Within the next few weeks of my isolation in the ravine, I fell into a routine. I woke up, ate whatever was left of the previous night's meal, drank water from the river, and did my regular chores. When my body had healed from the predator’s attack, I would exercise and keep myself in top shape. I trained my body to become as strong as it was before I had been nailed to the cross. At first, it was difficult. The wounds on my wrists were still fresh. I had to change my bandages daily so the wound wouldn’t fester. Despite the pain of holding simple objects, I suffered quietly. I’d rather be in discomfort than lose the use of my hands. If I could not adapt, I would be dead.

My training within the legion had served me well, and continued to serve me. Yet for all the advantages I had, I had my share of disadvantages. I lacked many proper resources to improve my situation. I had limited training in forging thanks to my father, yet I lacked the proper ores to make something. Still, the beast was useful even in death. I decided to forgo using them as daggers and fashioned a crude pickaxe. I soon found that I was able to turn large boulders into gravel with enough effort. If I had enough food, I would forgo hunting in favor of planning a more suitable shelter for myself. I had the idea to build a primitive house. This was far easier said than done. I had no training in blacksmithing, and could do very little aside from planning. In hindsight, I should have focused more on looking for someone else. The Blasted Lands were where many prisoners were sent to die for some sin or another. I thought that perhaps I could find someone to talk to and keep my sanity. Yet I focused more on building my mud hut than finding companionship. We all have our hobbies I suppose. I remembered when my legion encountered mudhuts in the same vein that I was building. I mocked them and belittled the huts, yet now irony was mocking me as if I were some fool dressed in brightly colored clothes and proclaimed myself king of sand. I was not mighty, not then at least, yet I fell hard all the same.

At night, I would eat my dinner and then pray to my god, Ile Sathak. The great serpent who’s worship was the reason I had been nailed to cross in the first place. Luverius was the Roharim patron God. He was the God of wisdom, and considered by my people to be the creator of mankind. My father believed in Wotan the Allfather. A being of great knowledge and power. I acknowledge both, yet I always found myself to never be a true believer.

Ile Sathak was something else entirely. I was never satisfied with the answers my kin gave me about how the world worked. I never thought that they were lying to me of course. It was more akin to being given a meal, yet still feeling hungry. Not enough to keep you sated, so you looked for something else to eat. I hungered for knowledge beyond my own understanding, and Ile Sathak seemed like he would provide me with the perfect answers.

My first encounters with the serpentine God were word of mouth. The intrigue of finally satiating myself with answers to my questions. The great philosophers of Roharim debated constantly about a riddle. An enigma. “The Enigma of Steel” as it was called. It was the most puzzling thing. How can someone answer a question when not even the question is known? Before one could figure out the answer to this riddle, one must know the question first. The only clue was in the name: steel.

In my quest to gather information about this, I heard of the cult of Ille Sathak. They promised knowledge and the prospect of becoming one with the universe. Like a moth drawn to the flame, I was under their spell. I met with them in secret, learning everything I could about them. I took part in their rituals, engaged in recreational herbs, and even partook in…shall we say, carnal rituals?

Yet this gave me questions that I wasn’t looking for. I was becoming frustrated, and this cult seemed to be no more use to me than all the other pantheons. I was about to give up, when I had my first encounter with Ile Sathak.

I was but a Decanus at the time, well on my way to achieve a high status in the legion. We were to transfer our forces from beautiful Roharim, we had enough time for ourselves to relax, the rest of the legionnaires and myself. Those with families would spend the day with them as if it were their last. Others would simply indulge in drink and carnal pleasure. I myself snuck into what seemed to be a party of some sorts, blending in with the rest of the young men and women. I was much younger then, no more than eighteen summers.

I drank enough to not dull my senses. A little intoxication, but not enough to make myself appear to be an idiot. I met a girl there. Her hair was a curly ashen brown, her lips were bright red like rose petals, her skin was soft and fair, and her eyes were a vibrant hazel. The way she batted her eyelashes at me stirred something within me that I couldn’t resist.

We drank, danced and flirted. She pulled me into the house. I remember that the busts and statues included depictions of her. It was clear to me that this was in fact her home. I believe she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who was tired of the dull existence being confined to these walls, and thus wanted some type of distraction. Fortunately for myself that night, I was just the thing to entertain her.

We enjoyed each other's company for the rest of the night. After the pleasures of having known each other on such a level, we slept in the same bed, her body entangled with mine, satisfied with the adventure we took. I was exhausted more than I had ever been. She pushed me harder than any decanus pushed me in physical training. I slept soundly.

That night, I had a dream. Though now that I think about it, perhaps a better name would be vision. I saw myself upon a throne carved in marble. It had sheets of Black marble in the sides just under the arm rests. The tall back bore a symbol on the rear. One that I recognized as my own, yet I never made it. It resembled that of a Lion’s head. The mane of the lion was made out of multiple snakes like a hydra. The lion’s head was flanked by two snakes coiled around each other in a tight braid, acting as a border around the Lion. The entire image was surrounded by a laurel wreath. The face of the lion was stern. Not angered, but more of an ever present vigil, as if awaiting a storm.

The back of the throne also had a small arch. To my sides I saw two serpent statues jutting out of the floor made of obsidian. Their eyes were made of sparkling emeralds. Between the statues and my throne were two stone braisers that illuminated the throne room. Above the throne was a massive obsidian serpent like the others, yet its eyes were rubies. All around this throne room of mine were bright red banners with the same symbol as the one on my throne. Unlike banners of Roharam, these banners did not have eagle standards which was customary. Instead they had the image of a serpent as their standards, made out of gold. Before me was a small stairway that would descend to the floor itself. I had raised my throne and myself up to intimidate anyone who would meet with me, so that they would feel as if they walked into a lion's den, waiting for the excuse to pounce.

I was looking at myself as if I were another person in the room. I sat there motionlessly, unblinking. I was older. I had many scars upon my body, and a few on my face. My hair was peppered with gray as I looked more world weary. The older version of myself stared at me, unblinking. I felt frightened, not knowing exactly how to feel about my current situation. I judged myself. I could feel it in my bones. Then I felt something brush against my feet. I looked down and saw a snake. A python slither its way over to the version of me on the throne. It wrapped itself around my counterpart. Then another snake brushed past me. I soon found that there was an ocean of serpents that slithered to my older self.

They wrapped around me, and I could feel them upon my own skin. They swarmed me and were enough to blind me, their bodies closing around my reflection’s face, slowly concealing my eye. My own vision went with my reflections. I was afraid. What was happening? Were these snakes trying to strangle me? But I felt comfort. No. These serpents had not come to kill me. On the contrary, they embraced me. They protected me.

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I had been chosen. I could feel it. I was chosen by Ille Sathak. I awoke in bed, still late at night, my lover sleeping soundly by my side. Upon looking at her again, I was half tempted to wake her up for some more carnal delights, yet I heard the all too recognizable sound of an angry father yelling at the party goers outside. I had to flee, lest I feel his wrath upon me and be held away before I was to venture off for my new post. I kissed the girl on her cheek one last time and fled through the window. It was sad. I never even managed to get her name.

I continued to have that vision time and time again up until I was condemned to die by my legate. I could not dwell on how I came to be here. How I went from bedding the finest girl in all of Roharim, becoming a centurion with full honors only to fall so low and find myself in that cave, surviving on scraps. One morning in that cave, I awoke and would pursue my usual duties. On that day however, I craved something else. Something more precious than food and water. I desired companionship. I decided that I should explore my environment and see if I could anyone or anything. Loneliness can drive a man to insanity, and I had to be stern, else I would find myself talking to a rock with a face drawn upon it.

I had to find some means for companionship. I couldn’t have been the only one to have somehow survived in these lands, could I? I began my hunt by retracing my steps. Obviously I was not about to walk into the desert only to get lost and die, thus ruining all of my hard work to survive. Fortunately, I had a height advantage. I scaled the top of the red canyon side, climbing up to the top. Naturally, it wasn’t as easy as I make it out to be. I had to climb up a very steep cliffside. I fashioned myself some gear; a crude pickaxe and some hemp rope to secure myself. I almost fell a few times, but I found myself peeking over the top.

With a good lay of the land, I scoured for any signs of human life. I saw where I had come from on the horizon. The cross was so far away that I could barely see it. I was closer to this oasis than I thought. I hadn’t noticed it when I was brought here. In my defense though, I was not focused due to the blinding pain of having large nails driven through my wrist and being stuck in the hot blistering sun for days.

I could see that there were multiple crosses. Perhaps I could see if there was anyone else. I scaled down the canyon side and would prepare. I fashioned a waterskin out of animal hide, and I wore the armor I carved from the beast I slew. The strong bone-like material would do me well. Alas, it was no segmentata, but it was a start.

I gathered everything I needed and soon, I was off. The water helped me to no end. Refreshed, I scoured around the crosses. They were spaced out from each other for quite the distance. Most of the crucified were already dead. Some were there for about a week and began to bloat, while others were loosely hanging skeletons where most of their body simply fell off after being pecked clean by carrion birds. I was about to give up when I heard something in the distance. Someone was being crucified near me. I ran to the direction and hid behind the ruins of some ancient statue half buried by the desert. I peeked over to see four men who just finished crucifying a woman.

Yet she made no sound as the nails were driven deeply into her. She looked like she was in immense pain, yet she did not scream. Only a silent gurgle. Four men were responsible for the deed. They wore armor I did not recognize. They were desert dwellers to be sure. They wrapped themselves in cloth to protect themselves from the blistering sun, dressed all in white to keep the heat off of them. One of them had fresh blood over his outfit, no doubt from hammering the nail into the woman.

I had the instinct and the desire to help, but I was outnumbered. I would need to catch them off guard.I had my makeshift spear in my hands, and a club. They had swords.I had one shot with the spear. I held it like a javelin and stepped back, then threw it with all of my might. It soared through the air and then pierced one of the men right through his chest. He yelled and fell down hard in the sand. His white clothes were stained blood red. The others quickly became aware of my presence and searched for me. I hid right after my throw and waited, preparing my club. They came for me with blades drawn and murderous intent.

I laid in wait by that statue, gripping my club tight enough for my knuckles to turn white. Then, as soon as the shuffling of their feet against the sand grew louder, I struck. I stood up and let out a war cry and swung my club directly into an attacker's face. I could hear the sound of bone crushing as I shattered his jaw like glass. Instantly his mouth exploded in broken teeth and blood. He fell down, clutching his mangled mouth as the other two warriors were startled by my surprise attack.

One warrior swung his blade at me, aiming for my arms. I blocked every strike with my club, but it was apparent that I would not last long with two of them attacking me at the same time. I couldn’t get a single hit. Every movement I made —despite my many attempts to attack- was devoted to blocking and stepping back. I had to wait for the right moment to strike. Fortunately for me, one of them decided to do something bold. He pulled his sword back and tried to thrust it into my belly. Seeing this, I moved myself to the side where I could wrap my arm around his, and then use my club to shatter his elbow, bending his arm in the wrong direction.

My attacker let out a scream and dropped his weapon. As he fell, the other would-be assassin swung at my neck. I ducked, killing two birds with one stone. I avoided his strike and picked up the other man’s sword. Armed with both a club and sword now, I had the upper hand.

Suddenly my assailant found himself on the receiving end of my blows. He managed to get lucky and cut my shoulder with his blade. In return I pressed the attack until he finally got tired. One last blow, and I cut open his belly. His guts spilled at my feet. He fell to his knees, trying to stuff his own intestines back into himself, yet his attempts were fruitless. I was about to finish him off when the man with the broken jaw sought to claim my life from behind. He made the fatal mistake of screaming before taking the blade and attempting to cut me down. I turned just in time for him to bring the sword down upon my shoulder. I’d have been a dead man if not for the armored hide I wore. He cut me deeply, but it was only a flesh wound.

I smashed his nose with my forehead, sending the man back before I showed the attacker how it was done. I chopped him with my sword as if I were cutting wood, my blade slicing through the clavicle of the bone and becoming stuck. The man was dead before he fell to the ground. Picking up one of the other swords, I inspected the man with the broken arm. He shook violently in shock and pain in a fetal position. I stepped on his broken arm and made him scream loudly. Tears ran down his face as he looked up at me. Using my other foot, I kicked him over to his back. He held his good arm out. He begged me for mercy.

“S-Spare me. Please!”

I answered by stepping on his neck, choking him. His was the only outfit not stained by blood, and I wanted to keep it that way. Using all of my weight, I crushed the man’s windpipe and broke his neck, killing him quickly. It would be nice to wear something to protect the sun, so I would quickly strip him of his belongings. I took his provisions, clothes and weapons. I looked around for a bag to carry all of my ill-gotten gains. Fortunately, one of them had a backpack. Stuffing everything inside along with whatever else was inside the bag, I then went to inspect the woman.

She had passed out from the pain. The nails in her wrists were deep, but they were fresh. She had just arrived in this Godsforsaken place. You could say she was lucky that I happened to be around. At last, after finding some company, I would see to her wounds. Using the tools left beside the cross, I pulled the nails out of her wrist. She jolted up awake and let out a silent scream. Her eyes watered in pain as she looked at me. I could see the reason why she couldn’t let out a single sound. She actually survived having her throat slashed apart. Her vocal cords were cut in this attempt. It appeared that when slitting her throat didn’t work then crucifixion was the next best thing. I wondered why someone would go through so much trouble. Regardless, after I removed the second nail she passed out again. I wrapped her naked body up in one of the dead men’s bloodied robes and then carried her. She would need my care of course, but it was better than being alone. She would heal over time, and I had just made a new friend. All in all, I would say that it was a very good day.