The Orient Desert was a hungry monster.
Each grain of sand was a tooth, each gust a burning sigh from its thirsty mouth. There was no leniency here. Only the strong survived.
And yet, in the hollow of a windswept dune, a body lay.
A child.
His skin, darkened by the golden dust, seemed to absorb the suffocating heat and glowed. His black hair, mixed with grains of sand, fell in disorderly locks on his forehead.
His eyelids twitched slightly, but he didn't fully wake up.
For a moment, the wind seemed to calm down, as if hesitant to completely cover him.
Then a stronger gust swept the sand around him, raising a small cloud that stung his already sunburned skin.
A painful, itchy feeling.
An almost inaudible groan escaped his dry lips.
His eyebrows furrowed slightly. His still numb mind tried to understand.
Why do I hurt? What happened? I remember… nothing.
His throat felt like a rough stone stuck between his ribs. Every breath was an effort. A torture.
He tried to move.
His fingers quivered.
A simple movement, but it seemed to him to move a mountain.
He breathed deeper. A mistake. The scorching air seeped into his lungs like a flaming blade, forcing him to cough.
I'm in so much pain.
He opened his mouth to suck in a mouthful of oxygen, but his throat was too dry and only allowed him a hoarse rattle.
His body protested, bruised, drained of all energy.
He forced himself to open his eyes.
At first, he only saw white.
A blinding glare, a harsh light that attacked his pupils. He immediately closed his eyelids, a grimace contorting his features.
An instant passes.
Then, slowly, he tried again.
This time, the light was still there, but less brutal.
Before him, the sky, endless, of a pale blue which seemed to want to engulf him. Not a cloud to offer him respite.
His lips loosen slightly. A hoarse voice, broken by dryness, escaped his throat.
- … Or ?
His own voice sounded foreign to him. As if it belonged to someone else.
He tried to raise his head, but a searing pain exploded in the back of his neck, forcing him to give up.
For a moment he just wanted to close his eyes and sink again.
But another thought held him back.
Where am I?
He had no idea.
Then a second question arose, even more chilling.
Who am I?
Nothing.
No memories. No name.
A complete void.
A shiver ran through his body despite the overwhelming heat.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring the searing pain in his skull.
—What is that...?
His own existence was escaping him. He had nothing. Not a landmark. Not a picture.
Only him.
Alone, in the middle of an infinite desert.
His breathing quickened slightly.
We had to move.
He struggled to lift an arm, but his numb muscles refused to obey. He couldn't even roll onto his side.
Stuck. Trapped in his own body.
- Shit…
His voice was so weak that it was lost in the wind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the turmoil in his head.
There was no point in panicking. He had to think.
To reflect on.
But to what?
He had no memories.
No name.
Nothing.
He forced himself to inhale slowly. He had to focus on the present, on what he could feel.
The sand beneath him, rough and hot.
The dry air rushing into his lungs.
His heart, still beating, slowly but surely.
It was all he had.
And that was enough.
For now.
He opened his eyes and stared at the horizon.
The desert.
He was not alone in this world.
There had to be people somewhere.
A place to go.
But to do that... he first had to survive.
****
In his mind, everything was blurry.
Bursts of light.
A dull thumping sound.
Indistinct voices, like a distant whisper carried by the wind.
Then… nothing more.
Absolute emptiness.
He had no reference points. No anchor to hold on to.
He didn't know anything except one thing.
He was in pain.
An invisible fire consumed his body. His muscles were frozen in excruciating stiffness, his joints seemed to have fused together. His skin, burned by the sun, felt like it had been covered in a thin layer of salt that was drying him more with each passing second.
He tried to move, to raise an arm, to move a finger.
Nothing.
His body didn't obey him.
His breathing was short, choppy, as if each breath took a little more energy from him.
A long silence stretched out.
An oppressive silence. Crushing.
Only the sound of his own heart echoed faintly in his head.
Move.
He concentrated. Forced his eyelids to lift.
If he couldn't see, then he had to listen.
He listened.
At first he only heard his own breathing. Weak, irregular.
Then… a tiny, almost imperceptible noise.
The rustling of the sand.
A light, fluid sound that spread around him.
Something was moving.
Not the wind.
Something else.
A shiver went up his spine.
His instinct, much more vivid than his nonexistent memories, screamed danger.
I'm not alone.
Another noise, closer this time. A slow sliding, accompanied by a dull friction.
He swallowed hard.
He still couldn't move. He didn't see anything.
So he did the only thing he could do.
The speaks.
- … Who… ?
No response.
