The land around him was a barren expanse—a vast sea of sand and bone, a place where the winds howled like the forgotten souls of the damned. Dead Man's Land was a place where even the most hardened hearts could lose themselves. The scorching sun above cast a blood-red hue over everything, making the landscape look like an endless ocean of rusted metal and cracked earth.
Sebastian woke, his bones aching from the countless battles, his soul weary from the weight of survival. The desert's unforgiving silence greeted him like an old enemy. For a moment, he let the stillness sink in, letting the coolness of the night air wash over him before he forced himself to move. He stretched, feeling the dull throb of exhaustion in his muscles, then turned to the small bundle of warmth lying next to him.
Isiah, the child he had rescued and who had been his companion through this desolate hellscape, was curled up in a blanket. He stirred gently as Sebastian carefully lifted him, the child's tiny, innocent face a stark contrast to the nightmare of their surroundings.
As they journeyed onward, Sebastian's mind began to wander, thoughts drifting like the endless sandstorms in the distance. His fingers traced the edges of Isiah's soft, golden hair, and the realization hit him once again—this child, so pure, so untouched by the darkness around them, was the last piece of hope in a dying world.
Without warning, the sands beneath them began to stir. A gust of wind howled in the distance, whipping the sand into a frenzy. Sebastian squinted, peering into the horizon where he thought he had seen something—a shadow of civilization far in the distance. A distant empire, untouched by the desert's deathly embrace.
"Finally," Sebastian muttered under his breath. "A way out."
He moved quickly, pushing forward, but the darkening sky signaled something else. The winds picked up, biting at his skin, and a storm—a dust storm, the likes of which only Dead Man's Land could produce—began to form. A wall of swirling sand seemed to rise out of nowhere, blotting out the sun. It felt like the earth itself was trying to swallow him whole.
Sebastian didn't panic. Instead, he moved toward the only shelter he knew—the remains of a long-forgotten creature, a massive bone jutting out of the desert floor like a skeletal monument to the past. It would have to do.
As they huddled beneath the shelter, Sebastian thought of the tale he had never told anyone—not even himself, until now. He looked at the child beside him, thinking of the fragile soul resting in his care.
"Isiah," Sebastian began, his voice softer than usual, "I've got a story to tell you." He leaned back against the bone, closing his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts, the wind howling like a haunting wail.
"Once upon a time," he said, "there was a boy who loved his mother more than anything. He could feel her love in everything she did, even in the simplest things—like the warmth of the meals she made or the gentle touch of her hand when she combed his hair."
The storm raged outside, but inside their shelter, the world felt distant. Isiah's small face was alight with curiosity, his golden eyes wide as he looked up at Sebastian.
"The boy's father was a blacksmith, strong and proud, though not the best at his craft. Still, his heart was full of love for his family. They lived a simple life, one full of warmth and care. But one day…" Sebastian's voice faltered, and the memories rushed in, unbidden.
"...but one day, a monster came—a creature of the dark, a beast with no mercy. It killed the boy's father. It tore him apart before the boy's eyes. The boy was frozen, unable to move. But his father, with his last breath, told him to run—to find his mother, to protect her. The boy did as he was told, but when he returned to his home, he found it destroyed. There was nothing left but his mother's hand, still warm but lifeless."
Sebastian's throat tightened. He fought to keep his voice steady, but the pain of the past had never truly left him. It had only festered, buried deep within him.
"I was that boy," he whispered, almost to himself. "I didn't protect her. I couldn't. And the world… the world changed because of it."
A long silence followed, broken only by the howling winds outside. Sebastian's heart was heavy with the weight of his own guilt, but as he looked down at Isiah, something shifted. The child, for all his innocence, held a power Sebastian couldn't fully comprehend. The golden apple—the strange fruit that had sustained Isiah—was no mere gift; it was a symbol of hope, something even Sebastian had long abandoned.
And then, as if the winds themselves had heard him, a thought pierced his mind, one so sharp it almost hurt.
She was my mother.
The woman in his dreams, the figure who had once whispered to him from the darkness, was her. It was his mother, who had died so long ago.
His breath caught in his chest, and he exhaled slowly, his eyes closing in momentary grief. "What kind of man forgets his own mother?" he whispered to the winds.
But Isiah, completely unaware of the weight of the words, giggled in his sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. He was so innocent, so untainted by the world's cruelty.
Sebastian let out a shaky laugh, wiping away a tear that had crept down his cheek. "Guess this is not a story for an infant, huh?" he muttered, his voice carrying the weight of his regrets.
He sat in silence for a moment longer, letting the storm pass. And as the winds finally began to die down, he realized something—maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to protect someone, to prevent the darkness from claiming everything.
He looked down at Isiah, whose golden eyes were now closed in peaceful slumber.
"Rest, little one," Sebastian said quietly. "I'll make sure no one takes you from me."
For the first time in a long while, Sebastian felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead was long, and the world was a broken place, but with this child by his side, maybe—just maybe—they could find a way out of this cursed land.