The black wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see. Dried, cracked earth, all the way to the horizon, without a grain of promise to change. Even if you walked for many many days, it would remain the same. Or get even worse.

The world was dying. A drought that had stricken many years ago destroyed the harvests of those who still hoped to survive. People prayed for rain, and it came. Just, it was acid instead of water and finished off what was left. Hunger, disease, and wars for resources wiped out the remnants of humanity.

A man in a dark cloak gazed into the distance, thinking that people themselves were to blame for all the troubles that had befallen them. They were the ones who destroyed this fragile world. They were too focused on their pride to notice it crumbling.

Turning around, he walked towards the hut. He built it himself a few years ago when he buried the last member of his family and went into exile. He could have stayed. There wasn’t much variety in the dead world anyway – the next shelter was no different from the previous one. But back then, he wanted to leave the places that he considered home. There was nothing left of it.

He dropped to his knees. Thin and bony, with a haggard face and circles under his eyes, he looked like a ghost. Poor diet, harsh conditions, loneliness, trials... All this had taken a toll. With trembling fingers, the man began to feel the grooves he had carved into the stone with his own hands.

He didn’t know exactly how old he was. It was impossible to keep count when one miserable day was no different from another. He was still young. But at the same time, he looked like an old man. But what could he do? That was the fate of those who survived in a dying world. Truth be told, it was overly optimistic to call dying what had long been dead.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

But that was just the way this man was. All his life he was stubborn, he resisted death itself, and he refused to die. He buried his loved ones, defended his home, and never gave up. He uncovered many secrets, but it all became meaningless. There was no incentive in being alone. It took at least two to continue the human race.

“I won’t give up so easily,” he muttered to himself.

After double-checking the calculations and the perfection of their execution, the man stood up, removed his cloak, and took off the rest of his clothes. Completely naked, he stepped into the center of the gigantic seal. Two years of work. Two years of research, of testing crazy theories and calculations.

A hundred years ago, such works would have made him the greatest alchemist of the clan, or even the entire country. Who knows... If he had been born earlier, maybe he would have been able to change the fate of the world.

It was a pity that he didn’t get the chance.

Standing in the center of the magical structure, the man looked around the dying world for the last time, trying to memorize his life here. If everything worked out... He would remember.

There was no need to snap his fingers, but the alchemist could not resist. By doing this he defied the laws of the universe.

The perfect lines under his feet flared up. The focusers fired, starting the sequence. A flash of light flooded everything around. One of the laws of alchemy said that nothing was given without a price. To give himself a chance, the man paid with his own body.

When the light subsided, there was no one left on the stone. Just a handful of ashes, scattered by the wind.