But the noise did not stop.
He took another breath, gathering what strength he had left.
—...Who is there?
The rustling intensified.
Something was approaching.
His heart speeded up slightly.
He didn't know what it was. He didn't know whether to hope or fear the presence of this invisible being.
But he knew one thing.
He didn't want to die here.
****
In the surrounding dunes, furtive shadows moved.
The seemingly silent desert was in reality a constant battlefield where only the strongest survived.
A sakahir, an immense snake with ash-colored scales, undulated slowly on the sand, advancing with the patience of a seasoned hunter. Each movement of his fluid body raised only a slight rustling sound, an almost imperceptible murmur in the golden immensity of the desert.
Its bifid tongue cut through the burning air, capturing particles invisible to the human eye. Information reached him immediately.
A prey.
What is this? A snake?
A few meters in front of him, a figure lay, barely visible under the sand which partly buried it. Motionless. Vulnerable.
But the snake was not the only one to have noticed this opportunity.
In the shadow of a dune, a rak'zir lurked.
Its beige fur blended perfectly with the sand, its long, slender legs cushioning every movement. He was waiting. Observed.
His slit yellow eyes were focused not on the child... but on the snake.
The sakahir, focused on his future victim, did not detect the presence of the feline right away.
The rak'zir shuddered.
He knew snakes. He knew that if he attacked too late, he would have no chance. But he also knew that if the reptile focused on the child, it might take the opportunity to strike.
The perfect moment.
The snake hissed loudly and straightened its body, ready to strike.
It's bad!
The rak'zir jumped.
A flash of claws and fangs.
The feline's claws slammed into the snake's scales in a brutal shock. A wild howl split the air as the rak'zir's maw sought an opening.
The sakahir reacted immediately, wrapping its long body around the attacker with lightning speed.
The feline roared, trying to free itself, but the reptile's grip closed like a living prison.
He clawed, bit, and struggled with desperate strength.
The snake tightened its grip even more.
The rak'zir's pupils dilated under the pressure.
A sharp crack sounded.
One last burst.
Then… nothing more.
The rak'zir stopped.
The snake slowly released its grip, letting the feline's inert corpse fall onto the sand.
It slowly opened its gaping maw, revealing curved fangs, and began to swallow its prey.
But suddenly...
A distant cry rang out across the desert.
A powerful, inhuman sound that reverberated across the dunes.
The sakahir froze his movement.
A moment later, more screams answered him, forming a sinister echo that vibrated in the burning air.
A signal.
The snake hesitated a second too long.
Then he slipped precipitously between the dunes, abandoning his meal.
I'm...saved?
Throughout the desert, predators faded away, disappearing into the sand.
Silence returned.
But something was approaching.
****
The child, still lying on the sand, felt something different.
It wasn't sunburn.
Nor the bite of the wind.
It was a noise.
A dull, regular beat.
His heart?
Non.
It was something else.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Methodical. Sinking into the sand with relentless regularity.
He wanted to turn his head, to see who was coming, but his body refused to obey.
An imperceptible shiver ran down his spine.
His breath became shorter.
Then, a shadow fell over him.
Another followed.
Voices.
Distant.
Threatening.
— La-bas.
A sound of fabric being moved by the wind.
"He's still alive," said a deep voice.
Are there people? What do they want from me?
A rough hand grabbed his arm.
No, leave me.
But he still couldn't move.
He felt something cold against his skin.
You go.
A sharp noise.
A chain.
But what is it?
Then… a brutal pull.
His body, until then inert on the burning sand, was unceremoniously lifted.
— Raise it well. Not that it's going to slap our hands.
— He's thin... he might not hold up.
—As long as it breathes, it will sell.
The child felt his arm pulled back, his wrist trapped by the cold metal of the chains.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
His throat was too dry.
His cracked lips split under the effort.
His eyelids, half closed, finally made out silhouettes.
Men, dressed in long light tunics to protect themselves from the sun.
Their faces were hidden under scarves, leaving only their eyes visible, dark and inquisitive.
Hunters.
"Charge him with the others," ordered the one who seemed to be their leader.
One of the men swung it over his shoulder like a simple sack of grain.
The shock took his breath away.
His head lolled against the man's back, and he smelled the acrid odor of sweat and sand embedded in the fabric.
His vision, blurred, tried to see where he was being taken.
Silhouettes.
Shadows.
Chained bodies, already piled up a few meters away.
A convoy of captives.
The child felt a vice closing around his chest.
He didn't understand.
But he knew one thing.
Something irreversible had just begun.
****