Chapter 50: Wasteland Hope
Year 0003, I-III Month: The Imperium
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The Wastelands
In the scorched wasteland, a child toiled at a barren field beneath the merciless sun. The ground was unyielding—dried and solid—resisting even the most determined efforts to break its surface. Yet nothing could extinguish the resolve burning within young Zahran Ishmar Noor, whose vision remained fixed on restoring what was once a magnificent oasis.
Wherever one looked now, there was nothing but endless sand dunes, parched earth, and the haunting remnants of a scorched world—silent witnesses to the cataclysmic battle that had unfolded centuries ago. The landscape itself seemed to carry the memory of that devastation in every grain of sand.
Ishmar was a brilliant child who, despite the harsh reality surrounding him, persistently sought meaningful solutions to their collective plight. Though his parents had shielded him from the cruelest aspects of their existence while they lived, they had passed down stories of what they had witnessed in their own childhood, before the land had been reduced to this barren state. These stories had taken root in Ishmar's heart, flourishing into something resembling hope.
Following his first expedition to the ruins of the ancient capital city, Ishmar's curiosity had only intensified. He yearned to uncover more traces of their former civilization, believing fervently that within those remnants lay the key to alleviating their current suffering. His ambition extended beyond mere survival; he wished to rekindle hope in the adults who had surrendered to despair and restore pride in their illustrious heritage.
When he returned from the ruins, eyes bright with discovery and heart full of possibilities, Ishmar enthusiastically shared his findings and vision with the village elders. Instead of encouragement, he was met with mockery. The elders—those who had survived for generations—dismissed his dreams as childish delusions.
"Restore the oasis?" they scoffed. "A ridiculous notion!"
These were people whose spirits had been crushed by countless failed attempts at salvation. Their repeated efforts had yielded nothing but disappointment, leaving them too weary and narrow-minded to consider alternative approaches. Their skepticism was born of exhaustion rather than wisdom.
To Ishmar, however, their dismissal wasn't a deterrent but a challenge—one he embraced wholeheartedly. He would prove them wrong within his lifetime, no matter the cost.
In the palace library records, he had discovered detailed irrigation systems and vibrant murals depicting their ancestors tending to bountiful fields. The preserved manuscripts contained comprehensive instructions on various farming techniques implemented throughout different eras. Ishmar knew he needed only to identify the method best suited to their current circumstances.
He refused to abandon his vision. The true absurdity, he believed, would be failing to attempt what he knew was possible. Even if he received no gratitude during his lifetime, he remained determined. The daily scorn and mockery from the adults slid off him like water from stone. The only time he felt truly burdened was when he contemplated giving up—for that would mean accepting the continued deterioration of their home.
What drove this child to persist in what others deemed folly? Why continue when he was ridiculed as a "wasteland dreamer," a foolish boy escaping harsh reality, or an impractical buffoon wasting their scarce resources?
The answer lay in his knowledge of their history. Ishmar understood that this wasteland had once been a magnificent oasis teeming with life. The region had been vibrant with color, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Lush canopies had stretched over vast forests and meadows blooming with flowers. Diverse fauna had populated the land, providing abundant resources for the people to forage, hunt, and consume.
Now, all that remained were echoes of that splendor. The once-thriving community had been reduced to hollow-eyed survivors who had lost the will to cultivate their land. They had tried countless remedies over centuries, each attempt ending in failure until, eventually, they stopped trying altogether.
Subsequent generations had attempted to flee in search of more hospitable lands, only to discover at the island's edge that they were surrounded by an impassable expanse of water, separated from the mainland continent. Some had tried constructing vessels for escape, but the absence of trees—decimated by previous generations—had rendered such efforts futile.
They were likely the last of their lineage, bearing the heaviest burden of their ancestors' mistakes. Food scarcity had become severe, and water was even more precious. The soil had compacted from drought, and the few open water sources were so polluted that contact proved fatal. Those who tried to help the afflicted soon perished themselves, teaching the survivors to avoid these contaminated areas entirely. Everything above ground had become unusable.
Whatever meager resources remained prompted deadly competition. Death followed scavenging expeditions as people murdered one another for even the smallest morsel. This had become the natural order of their existence—visible in their hollow eyes and emaciated frames.
Each day claimed more lives through starvation or violence. Their already dwindling population had plummeted from tens of thousands, further diminishing the remnants of what had once been a thriving metropolis.
