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It would be told in bardic tales and poets' terrors that the Anhydrous desert was a scorching expanse, a vast nothingness with an impossible horizon taunting desolate fools within warbling heat waves. The only accompaniment to a dreary darer being the blazing day star, which glared down, its freakish eye melting shifting sands and flesh alike.
The tales, as vivid a picture they painted and as convincing as its relayers reported, were not entirely truthful in their countenance. It would oft go unmentioned that when the day star would set and night would come, a frozen tundra would bourne itself of the sweltering sands. It was all too easy to underestimate the strenuous mental toll of a harshly swaying temperature rashly jumping from overheating to freezing in a matter of a few brisk minutes every dawn and dusk. The desert also wasn't quite as open and spacious as the stories may have had one believe. Few horizons taunted fewer vagrants than even the bards would sing. No nothingness stretched in any direction; rather, it was more of a mountainous maze with massive rolling dunes that obstructed view of any escape or oasis.
The greatest burden of the desert was not dehydration or starvation, but it was the knowing. It was knowing that of the thousands of sandy hills surrounding any individual position at any time, an oasis could be hiding. The dehydration hurt so much less than knowing that its salvation could be right around the corner, and you would never know without climbing every single dune to check. The shifting and tumbling sands made surmounting even one of these hills a trial in perseverance and patience. Water, shade, and firewood could supply a perfect respite for any circumstance, and they were all packaged in one nice condensed location somewhere out in that empty hell, never to be found.
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The man was covered in many heavy rags in an attempt to keep warm from the chilling night winds. The rags helped to hide his bulbous and throbbing blisters, which littered his bare feet from the weeks of incessant walking. His face, too, was completely covered, save but for a small slit for his eyes to peer through. His cocooning mask was a necessary defence against the sand carried by the wind as a flying assault against his stubborn trek. The occasional lucky speck would manage to filter through the layers of rugged cloth and claw upon his squinting eyes. It was a horrendously irritating phenomenon which, after a few days of unrelenting abuse, left his eyes puffy and red.
His abundant rags helped to bulk up the man's silhouette, but the truth was that there was not much hidden under those thin cloth sheets. He was a painfully thin man. With no food or drink in the desert, he had only the meagre provisions he had initially brought with him, and those had long since run dry many days ago. His ribs could be played like an instrument through his dried, leathery skin, and his throat felt as if raked by beasts scraping down his esophagus.
The man was currently hiking up a particularly tall dune, its peak seemingly infinitely far away and somehow further still with each step forward. Each step, heavy with lethargy, would squish down and through the shuffling sands, which would eagerly displace so that he sunk into the maw of the mountain and slid down its steep incline. Every step was a calculated strategy; after each attempt, he would hold perfectly rigid, carefully reapplying pressure as he shifted onto his leading foot until it securely anchored atop the sliding dune, and only after could he try for another step. Not every attempt led to forward progress, but it was this very effort which was the trial of the dune.
The man slowly lifted his weightless back foot and placed it up the mountain, slowly adjusting his center of mass and inserting it into the ground ahead of him. The sand happily parted for him, just a few meagre grains at first sliding out of the way. But with one grain's readjustments invited another, which invited another and, with more mass shifting, gave the current a greater strength with which to drag more with it; then, in a sudden burst of liquefaction, the entire mountain peeled off of itself racing down the hill, knocking the man over and carrying him along with the rushing current back to the base of the dune and buried under, leaving no trace of any trespasser.
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It was dark, claustrophobic even. Breathing became difficult, and the pressure of the uncountable sand bore down onto his failing body. He held back his panic. He closed his eyes and worked on his breathing. Slow and methodical controlled breaths.
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
He closed his eyes and focused purely on internal relaxation. He knew not how long he stayed, though time in the desert was always a desultory thing; eventually, a light shone through the dark. A small green energy grew out of his chest, illuminating the sand around him with an ominous glow. With a little more focus, the green light pushed back against the desert weight, a uniform sphere that lifted the sands off him. Then, with a harsh, forceful heave, the green energy accelerated in an instantaneous burst of expansion that exploded outwards and launched desert off of him. He opened his eyes and looked up to the grand moon nestled at the peak of the tall dune.
The moon laughed at him atop the dune's peak, now further than it ever was with the newly formed crater. The man recommenced his climb upwards. One step at a time, slowly and carefully, making sure to put all his weight in every step to prevent as much slipping as possible. He kept his focus on his goal; one could not waste any time being bitter over setbacks or failures in the desert. In this infinitely empty place, one could never let oneself be deterred; one had to remind oneself of what one was walking towards and what one was walking for.
