On a quiet night, Jhon Rackham, a young sailor full of adventurous spirit, prepared to leave the harbor aboard his small ship, The Seafarer. With calm waves, Jhon and his crew sailed through the ocean, ready to explore new places and seek treasure.
However, a storm struck suddenly, like an unexpected enemy. Strong winds and massive waves battered their ship, throwing their journey into chaos. Amid the turmoil, their vessel was tossed and stranded in an unfamiliar place: Sol-Mayora.
When Jhon and his crew awoke on the scorching sand, they looked around. There was nothing but sand—more and more sand. The air was blistering, and the chirping of birds seemed to mock their predicament.
Jhon groaned, wiping the sweat that poured down his forehead. "Fantastic! What is this place? Have we arrived in hell?!" he shouted, turning to his companions.
One of his crew, Mike, attempted to wash his face with the little water they had, only to find himself covered in fine, cream-colored sand. "If this is heaven, I think God is playing a joke on us, Jhon. Isn't heaven supposed to be cool, not feel like an oven?"
"This is just sand! As far as the eye can see, it's like a beach without the ocean!" Jhon protested, kicking a pile of sand in frustration.
Tom, another friend, burst into laughter at Jhon's complaints. "At least we don't have to worry about waves anymore. And look on the bright side—we can get a free suntan… though I think we'll all end up looking like cooked lobsters!"
Jhon shot Tom a sarcastic look. "Wow, Tom. So optimistic! Give it a little more time under the sun, and we can stand on the ocean and call ourselves 'The Lobster Pirates!'"
They all laughed, though deep down, they longed for some shade. After a moment, Jhon made a decision. "Alright, let's figure out a way to survive in this seemingly inhospitable place. Maybe there are locals who can offer us fresh water and directions!"
Tom shrugged. "Or maybe we can just make the sand our permanent bed. You know, stay here until we become legendary pirates known as The Lobster Crew!"
"I am not ready to become a lobster!" Jhon declared before bowing dramatically to the burning sand. "Come on! We need to move before we become nothing more than dust and are lost to civilization forever!"
The three young sailors stepped forward into the desert of Sol-Mayora. After hours of walking beneath the scorching sun, Jhon Rackham and his crew began to feel exhausted. Every step felt like another layer of sand burying their shoes, and their thirst drained what little spirit of adventure they had left.
"Jhon, I think we're trapped in a terrible play! This feels even worse than when we tried serving rotten lobster aboard the ship!" Mike groaned, his voice filled with fatigue.
"Yeah, maybe we should rename our ship to The Sandtrap! Or perhaps The Frying Pan!" Jhon replied, laughing at their misfortune.
After wandering far, they finally found a small cave that looked cool and inviting. Jhon peeked inside and shouted, "Hey! Here it is, our rescue cave!" But his tone quickly turned sharp as he stepped in. "Or at least, a cave that looks like a starving prehistoric creature's den."
"I hate to remind you, but sometimes prehistoric creatures probably look better than us right now," Tom replied sarcastically, shaking his head. "And they probably don't have to worry about sunburn."
As they stepped into the cave, a cool breeze greeted them, offering a bit of relief after hours under the scorching sun. "Oh, this is so much better! Finally, fresh air for our lungs that were on the verge of combustion!" Jhon exclaimed, dropping to the ground. "Let's just hope there aren't any giant snakes or terrifying monsters nesting in here."
Mike leaned against the cave wall, inspecting it. "Or at least, let's hope the monster doesn't look like you. If it does, it might just crown itself the king of this cave and kick us out!"
"Great! Welcome to the Kingdom of Nowhere, where monsters can be kings and we're just the unlucky stranded sailors!" Jhon grinned, embracing their ridiculous situation.
Tom examined the cave walls, which were decorated with ancient paintings. "Well, look at this! Looks like we just found ourselves a cave museum! This could be a new tourist attraction. 'Come and witness ancient cave paintings while experiencing the thrill of being stranded in the middle of nowhere!'"
"Once we get out of here, there'll be only one visitor… us!" Mike quipped, doubling down on the joke. "And maybe we can sell tickets, too. One ticket comes with free sand popcorn!"
They all laughed in the cave's darkness, sharing a moment of camaraderie amid the unexpected circumstances. Jhon finally lay back, staring at the cave ceiling, feeling a bit more at ease. "Let's use this time to plan our next move. We might have to set up camp here because it looks like we won't be going anywhere anytime soon!"
"At least we have sand and a cave," Tom added. "We could even hold an election for a new leader. I nominate myself as the non-lobster sailor!"
After their exhausting laughter, the night deepened, and they fell into a deep sleep inside the damp and dark cave. Just as they started drifting into dreams, a loud sound broke the silence—heavy footsteps and distant chanting echoed through the night.
"IRON FOOT! IRON FOOT! IRON FOOT!"
