The desert stretched before Amer, an endless expanse of shifting sands under the pale moonlight. Every step forward felt like he was shedding the remnants of the life he once knew. The fear of the unknown clung to him, a silent companion. More than twelve hours of walking lay ahead, and the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on his shoulders.

His breath was steady but shallow as he pressed forward, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of movement. He couldn’t risk being seen. Though the Pyramid’s people were kind and their soldiers often held a soft spot for the plight of those from the Defiant Strip, they were still a part of a structure that could not tolerate his presence. He was an undocumented soul, and any encounter could mean detention or worse.

Amer clenched his jaw, the realization sinking deeper: he had no way to prove who he was. The bag with his official documents, his only tangible tie to the person he used to be, was long gone, lost in one of the countless escapes under fire. Even if he still had it, leaving a trace of his existence seemed foolish. For now, he was a ghost, a nameless wanderer in a foreign land.

The night air was cool, but the sand beneath his feet still radiated the day’s heat, sapping his energy with every step. He avoided the paved road, knowing it was too risky. Army patrols might pass, and even the faintest sound could betray his presence. The sand, though safer, demanded more of him. His injured body groaned with every movement, a sharp reminder of how much it had endured.

In his mind, Amer tried to block out the ache, focusing instead on the only thing that seemed to keep him upright—his anger. It wasn’t the wild, blinding rage he had felt when the Strip first fell; it was something colder, sharper, and more calculated. Revenge.

But revenge wasn’t straightforward. He knew that. What could he, a single man with no resources, do against the Zios and their allies? Even with the strange knowledge now embedded in his mind, he was just one person. Alone, he was nothing more than a speck of dust to them. A nuisance. The thought made him chuckle bitterly as he walked.

“An organization,” he murmured aloud. “So would I become the leader of what the world would see as a terrorist group?” The absurdity of it all stung. He could see the headlines now, branding any resistance he might muster as terror, and the world would nod along. A man trying to get what he was deprived of would be seen as nothing but a terrorist. What more, what he would be trying to get is a land that is now the graveyard for almost everyone he knew, where the bodies of his parents and siblings still lay exposed or under the rubble. He felt hatred, he imagined the Zio settlers clearing the rubble and corpses to build themselves houses and live a hedonistic life on the stolen land which they had cleansed of its owners.

His thoughts shifted to his memories of the Strip before the war started. They were fragmented and hazy, like pieces of a puzzle he wasn’t ready to assemble. He thought of his father’s broad back as he worked tirelessly to provide for the family, of his mother’s frail hands folding dough in the kitchen. He thought of his siblings’ laughter, a sound that felt as distant as the stars. And then there was her—his lost love. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of her often to avoid feeling more down during a war that did not allow him the luxury of being human, but now her face surfaced, unhindered by any reservations he had.

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Amer felt his throat tighten. He blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and forced himself to drink a sip of water. He had to stay focused. Survival was the priority now.

As the hours passed, his steps grew heavier. The adrenaline that had pushed him forward was waning, leaving him at the mercy of his battered body. Even if his muscles did not ache, his energy reserves and his mental power were all running low. As his mind went back to wandering, no longer tethered to the present. The sound of an approaching engine jolted him back to reality.

He dropped to the ground, rushing towards some shrubs near the track he was walking, and started burying himself in the sand as best as he could. The shrubs around him and the cover of night were his only allies now. He peered through the sparse foliage, his heart pounding. It wasn’t just a patrol—it was a convoy.

The sight unnerved him. The convoy wasn’t heading toward him but back toward the Strip. A knot formed in his stomach. Was the Pyramid state moving to secure their border? Had the EMP field dissipated, revealing the devastation? Or are the Zios advancing toward the state for pyramids? He had no way of knowing.

Amer stayed frozen until the sound of the engines faded into the distance. Dragging himself up, he forced his legs to move. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. The sand seemed heavier now, his injuries more acute. The makeshift bandages he had applied earlier felt insufficient against the relentless strain.

He tried to distract himself by thinking about what was coming next. He had no clear plan, but he knew he needed a place to recover. Somewhere safe. He also needed information. The world outside the Strip was a mystery to him now. Who were the allies? Who were the enemies?

The thought of alliances made him scoff. He couldn’t trust anyone. Even if the Pyramid people sympathized with his plight, they wouldn’t risk their stability for one man. He was a liability, a living reminder of the Strip’s downfall.

Amer stumbled, his vision blurring as exhaustion clawed at him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his body was at its limit. His steps faltered, and he almost fell to his knees.A sound cut through the silence—a low, guttural noise. Amer froze, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t an engine. Slowly, he turned his head. A camel.

The animal stood a few meters away, its large, dark eyes staring at him. Beside it was a man, dressed in white robes. The man was saying something, but Amer could not comprehend what he was saying, in fact he could not really hear him. Amer started feeling as if he was submerged under water as the world became more and more hazy, his body too drained.

Amer’s wanted to move his body, to run away. This man could be his salvation—or his doom. He didn’t know the man, nor was he willing to risk his life by leaving it into this man’s hands. The idea of relying on a stranger felt like a gamble he couldn’t afford. However, he was too weak to run, too weak to fight, and even too weak to think.

The man on the camel repeated himself, he seemed to be speaking louder. However, Amer still stood frozen in place, Amer’s body betrayed him then. The obsessive determination that had kept him moving forward has dispersed when he stopped in place. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the sand.

As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, Amer’s last thought wasn’t a silent prayer, that this man would not be the end of his story.