It was with a near-meditative trance that he pressed on through the night. He slowly but surely climbed his way out of the crater, climbed his way past the human-shaped indent which marked his previous failure, and higher upwards still. As he got further, as he got higher, the wind began to yell. It refuted his movements, his growth; it pushed and screeched, a raging torrent whose sheer force could nearly carry the man away if he relented any strength.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
With the rising winds also came a growing collective of dust devils and angry sands, an impassioned wilderness that would attack and sting the man with almost sentient-like precision. The world itself was pushing against him, pressing down on him. Every inch was an arduous battle he fought with dedication and willpower. He was crawling on all fours by this point as standing proved too hazardous against the wrathful desert. He clawed at the ground for the tension to carry on forward.
The sand funnelled into and stuffed the gaps between his fingers and nails. The mass flow of sand created a torque against his nails, causing an agonizing pain. The dryness of his skin from days of dehydration allowed it to be easily cracked and cut, and any open wounds quickly clogged and patched with the flaying sand which would get stuck on his sticky blood.
Regardless of all his aches and pains, regardless of his body begging him to just let go and give in; regardless, he continued his climb. Closer and closer. The wind got louder with every step higher. As the protective cover surrounding him started to rescind, it left no barrier to the wind's ire. The noise of rushing air overwhelmed all, as far as he could tell; he had no breath, he had no heartbeat, he was but an organic machine pressing against the engine of nature. But now he was in the final stretch.
He slithered up with his entire body, waves of sand swam above and through him. The wind assaulted with greater force than ever before, the sandstorm stronger and rougher than imaginable. The sand was dissecting him, it poured into and out of orifices, creating new orifices through the fringes of failing flesh.
All of these deterrents meant nothing against how close he was finally getting to the peak. He pressed on, and the world pushed back harder. He would slip just a little, and he would reclaim the lost ground again. He spent what felt like hours seemingly at a stalemate, making and losing the same inch over and over again. He could nearly touch the edge, almost, it was palpable.
He couldn't hear his own desire under the thunderous shrieks of wind. No matter how slow, he was moving forward, he was getting there. The sand at his hands began sliding with greater velocity and carrying more sand with it. He held on with the greatest might he possibly could. The wind bellowed with even more power as if a solid wall was driving down onto him. He clenched his fists and dug in his toes; some nails were swept away and carried down with the rushing landslide. He shouted at the top of his lungs as he brought every muscle to its limits, but his voice could not even be heard to himself over the wailing winds. One more step, and he slipped.
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An instantaneous burst of green expansion revealed the sky once again. Back in his crater, he gazed up at that starry night. The moon, now hidden by the dune, made the night so dark that the man couldn't even see his hands before him. He had to take a few moments to dry heave the desert out from within himself. The rags that once covered him were sheared and torn all about the mountain base, revealing the vulnerable, naked body of a man so weak and frail one would not be blamed for assuming him a walking corpse. His battered and bloody skin dried to jerky opened and made way for the occasional muscle to wither in view of the wide world. He looked up to the dune peak: and began walking.
With his vigour and motivation undeterred, he tried again, passed where he first fell and upwards further, passed where he fell the fourth time and upwards further, passed where he fell the fifth time and upwards further, passed where he fell the fourth time and upwards further. He dry heaved some sand from his mouth. A green expansion revealed the night sky; he marched past where he fell the first time and past where he fell the fifth time. He dry heaved some sand. He walked past where he fell the twentieth time. A green expansion revealed the day star glaring above. The wind howled stronger than before, the sand started sliding again, a green expansion revealed the noon sky. He dry heaved some sand, another nail was washed away, the sandstorm raged with more ruthless raw fury. He fought for an inch and lost an inch; he dry-heaved some sand. He crawled, so near the peak that he could practically touch it. A green expansion revealed the beautiful moon nestled at the mountain's peak.
Again, again. It was dark. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He dug his hands deeper into the ground. He dry heaved some sand. A green expansion revealed the scorching day star practically eating the sky. He focused on his breathing. He climbed. He fell. A green expansion, a tumble, a climb, a moon, a star, a peak. The top.
He stood.
The wind quieted finally relenting to his perseverance and patience. His respectful bout with the dune was never hostile, but the tranquility was relieving. At the top of this dune, greater than any other as far as the eye could see, it revealed what was around him. Rolling dunes stretched out forever in every direction. No forest, no river, no city, no oasis, just sand. Surrounding him. Forever, never to leave.
With the wind calmed, he could finally hear once again, his breath, his heart, a bell. A pink rhombus suddenly grew out of thin air next to the man atop the peak. It did not remain as a rhombus for long as its body continuously morphed and shifted into different shapes, growing and shrinking. Eventually, the shape grew large enough to press against the sand, forcing it to shift out of the way of the growing object; the sand fell down the dune and dragged more sand with it, and more sand, and the man.
It was dark, claustrophobic even. The man was not going to allow the panic to overcome him. He closed his eyes and remembered his breathing. Stay focused on the breathing. Slow and rhythmic.
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
A green aura centred at his chest began to grow and widen in a uniform sphere and, with a sudden burst of force, expunged his yellow coffin. He opened his eyes and looked up to see a small glowing parchment slide down the smooth sandy hill next to him. The man took the paper, it read:
You have been invited to The Tournament You are The Loner