Those who endured the longest had descended into madness, resorting to cannibalism—consuming their own flesh and drinking their blood to survive another day. The once-proud kingdom and its magnificent city had fallen into complete ruin, leaving only the palace manuscripts—deemed worthless by a population that prioritized immediate sustenance over knowledge.
All that remained standing were the primordial structures predating even the kingdom itself—monuments that had withstood thousands of years, outlasting the civilization that built them and the catastrophe that destroyed everything else.
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Knowing and Understanding the Past
The historical account was meticulously recorded in a secret text Ishmar had discovered. He had found it clutched in the skeletal hands of its author within one of the palace courts—the final testimony of someone desperate to preserve the truth.
Ishmar was the only one who had ventured into the neglected palace grounds in years, seeking the wisdom left by their ancestors. Within those aged pages, he learned of the Guardian Beast that had once protected their land—a creature revered as both deity and protector.
The manuscript revealed how tragedy had unfolded when an influential court member introduced a foreign beast as a false protector. This was no benevolent guardian but a harbinger of destruction, summoned from a distant continent—a foul creature of darkness a great ally with the Great Evil and its Dark Forces.
This traitor had once belonged to the King's inner circle before becoming corrupted by malice and ambition. He had secretly practiced forbidden dark arts until the princess discovered his treachery. Though banished after his initial crimes were uncovered, the kingdom realized too late the extent of his depravity when they discovered catacombs beneath the palace walls filled with evidence of his atrocities.
By then, he had already established contact with the forces of Evil, who promised him unimaginable wealth in exchange for destroying the isolated region. He had performed a nefarious summoning ritual, sacrificing millions to succeed. His religious cult of zealots had abducted countless victims, redirecting worship from the Guardian Beast to the malevolent entity he served.
When the evil beast finally manifested, the Guardian Beast sensed its presence immediately. What followed was an epic battle as the Guardian Beast joined forces with the king's army to repel the invasion and quell the revolution of the dark forces, zealots that have been brainwashed and eventually gave in to the temptations. The conflict raged across the land, devastating forests and plains, poisoning waters, reducing cities and villages to rubble, and decimating more than half the population.
The Guardian Beast ultimately prevailed, but at an incalculable cost. The entire region lay in ruins. Following its pyrrhic victory, the Guardian Beast renounced its protective role and retreated to the mainland continent. It had fulfilled its ancient promise to the original inhabitants—defending them from one great threat—and considered its duty complete.
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Knowledge and Hope
Armed with this knowledge, the hopeful young boy began implementing what he had learned from the ancient manuscripts. Ishmar carefully tilled the ground, constructing crescent moon-shaped soil structures that could catch the rain water and give time to seep into the hardened soil, while planting seeds on its bund—an ancient irrigation system particularly effective in harsh environments.
He dug the formations in a staggered pattern of rows designed to capture runoff water. Each opening was positioned perpendicular to the anticipated flow of rainwater. When the rains eventually came, water would pool in the lower section of each dugged hole, retaining moisture and allowing the soil to gradually absorb nutrients and sustain life.
As the sun descended below the horizon, casting long shadows across his solitary work, Ishmar stood back to survey his efforts. Sweat glistened on his brow despite the cooling evening air, and his hands were raw from hours of digging. Yet satisfaction warmed his chest as he observed the precisely formed crescents stretching across what had once been impenetrable ground.
Tomorrow he would continue, extending the pattern further into the wasteland. There was much more to do before the rainy season arrived. The ancient texts had described how the first harvest after implementing this method would be modest—just enough to prove the concept—but subsequent seasons would yield increasingly abundant crops as the soil gradually regained its vitality.
Ishmar gathered his crude tools and turned toward the village, where the elders would undoubtedly greet his day's work with more derision. He squared his shoulders against their anticipated scorn. Their laughter no longer wounded him; he had grown a protective shell around his determination.
Perhaps none of them would live to see the land fully restored to its former glory. That transformation might require generations. But Ishmar was planting more than just the possibility of future crops—he was sowing the seeds of hope in a place that had forgotten its meaning.
As darkness settled over the wasteland, a gentle breeze stirred across the newly formed crescents—almost like a whisper of approval from the land itself. Now, all he could do was continue his work and wait with patient expectation for the coming rains.
In a world defined by what had been lost, Zahran Ishmar Noor had found something precious—a purpose that transcended mere survival. Whether his methods succeeded or failed, his effort itself represented something the wasteland had not seen in centuries: a defiant act of creation in a place accustomed only to destruction.
He was, in his own determined way, becoming the guardian his people needed—not a mythical beast, but a boy armed with knowledge and the courage to act when all others had surrendered to despair.