Chapter 3 — Step After Step in the Sun
Lucien forced himself up again, legs trembling beneath him like saplings in a storm.
He didn't know where to go, so he chose a random direction and started walking.
Step after step.
The desert stretched out endlessly around him.
A vast ocean of cracked sand and sharp rocks under a sun so brutal it scorched his skin through the thin cloth of his worn clothes.
He wiped sweat from his brow, tasting salt and dust on his lips.
His throat was dry, raw—like sandpaper scraping the inside of his mouth.
He swallowed.
No relief came.
No water.
Just bitter dryness, burning like a fire that would never die.
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Every step felt heavier than the last.
His legs ached deep in the muscles.
His boots scraped against stone and sand.
The air shimmered in waves, twisting the horizon like a mirage promising safety but giving only emptiness.
Lucien stumbled, swearing under his breath.
His heart hammered in his chest like a wild animal desperate to break free.
He had never felt this way before.
Not tired.
Not thirsty.
Not dirty.
At home, he bathed every morning and every night.
The scent of soap and clean clothes followed him like a shield.
Here, sweat clung thick and salty to his skin.
His hair stuck to his forehead and neck, gritty with dust and grime.
His clothes were damp, sticking uncomfortably.
He tried to take a deep breath.
But the air was heavy with the sharp sting of heat and dust.
Each inhale felt like swallowing fire.
His tongue felt swollen.
His mouth cracked and bleeding slightly from dryness.
The thought of water made his stomach twist painfully.
Water...
He scanned the horizon desperately, looking for even a single patch of shade or a sign of life.
Nothing.
Everything looked the same.
The same cracked earth.
The same blinding white sky.
The same flat, endless stretch of sand and stone.
His mind screamed in frustration.
How long has it been?
He had no way of knowing.
Time lost all meaning here.
The sun didn't set or rise differently.
It just was—a constant, merciless glare.
He wanted to stop, to sit down and cry.
But fear pushed him forward.
If I stop, I might never get up.
The thought scared him more than the burning heat or aching thirst.
Lucien clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to focus.
He had to move.
The desert seemed endless, but maybe, just maybe, there was something out there.
A tree.
A stream.
A village.
Anything but this emptiness.
His feet dragged through the sand, pulling his heavy body forward.
His breathing became ragged and uneven.
A hot wind blew, carrying dry grit that scratched his face and burned his eyes.
He blinked rapidly, fighting to keep them open.
Tears ran down his cheeks—not from sadness, but from the raw sting of the desert's assault.
The sun beat down relentlessly, baking him alive.
His skin felt like it was melting beneath an invisible furnace.
His lips cracked open in a weak gasp.
He tried to call out—his voice dry and cracked, barely a whisper swallowed by the wind.
"No one is here…"
His words floated away, lost to the endless desert.
Lucien collapsed onto the sand.
The coarse grains burned through his thin clothes.
The heat seeped into his bones.
An aching, relentless pressure that made it impossible to relax.
He closed his eyes and wished to forget the pain.
To forget this body that was too big, too strange.
To forget this endless desert that held no mercy.
For the first time in his life, Lucien understood what it truly meant to be vulnerable.
To be small in a vast, indifferent world.
And it terrified him.