Dawn broke with a pale orange glow spilling across the endless expanse of the desert, the sands glimmering as though scattered with powdered gold. Luke stood at the head of the caravan, parchment still in his hand, eyes drawn to the faintly etched lines that had occupied his thoughts for days. Among the branching trails, each marked with careful strokes, there was one path that stood apart—not by its clarity, but by its incompletion.
Where the others stretched to neat conclusions, this particular line simply… stopped. It ended abruptly, half-formed, as though whoever had drawn it down some time ago abandoned the work midway. No notes. No remark. No symbol to suggest a hazard or a landmark. Just silence on the page.
To Luke, that silence spoke louder than the rest.
