.

Nodding, I tuck the compass into my bag. There’s no reason to check it if I’m committing to the beach. I’ll find its purpose another time. Right now, I’m going to find a house, hopefully with people…or whatever the nearest equivalent is. Wherever my family is, it’s likely they’ll be by people.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and slink up the nearest dune. A search of the horizon yields no flickers of white. I follow the slope, walking a line that allows for an even view of desert and ocean.

The shore curves steadily, blue sand hugging the beach. I follow it for another two days, and the fatigue eating at my limbs is heavier than before. I’m tired. I’m so tired.

I want to sleep, a full night and into the next day sleep. Short, half-awake naps have been my only reprieve and it’s catching up to me.

It’s on the third day that the ocean tapers. The other coast, or what I assume to be the other coast, appears as a hazy line in the distance. Over the following couple of days, the sides converge, ending in a massive river mouth. I sit down at the end of the shore, my legs feeling like lead.

I pull the compass out of my bag, curiosity leading me to check the needle. It’s still pointing at the same notch. Well… despite my clear detour, it hasn’t adjusted for my movement at all.

Huh. Glad I decided to follow the ocean then, because this thing clearly isn’t on.

I sigh, muscles twinging as I settle.

I’m starting to feel gritty. The cape has kept out most of the sand, like it’s a natural repellant. But granules have crept into the creases of my clothes. I can feel the friction in the creases of my joints. My waistband is building up its own sandbox and the ankle of my tennis shoe is completely clogged up. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

I try to shake out the sand from my position on the ground, but the attempt is feeble. I don’t have the energy. I drop my bag off my shoulders and flip the clasp, upending the sack in a single motion. I’m going to take a break, and do a little experimenting, and that is a perfectly good reason to stop walking, and… nothing fell out.

Wait… Nothing fell out?

I pull the bag up to my eyes, looking inside. There’s nothing in there. I shove my hand into the pocket, searching the corners, but all I feel is the soft material of fabric. There’s nothing – no assortment of items, no box, no compass, no anything.

I upend it again and shake it, thinking that maybe my brain is suffering from exhaustion, maybe the heat, and has fallen into full-on hallucinations. But no matter how much I shake the bag nothing comes out.

“I… I…”

I have no idea what’s happening.

It makes no sense. Did I completely miss a ransacker taking me for all I’m worth? It’s unlikely. I’ve been using the bag as a pillow for most of my naps, and every time I wake up the bag is still under my head. How could anyone steal from me?

Was it… was it a function of the bag?

I’d just recently thought that item protection might be nice, but this was ridiculous! I take it back. I take it all back! Where’s my treasure? Is a bag even useful if it makes my stash disappear?!

I briefly scream in frustration, then drop to the sand when I realize what I’ve done. I flatten my body against the dune, horrified.

Why don’t you just alert everything in the area to your position? Yes, very smart. A real winner.

I pinch my eyes shut, keying my ears to the space around me. The sand swirls, hushed. The water laps against the shore. There’s no other sound.

Several minutes pass and I shuffle forward, peaking over the top of the dune. There’s a flash of white and I immediately shrink back, my heart racing.

The wolf is here. It’s here.

I try to calm my heart, slow my breathing. I measure the inhales, matching them to the shifting sand. Sound was my downfall in the tower. I push myself to relax, focusing every fiber of my being into melding with the silence.

I lay like that for hours. It’s… terrifying. I repeatedly lose my calm, and focus back on my breathing, forcing out all thoughts of danger, or the wolf. My limbs ache through the tension, and sand gathers in the creases of my cloak.

It’s only when the sun starts to fall that I shift up the dune, scanning the horizon. There’s no glimpse of white. Still, I lay back in the sand, motionless.

I feel rung out, like someone’s twisted me all up and drained the life out of me.

Tears prick my eyes and for the second time since I woke up I feel like a complete fool. Mistakes like this will get me killed. I need to think, really think. This isn’t a relaxing vacation or a thrilling adventure. It’s dangerous – very dangerous.

I rub at the skin between my eyes and look at my bag.

I could leave it here. After all, what was the point of a bag that stole what you put inside?

But, the survivalist in me has to figure it out. I need every advantage I can get in this place. So I shove the lip of the bag into the blue sand and scoop and scoop until the sack is half full. I sling it over my shoulders, balancing the weight.

I’ll wait and see. If the sand disappears then I’ll know it’s the bag. One step closer.

I’m missing something, I know I am, and it’s only a matter of time before I figure it out.

A day later the river turns into a delta, after that, the delta is a crisscross of streams and channels. On the dawn of the third day, the blue sand turns bronze.