A small wooden carriage rode through the wasteland, leaving behind only dust and trails as it carefully avoided the giant bones of unknown creatures.
The coachman saw a brilliant light in the distance. Urged by curiosity—one he couldn't ignore—he quickly turned the carriage in that direction and rode like the wind.
It wasn't long before he arrived, but the light was gone. In its place stood a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, wearing a brown coat and a hat with a crude face stitched onto it.
Though every instinct told him not to help strangers—especially in a place like this, where nothing was what it seemed—the coachman lifted the man and hurled him into the carriage.
Before leaving, he glanced back and grimaced.
The normally blood-red sands had become white as snow. The enormous bones scattered across the land had vanished, leaving only their shadows.
He looked at the man's crude mask and frowned.
"Every instinct in my body is telling me to leave you here."
"But then again, if humans only lived by instinct, we would be no different than animals."
He sighed heavily and climbed back onto the carriage.
"Hope you're worth the trouble."
Dust kicked up into the air as the carriage rode on.
.....
The mysterious man woke to the sound of hooves pounding the ground and the carriage shuddering.
"Where am… ahh!"
A sharp pain, like needles piercing his brain, forced a low grunt from his mouth.
"Oh, you're awake. Must be feeling like hell, haha. Come forward, come forward—don't be shy."
The coachman gestured, and soon they were seated side by side. To his embarrassment, he had nothing to offer—no words, no distractions—as even a moment of inattention could ruin the carriage wheels.
The road ahead was packed with bone fragments: some enormous, some small; some brittle, others as strong as stone. He had to be careful not to damage his beloved carriage.
To his relief, the mysterious man seemed captivated rather than fearful. Skulls the size of mountains, arms reaching from the sand as if trying to grab the sky above—it was as if a great battle had been fought with no victors, and the wasteland had become the final resting place of these creatures.
The coachman glanced at him, slightly unnerved by the wonder and curiosity in the man's dark eyes, then quickly refocused.
Hours later, the bones thinned, and the coachman finally relaxed.
Harris was still staring at the wasteland.
"Most people would be terrified," said the coachman "I guess you're not most people. The name's Jack."
The man remained silent, mesmerized by an enormous stone blade plunged into a mountain.
Jack's patience wore thin.
"Oh sorry, my name is William Harris"
"Well, William Harris, I don't know about you, but this place gives me chills."
"Yet you ride here, when there's clearly nothing but a wasteland?"
Jack laughed, but his face soon grew solemn. "What else can I do?"
William wanted to ask what he meant but decided it wasn't his place. He continued admiring the ruins, focusing on the bold words carved into the stone blade:
Never forgive and never forget.
Harris' eyes darkened. Though he knew little about this land, one thing was clear: the wasteland was riddled with atrocities.
...
Even after hours, silence remained between them. Harris had no intention of starting a conversation, and Jack felt too embarrassed to speak after his dramatic pause. Then Harris turned to face him.
"Where are we going?"
"Curious?"
"Yes."
"We're heading to a town."
"I'm surprised there's a town in this wasteland."
"It's the only human settlement you can find. For those who survive here, we all feel the same way: head east."
"What do you mean, survive?"
Jack tilted his head, searching for an easy explanation. None came. He sighed.
"We call them remnants—things left behind by the creatures that originally lived here, born from their emotions."
"So… monsters?"
"Ye… yeah. I guess you could call them that."
"Have you ever seen one?"
Jack laughed weakly, eyes returning to the road. "I've had my fair share of close encounters, but this place still sends a chill down my spine whenever I think of what might be out there."
He told Harris that monsters were only ever encountered outside the town. Harris looked unnerved but put on his hat and leaned back in the carriage, pretending to nap.
He closed his eyes, but he was not asleep. He had been asleep long enough in the outside world. Still, he tried to mimic the familiar darkness, letting his consciousness drift down an ever-flowing river. It was the closest thing to sleep he would get in a while, the closest thing to a dream he would ever have.
Darkness fell on the battlefield, and the carriage halted. Exploring the wastelands at night was akin to courting death.
Jack guided the carriage through a small hole at the back of a dead giant's skull, using it as a makeshift shelter. There was just enough room for himself, Harris, and the horse.
The horse lay down, finally able to rest. Jack hoped Harris would take the first watch, but his guest refused. So Jack stood guard. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes into hours, and inevitably, he drifted to sleep.
"Wake up, master."
Harris heard a familiar voice and opened his eyes to darkness. The voice had vanished. A strange light emanated from outside the skull, and he climbed out through the eye socket onto the top of the giant, staring at the sky.
It was empty. No clouds, no stars—only the void of emptiness.
Looking down, he saw the blood-red sands of the battlefield sparkling in crimson light, as if heaven and earth had switched places. From above, he thought, it would appear as if he were sitting among the stars.
He chuckled. "That can't be right."
But it was beautiful nonetheless.
Later that night…
Jack stirred awake, shadows pressing in around him. His eyes met Harris', sitting quietly nearby, hat tilted low over his face.
Harris didn't speak at first. He simply studied Jack—the twitch of his fingers, the faint crimson glint in his eyes, the subtle tension in his muscles.
"You'll be fine," Harris finally said, calm, almost gentle. But his gaze lingered too long, as if he'd glimpsed something buried deep within Jack.
Jack blinked, unsure whether to trust the reassurance or the weight behind it.
"Thanks," he murmured, pulling his coat tighter.
Harris nodded once and returned to his silent watch, leaving Jack to wonder what he had really seen.
...
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