The journey felt endless, the distant sun hanging stubbornly low in the sky as if mocking our exhaustion. My leg was throbbing with every step, each limp a cruel reminder that I was barely holding on. Alex, as usual, seemed to be made of stone, showing no signs of slowing down or caring that I was struggling to keep up.
We had been walking in silence for what felt like hours when he stopped abruptly, his finger pointing toward something far off in the horizon. "There," he said, his voice flat but firm.
I squinted, trying to make out what he was pointing at. At first, it looked like just another ruin, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see faint movement—figures, maybe? It was hard to tell from this distance.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the dry air and sheer exhaustion.
"That's where we're going," Alex replied, not looking at me.
"Why?" I pressed, though I already knew I wouldn't get much of an answer.