The chant repeated, filled with vigor, as if an army was marching toward battle. The voices were so loud and energetic that they reverberated within the cave, jolting each of them awake in alarm.
They exchanged glances, searching for answers in each other's eyes. The tension thickened, and their hearts pounded faster. Finally, curiosity and anxiety drove them to peek outside, staying hidden within the cave's shadows.
What they saw outside left them utterly shocked. Under the dim moonlight, a long procession of soldiers marched in perfect formation. They were clad in gleaming metal armor that reflected the faint night glow, making them look like an impenetrable force of steel. Every step they took pounded against the rocky desert ground of Sol-Mayora, creating a rhythmic, unrelenting echo.
The army moved with absolute discipline and unshakable presence, resembling a colossal war machine advancing with unwavering purpose.
At the front of the formation, a leader clad in more ornate armor held a long spear, its tip gleaming under the moonlight. His sharp eyes swept over his ranks with unwavering vigilance. Behind him, hundreds of soldiers marched in perfect unison, their voices echoing with the relentless chant of "IRON FOOT!" fueling the burning fervor that pierced through the stillness of the night.
One of them whispered, "Who are they? What are they looking for in the middle of this desolate desert?"
But no one had an answer. All they knew was that the army was headed in the same direction as the cave where they were hiding. They realized that if they were discovered, their fate might not end well.
As they peeked out, their faces turned pale. Their breaths hitched, and they exchanged anxious glances. A hushed voice broke the silence.
"D-Do they know we're here?" Tom stammered, his eyes widening. He gripped the shoulder of the friend beside him, his fingers trembling.
"No way, right?" Jhon replied, trying to reassure himself more than anyone else, though his voice wavered. "Maybe they're just… just passing through…"
"But this is a desert, Jhon," Mike whispered, his gaze sharp and heavy. "No one marches at night like this unless… unless they're looking for something."
Cold sweat trickled down their faces despite the desert's low temperature. Tom took shallow, rapid breaths, his face reflecting deep fear. "If they see us… Did you see their faces? They don't look like an ordinary army… They look like… hunters."
Tom clamped his hand over his mouth, his voice barely a whisper. "What if… what if they know we have something they want?"
"Don't say that," Jhon cut in, his tone shaking. "Don't even think about it. We… we won't get caught. We have to stay quiet. If they hear us—"
Suddenly, the sound of marching boots grew louder. The chant of "IRON FOOT!" swelled, reverberating through the air, and it felt as though they were closing in on the cave. Mike swallowed hard, his face ghostly pale. He whispered, "Maybe they do know we're here… We… we have to be ready to run."
"Run where? We're trapped!" Tom hissed, panic welling up in his tear-filled eyes, his lips trembling. "Out there is nothing but endless desert. If they find us…"
"Calm down…" Jhon placed a hand on Tom's shoulder, though his own voice was laced with fear. "We… we'll find a way out. I promise… We… we'll—"
Before he could finish, one of the soldiers outside came to a halt right in front of the cave entrance. His deep, commanding voice rang out, issuing an order to the others.
"Search every crevice. Leave nothing unchecked."
Those words pierced their hearts, freezing their entire bodies in searing fear. They were paralyzed, their limbs stiff as if roots of terror had wrapped around their legs, anchoring them to the ground. From the shadows of the night, a towering figure emerged, its presence growing clearer at the mouth of the cave. One of the armored soldiers stood before them, his sharp gaze cutting through the darkness.
Without a sound, he turned and called for his commander. "General," he said with solemn respect, his voice hoarse and cold.
The leader of the battalion stepped forward from the ranks, his steps heavy yet exuding an undeniable authority. They could only watch, barely daring to breathe.
The figure—Iron Foot's leader—stood tall before the cave, his massive, razor-sharp spear gleaming even brighter under the moonlight. His face remained expressionless, his gaze as cold as the reaper himself descending upon the desert. Then, with a single swift motion, his spear shot forward—flashing in a blink before landing its fatal strike, decapitating one of them.
Mike and Jhon watched in absolute horror, their fear surpassing anything they had ever known. A silent scream lodged in their throats, their breath stolen before they could utter a word. And then—only one remained.
Only Jhon.
Still alive, his body trembled violently, his face drenched in blood. He fought back tears, his mind screaming while his lips refused to move.
The Iron Foot leader stepped closer, lowering himself until their faces were mere inches apart. Then, in a voice so low it sent shivers through Jhon's bones, he whispered—
"Live. And make sure everyone knows about the strength of the Iron Foot tribe in the Sol-Mayora desert. Tell them how this desert belongs only to us. Anyone who trespasses will meet the same fate as them." He pointed at the bodies lying on the ground with a cold expression.
Jhon could only nod, though his body could barely stand. Without saying another word, the leader of the Iron Foot turned around, returning to his ranks, leaving the sole survivor with a burden far heavier than death.
