Nomad

Mirages are fickle things, born of thirst and sun, pulling and twisting the mind of a wanderer sometimes into hope and other times into despair. But even illusions hold power in a desert that never forgives. The mirage I’m following is different— almost tangible, real in a way that should be impossible. There’s a truth in it that I can feel, something pulling at me and I cannot let go. It drives me forward, step by agonizing step, though I know death is close behind and definitely ahead as well.

My breath rasps in my throat, raw and burning. The last drops of water left my body hours ago and the skin on my lips cracks with every breath. The heat of the day has passed, but the chill of the night brings its own kind of pain, numbing my limbs and sinking into my bones. I can barely remember why I began this journey to death, but it no longer matters. All that exists now is the mirage ahead, shimmering like a promise of moonlight reflected on oil.

I'm going to die soon, alone, forgotten by the world like everyone else I never knew.

I’m not alone. I feel a presence in the mirage, something watching, waiting. I can’t see it, but it’s there, a shadow in the back of my mind as real as the blood drying on my cracked skin. It’s patient, waiting for something—waiting for me.

The stars overhead spin slowly as I stagger forward. The sands shift underfoot, treacherous, ready to swallow me whole if I falter. Every step is a battle, but I cannot stop. The mirage is clearer now, not just a trick of light but a destination. There’s power there, something ancient and vast. I can feel it in the air, a weight pressing down on my thoughts, urging me towards a reckoning.

I stop to breathe in that way that tortures me.

It’s close now. I can see the outline of the the sand wall that should have killed me long before I lay eyes on it, within the storm something persists edges blurred but undeniable. A ruin? A temple? I don’t know, but it calls to me, a whisper on the wind. The presence grows stronger, more insistent, and I quicken my pace despite the protests of my body. The pain fades, replaced by a cold, determined focus. I will reach it. I must.

The sands tear at my feet, sharp as knives, but I push through, driven by something beyond myself. The desert is alive around me, shifting and restless, but I am beyond its games now. My goal is in sight, and nothing will stop me.

As I draw closer the sand starts stinging harder even scrapping with skin raw and pink, my eyes almost permanently closed to keep the sand from blinging me. There is something in the sand wall, there is someone in the sand storm. The structure is ancient, worn by time and sand, but the power promised within it thrums like a heartbeat. There’s something waiting inside, something that has waited for eons. I don’t question how I know this. It’s as if the knowledge was always there, waiting for me to remember.

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There is nothing left in me but the will to move forward. The desert has taken everything else—my strength, my hope, my very sense of self. But it cannot take my will. I cling to it like a lifeline, dragging myself onward through the night.

The stars are my only guide, faint and distant. The desert stretches out before me, endless and unforgiving. My feet are bleeding, raw from the sand that cuts like glass, but I barely feel it. Pain is a distant memory, a ghost at the edge of my consciousness. All that matters is the path ahead, the mirage that leads me to my death.

The wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of something old, something buried deep within the sands. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but it catches in my throat, choking me with its ancient weight. I know that smell—it’s the scent of death, of decay, of things long forgotten. It’s the scent of the end.

But I do not turn back. There is no turning back. The desert has seen to that. I have no home to return to, no life left to live. All that remains is the journey, the endless trek through the sands, and the faint hope of reaching something—anything—before the desert claims me.

The mirage ahead wavers, but it does not fade. It’s stronger now, more defined, as if it’s drawing strength from my suffering. I can see shapes within it, vague and shifting, but unmistakably real. There is something there, something waiting for me.

The sands beneath my feet shift suddenly, and I stumble, falling hard to my knees. The impact jars me, but I barely register it. The cold has seeped into my bones, numbing me to everything but the drive to keep moving. I force myself up, gasping for breath, and stagger forward.

The mirage beckons, closer now, almost within reach. I can see it clearly—a structure rising from the sands, ancient and imposing. It’s no illusion. It’s real, and it’s waiting for me. I see the structure in my minds eye before I see that storm shrouding it, then I see nothing but the storm twisting and shaking violently even as it remains a stationary barrier stretching kilometers across and high into the sky like a golden rainbow promising a luxurious death. Nothing can enter and not be shred to ribbons yet my mirage went in there, nothing should be here yet a structure persists somehow.

I don’t question how I know where the mirage is. The knowledge is simply there, a certainty in the back of my mind. This feeling... I have to reach it. I have to see what lies within that storm.

The wind howls around me, tearing at my clothes, but I push through. The SandWall looms above me billowing and load even from the distance, solid and real, a beacon in the twilight. There’s a path I've been following that allows me to cut through the least of the tributary winds of the Wall, dark and yawning the passage becomes I move towards it, drawn by an unseen force even as I bleed and shiver from trauma and shock.

As I step through the threshold, the wind dies suddenly, leaving only silence in its wake. The darkness inside is complete, swallowing me whole, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. There’s something here, something I need to find.

The air is thick, almost tangible, pressing down on me with a weight that makes it hard to breathe. But I keep moving, driven by a force I don’t understand. The darkness is absolute, but I can feel the presence ahead, waiting, watching.

I don’t know what I’ll find here. I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place. But I do know one thing: I’m not alone.

And whatever happens next, I will face it head-on. I will not be afraid, I will reach it soon or die trying.

I wake up shivering, much further from the SandWall than i remember from last night. Sore all over but healthy, full, quenched... 'What happened?' I ask nobody.