Atlas woke to the bright morning sun on one side of his face. On the other cheek the cool sand of the Praesidium Desert. He could taste the metallic taste of blood and the gritty sand.

Atlas pushed himself up into a sitting position. As he did, he first noticed his hands, they were pale and slightly blue. His head swooned from the sudden movement. He felt dizzy and sick, and he took a long moment to gather himself. Pain lanced through his side as he moved, agitating the lacerations on his side.

After many long breathes Atlas tried to stand. And immediately collapsed. He drifted back into fitful sleep.

Atlas awoke again.

This time his senses and sense had returned.

Looking around he found that the dense sandstorm had faded into a hazy cloud that hung over the desert. The sun shone bright overhead framed by a tall blue sky. Atlas still couldn’t make out the horizon in the distance.

Atlas could see the road or rather a thick flat layer of sand that stretched out in a straight line on either side of him. Upon the road he could make out the body of the lizard that he had slain. Blood seeped from between the bronze scales of the lizard, turning the sand around the lizard blood red. Around Atlas he could see dozens of bodies which littered the road. Victims of the lizard he presumed.

There not a single living person anywhere in sight on the road.

Remembering and feeling the weakness of his body, Atlas felt for qi but was met by nearly nothing. Atlas with little other option slowly crawled towards his wagon. Pain and exhaustion rolled through his body with every motion.

He made it nearly halfway before passing out again.

Atlas drifted in and out of consciousness slowly making his way to the wagon. As the hours passed, he started cramping and shaking from dehydration. Many of the cramps made it impossible to move during their occurrence which further slowed Atlas.

The sun had set when Atlas reached his wagon.

In the last light Atlas pulled himself to his feet leaning onto his wagon. By now his whole body was hurting.

He slowly pulled out some food, a water skin, and his bedroll. Had he had the energy he would have set up his tent but alas.

As the last light faded Atlas ate and drank wrapped in his blanket. The exhaustion slowly overcame the pain and Atlas drifted to a cold dreamless sleep. One thought drifted through his mind.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Why was there no one else on the road?

Atlas woke. It was past noon, the heat of the desert in full affect. Having slept in a blanket and with no shelter, Atlas was seating. He ached all over, with concentrated pain in his lungs and side. With a groan Atlas made to stand.

First, he retrieved his spear, the one he hadn’t exploded. Using it as a cane, Atlas slowly hobbled his way to his wagon. Atlas slowly packed the belongings he had taken out the night before.

The massacre was starting to smell, as some of the corpses had begun to decay. Atlas wanted to respect the dead, which didn’t involve lying among a field of corpses, staring at the faces of dead strangers.

Atlas picked up his wagon and made it away from the massacre. Once he had put a couple of stones throws between himself and the bodies he relaxed somewhat. Now he could look to recovering and coming up with a plan for the tainted beasts that would reach his location shortly after.

Atlas set up his tent as quickly as he could. It was a small thing barely large enough to fit him lying down. Nothing interrupted Atlas as he set up his tent.

From his chest he took his sewing kit, a rag, and a clean under shirt.

With a final glance, appraising his surroundings, Atlas entered his tent. It was cool and the air clear, shielded from the sandy air and hot summer sun.

Now for the hard part.

Atlas stripped down to his under pants. When he got to his under shirt it didn’t come off easily. It was stuck to his side and soaked with dried blood. Atlas cut apart his shirt leaving the portion that was a part his injury. Looking down to his side he observed the bloody mess that was his left side. It was bad. The claws had left rough, uneven gouges on his side. Parts of his shirt were lodged into the gouges.

Atlas slowly began the process of cleaning the cuts. He removed the cloth pieces from the wound door. Wetting the rag Atlas cleaned as best he could.

Atlas wished that he knew a healing technique on had a healing qi crystal. A healer or doctor would have been nice.

Taking a sewing needle and a thread of middling thickness. Atlas took a deep breath, then stabbed himself with the needle.

“Fuck”

After a few moments and choice words Atlas adjusted enough to the pain to get to work. He slowly stitched up each cut doing his best to make each stitch solid and neat. With his hands shaking in pain and the jagged edges of the cuts Atlas’s best had a lot of room for improvement.

Finally, he was done. His hands were a bloody mess. Atlas stuck his head out of the tent looking for any living souls on the road. Still, he saw no one. He cleaned his hands of blood and headed out to the wagon.

He grabbed some food, salt pork and hardtack, another rag, and his bed roll before heading back into the tent. At the entrance to the tent, he paused, looking along the road again. Still, no one except for the dead.

Atlas cleaned the lacerations and stitches with the new rag. He ate sorting out the events of the past days.

How long has it been since the Knight’s evacuation call? The first night was fairly innocuous just traveling back to Tinith. The second night was when the problems first began to arise the sandstorm and then the bodies and finally culminating in me killing the lizard. After I passed out from the injuries for… a day? Two? Three? At minimum it has been three days.

Should I ditch the wagon? I have lost to much time make it back to Tinith before the horde. It’s a shame that I have no way of carrying all the items in the chest. In which case I should only take what is essential for the trip back, qi rich food, water and a bedroll. Damn it, I should have been more thoroughly prepared. A backpack would certainly have been nice in such a situation. Though I suppose a horde invasion isn’t exactly a likely occurrence.

I certainly hope I come across men-at-arms under the banner of the Order of Pillars. Or from any banner for that matter, after encountering the lizard I could do well among more spears.

Atlas’s mind drifted for a while hopping from topic to topic. He eventually came to, meal finished.