With a vacant stare, Jhon staggered away from the desert, carrying a tale of horror that would soon spread and haunt anyone daring to challenge the Sol-Mayora desert and the might of the Iron Foot tribe. After wandering aimlessly, Jhon eventually collapsed and lost consciousness.
When he finally opened his eyes, his vision was blurry, and his head throbbed painfully. His entire body ached as if he had just risen from the dead. For a moment, he thought it was all just a nightmare. But the smell of blood, the vast desert, and the memories of that terrifying night quickly came crashing back.
He found himself lying on a pile of cloth and trade goods, slowly moving on a wooden cart. In front of him, a simply dressed man sat, guiding the horse that pulled the cart. The man turned with a friendly smile, as if completely unaware of the horrors experienced by the person he had just found.
"Ah, you're awake!" the man said, his voice warm and gentle. "I found you lying in the middle of the desert this morning. What happened to you, kid? You look like you've just seen a demon."
Jhon slowly moved his eyes, struggling to find the words. His voice was hoarse, weak, barely audible. "Iron Foot… they… they killed them all…"
The man looked surprised but quickly nodded in understanding, his expression turning cautious. "Ah, so that's what happened. The Iron Foot tribe… No wonder you're this terrified. They're not a tribe to be taken lightly."
Jhon trembled again, then lowered his head, whispering with a shaky breath. "I… I was the only one they let live. They want me to deliver a message… they want everyone to know their power in this desert."
The man took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "They want to spread fear, as always. A ruthless tribe, with no mercy. But be grateful you're still alive. This desert may be full of dangers and mysteries, but there are also those who will save you."
Jhon then tried to sit up, though his body still felt weak. He looked at the man, whose face seemed wise yet filled with secrets, as if he knew far more than he let on. "Thank you… for saving me. But… what should I do now?"
The man gave a faint smile, his gaze calming. "You must deliver what they commanded. The story of the Iron Foot must be spread. But don't let your heart be crushed by fear, kid. Remember, in every story, there are two sides. Tell their tale, but don't let their terror consume you."
Still struggling to sit upright on the slowly creaking cart that followed the rhythm of the road, Jhon once again sank into the memories of the previous night. The image of the Iron Foot leader, his cold gaze, and the sound of spear tips slashing through the air, ending the lives of his friends—all of it spun in his head like an unending nightmare. It felt so real, and somehow, instead of breaking down, his lips curled into a bitter smile.
Without realizing it, he started chuckling—a small, hollow sound that gradually grew louder as his mind replayed the events. His laughter sounded strange, even to himself, yet he couldn't stop. The more he tried to suppress it, the harder it became. A monologue formed in his head, laced with sarcasm—his only way to escape the suffocating trauma that gripped him.
"So, this is what they call a fun, long summer break?" he muttered, his tone dripping with irony. "Not as wonderful as they said… or promised. An adventure in the desert, new friends, endless laughter…" He swallowed hard, his chuckles turning raspy. "Maybe they forgot to mention the part where we were hunted to the brink of death. The part where a dream vacation turned into a nightmare."
The man in front of him glanced over, raising an eyebrow at the "sole survivor" laughing to himself, but he said nothing. He simply observed, his expression filled with understanding.
Jhon laughed again, this time softer, before taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the gruesome images haunting him. But they clung to him like shadows, demanding that he stay awake, that he never forget even a single second of that night.
"No one ever said meeting the Iron Foot tribe would make for a fun vacation story, huh?" he said sarcastically, chuckling quietly to himself. "Maybe next year, I'll pick a more… 'friendly' holiday destination—if I even want to go on vacation again."
His laughter gradually faded, replaced by a heavy silence. Deep down, he knew his laughter was nothing more than a desperate attempt to distract himself from the fear suffocating him. Perhaps, only by telling this story one day could he truly ease the weight in his chest—the story of the night that changed his "summer vacation" forever.
And so, the merchant's cart continued its slow journey across the Sol-Mayora desert, carrying a trembling witness and a story ready to be told to anyone brave enough to listen.
Jhon Rackham stands at a crossroads, torn between survival and responsibility. The Iron Foot tribe spared him for a reason—they want their legend to spread like wildfire, to instill fear in every traveler, merchant, and settlement across Sol-Mayora. Jhon, now a living testament to their brutality, carries a burden heavier than death itself: the choice of what to do with the knowledge he possesses.
Option 1: Spread the Story as Ordered – Become the Iron Foot's Mouthpiece
If Jhon chooses to do as the Iron Foot commanded, he would fulfill their wishes. He would travel from town to town, warning people about the ruthless warriors of Sol-Mayora, ensuring their dominance grows even further. Fear is a powerful weapon, and by being their unwilling herald, he would contribute to their reign of terror.
But at what cost?
Would he truly be spreading the truth, or merely helping them control the region through fear?How would he live with himself, knowing his words might discourage resistance against them?Worse, what if people started seeing him as a collaborator rather than a victim?
Option 2: Twist the Narrative – