image [https://i.imgur.com/OoaGeLG.jpg]

Irregular sandstone patterned in multiple shades of brackish-brown, light tans, and a few streaks of red which flowed in waves dominated the landscape. Dunes rose as high as ten meters, though most of the sand piles of the Traymena desert measured barely a meter. Patches of dusty soil became revealed as warm dry winds swept through the plateau. Several sandstone cliffs formed a barrier broken by several passes. Dry sandstone from the natural rock formations was breaking down for ages, slowly filling the surrounded plain with sand. The western height was worn to an incline with craggy hills bordering its edge.

Heat dissipated within the landscape as the afternoon grew later. There was a dry wind about, yet light and quite warm. Not a cloud to be seen in the darkening sky. Dusk allowed the sun, now like a glowing clot, to sit upon the dunes of the western horizon and rest its late rays upon the smooth granite walls of thirteen cylindrical towers. The central tower was over a hundred meters tall.

The lesser towers, which were each about two thirds as tall and large as the main tower, were arranged in a circular pattern about fifty meters distant from the center. Between any two of the outer towers was an arc of about thirty degrees. Every one of the outer towers was connected to the center by walls. Each wall contained three tunnels, one fifteen meters above ground level, another at mid-level, and a third at the highest level. The design made for an array of over thirty granite tunnels in the wall. Pillars abutted the arches of the narrow lower walkways, while the top of the wall was an open path guarded by a crenellated stone barricade. The central tower was topped by a long spire nearly thirty meters high from base to the tip.

At the pinnacle of the spire floated a spirit who overlooked the squat dunes of the land beyond the plateau. The desert of Traymena stretched out in a mix of dunes and rocky alcoves for a great distance toward the coasts. Only the salt marshes of the western coast provided relief from the consistency of the dry terrain. The life of Tramen, this continent of desert, had been drained over many decades. The spirit wondered, would this fate spread to the rest of her world? Would the entire realm of Pozalm become as dry and barren as this continent?

She was barely visible, the rays of the evening sun flying through her as she continually faded out and returned to visibility. There was no color in her form, as if it was with effort that she maintained the faintest outline. Though, as darkness fell over the land, she could solidify her appearance somewhat to take the form of young women with hair that flowed down her back. She was shades of watery blue and swirling white, as only the outlines of graceful features could take form. The wind picked up slightly and her form swirled with it, pushed back as if she were made of silky robes. The spirit raised her fists into the air. When she opened them two handfuls of sand snowed down until they landed in a dune at the base of the tower.

Sand coalesced into something bulky. The dune pushed upwards into column which branched out five times as it became a stone hand. The hand grew an arm before pulling the form of a humanoid golem out of the dune. It had no face, no distinguishing features other than being made of sandstone shaded in brilliant yellows, browns, and dull oranges. The spirit dove from the spire of the central tower. It fell between the interconnecting wall and dove into the golem. A few minutes later she pulled herself from it. The remains of her form became the distinct blue glow of a cool fire and clung to the temple walls. The golem leaned slightly toward the tower as its blank stone head tilted. A light voice, slightly musical and exceedingly soft emanated from the spirit.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Go into the library of the temple and take the book containing my right hand. Give it to the wizard Dead-leaf, who still has with the power to traverse worlds. Tell him this, if he can force the guardian who resides on the other realm to crush my hand, then all the power the guardian holds will be bequeathed unto him. You may rest upon the completion of this task."

The golem nodded as the spirit faded. The walls of the temple opened to accept the creature into the halls, then closed once it had passed through. The entire mid-level of the central pillar housed the library. Bookshelves were carved out of the sandstone walls and supported by columns of granite. Thousands of dusty tomes and ancient scrolls sat neglected. Unkempt piles of dry rotted books could be found at reading tables or by the bottom of a tall shelves. It looked as if someone had been frantically researching a long time ago without ever having the chance to reorganize. Grains of desert sand glimmered against the faded red carpet as moonlight snuck in through slots in the outer walls. The golem plodded into the center of the library, through a labyrinth of stone shelves that forbid much light into their depths.

The golem reached the center of the dark library with ease. There, alone on an oak table, was a large leather-bound book tied shut with ropes of thick hemp. The words Sarbrusi Ambrosiabrious, meaning 'hand of Ambrosia' in the ancient Tramen language, were written in large gold leaf letters on a cover imprinted with the shape of leaves and lilies. The golem's torso opened before it picked up the book and set it safely inside itself. Sand enclosing the volume quickly congealed into stone until the book was safe. That accomplished, it left the temple.

The golem plodded across the wastelands, never stopping. It needed no sleep, no food, and no water. When it reached the ocean, it merely continued walking. Far too heavy to swim, but not needing to breathe, it navigated the depths.

-----

A year after it first took the book, it resurfaced on an island. The shore was peaceful and bordered by meadows of swaying grass. The featureless stone man continued forward to an isolated wood-brick tavern.

Inside the tavern, the wizard Dead-leaf was the only patron. He sat alone at a large round table with a pewter mug in his wrinkly hands. An odor of newt, pickled bat's blood, and a hint of vinegar emanated from the brew. Dead-leaf's gray hair flew untamed in every direction from his withered brow. His teeth were mottled with green rot. Thick black crust formed under his yellow fingernails. He took little notice when the golem entered, and was half finished with his brew by the time it stopped next to him. He examined the golem's blank face with a disinterested stare.

"A poor excuse for a golem?" Dead-leaf asked, "Really now, what could you possibly want from me?"

The golem's torso crumbled into a fine sand. A seal cracked. The book of Ambrosia was revealed. A voice issued forth from the sandstone, though from where was unclear as it had no lips.

"A gift from the goddess Ambrosia, follow these instructions carefully," it said in a deep bass rumbling tone, "Have the last of the guardians who resides in the realm of Technos crush the hand within this book, and you will be granted all the power once bequeathed to the Tramen Fohar."

"And why in the world would an infertile fertility goddess care about my power?" Dead-leaf asked.

"Restore life to Pozalm, and you will be granted restored youth."

The wizard touched the figure on the central stone. Without further warning it melted into a pile of sand by Dead-leaf's feet. The wizard pulled the book from the sand and examined it carefully, plucking the thick hempen ropes with his crusty yellow nails. The peeling dry skin of his pale lips twisted into a smile.