He is here.
Lying on a blackened ground, cracked by insane heat, like clay scorched to the point of calcination. Around him, a sea of metallic dust, scattered with deformed rocks melted by the fire of the sky. On the horizon, a desert of ash and craters stretches endlessly, bathed in harsh, merciless light. There is no wind, no shadow, no sound. Only this burning, oppressive silence—almost alive.
Slowly, the young boy awakens. As if emerging from a sleep that lasted an eternity, or a dream that went on too long. Light stabs at him as soon as he opens his eyes. A thought brushes against him. Then another.
— Who am I?
— Where did I come from?
Strange questions, whose answers once seemed as obvious as sunlight on ice… But for a boy without memories, they are all that remains.
His name? Ashan.
At least, that's the only word that returns to him. A name he sometimes whispers to himself without knowing why.
Two days passed. Then four.
Ashan kept walking. Slowly, silently, in a world suspended between fire and frost. A desert where the ground oscillated between dark gray and black, infinite and surreal, where every step sank deeper into unreality.
— It's been... maybe two of that time unit. Two... days, I think. Maybe more. But here, the sun has never left me. It stays there, fixed in the sky, unmoving and unyielding.
Sometimes, a suffocating heat crushed him, hot enough to make stones tremble. Then, without warning, a freezing bite fell upon him, as if the universe wanted to test the limits of his flesh and will. And yet… he breathed. But there was no air. His lungs moved, yes, but no breeze kissed his skin, no scent carried on the wind. The silence wasn't just oppressive : it was absolute.
He should've been dead by now.
Thirst scorched his throat. Hunger had become an insidious companion, grumbling in his gut like a monster in the shadows.
— Hunger, thirst… these are my first enemies. Not a monster. Not a trap. Just... this.
He knew he wouldn't last without finding something to survive. But he was still alive. And maybe that was the strangest part.
Then ten days passed.
There he was, still alone under that burning sky. Scorched by a merciless sun, he wandered endlessly through the desert, drawn again and again by something he couldn't understand.
On the eleventh day, when even the idea of survival began to fade, he saw something. He squinted. Blinked several times. Rubbed his face.
No. He wasn't dreaming. Footprints.
— Aaaahhhh…
Somewhere between shock, hope, and panic, that's all his dry throat could produce.
— If there are tracks… then there's life. Nearby. Animals? Humans? Robots? Who knows…
He crouched down, eyes locked on the ground.
— They're fresh. Deeper than mine. That means whoever passed here is heavier than me… and not far.
From that moment on, Ashan no longer wandered aimlessly. He followed. He studied. He observed.
Where do these tracks lead? How many left them? Did they walk side by side? In a group? In a line?
That day, for the first time since waking, Ashan was no longer a drifter. He had a trail to follow.
But soon… he faced a dilemma.
You might ask: "A dilemma? Why?"
Because around a ridge, the footprints suddenly veered. As if those who left them had been surprised. Or frightened. And the farther he went, the wider the gaps between the steps.
— They were running…, he whispered. They were fleeing something.
But what? And more importantly… where was the danger coming from? Ahead? Behind?
Ashan stopped. Eyes fixed on the dust. He took a breath. Regained his senses.
And then he saw them. Other tracks. Different. Straight. Uniform.
— Wheels…, he murmured. My theory of a chase is starting to look solid.
He was faced with a choice. Two possible paths. Two different truths.
He crouched, hand to his chin, focused. Then, slowly, he stood back up. Certainty in his eyes.
— Both sets of tracks stop at the same point, then the wheels turn back. The footprints vanish… It's true, the steps were in a straight line from the start. Should I keep following that path? But… ugh, nothing says they didn't turn eventually. Though in this wasteland, a turn wouldn't make sense—straight lines are fastest. Unless they're just as lost as I am in this gray inferno.
He leaned in again, examining more closely where the two tracks intersected.
— Strange… the wheels cut across the walkers' path perpendicularly. As if to block them. To stop them from going somewhere. Which means the walkers had a destination.
Ashan raised his head. A dry breath escaped his cracked lips.
— My decision is made: the logical move is to follow the wheels. If whoever was driving blocked the walkers' way, there was a reason. Maybe danger… and I could get into trouble following that. But where there are wheels, there's a vehicle. A vehicle needs fuel, and fuel usually means trade. And where there's trade… there are... them—I don't know who they are, but them. Alright, enough talking.
He turned on his heel and resumed walking. Step by step. Following the wheels.
But the road cost him dearly: a full day of walking, his strength fading, his mind wavering between hope and despair. Yet he pressed on, driven by hunger and thirst whispering both, "Stop, bro… we're done for," and "Keep going… just a little more."
He walked. And walked. And walked again.
Until…
— Finally! I was right to follow the wheels… A village.
Yes, he made it. But life wasn't done with him yet.
Because what's the use of a village… if it's empty?
Well-built houses. Roads. Parks. But always the same silence. A silence that never let him go.
— No way… Don't tell me it's uninhabited. Ugh… my stomach… This might really be the end. Where are the ones who left those tracks? Don't tell me… ghosts?
— The footprints stop by the roadside. Then, on the smooth surface, the marks fade.
— I need to check the other ends of the road… Maybe they continue.
They don't. Good news. That means they stopped here.
— Hahaha! I thought I'd have to follow that trail forever… But no, they stopped here, in this village.
Wait… I didn't think about it—there's no wind here. So those tracks could be old.
Now that I think about it… What an idiot… Who could survive in these extreme conditions?
They've probably all been wiped out…
He's overwhelmed. On his knees, on a ground like ash. And suddenly, the silence is shattered. Broken by a voice.
No… voices. Plural.
From towering beings with terrifying eyes, nothing like anything he's ever known.
— You're ours now. One act of rebellion… and you're dead, declared a soldier from the Mercurian village called Nulith.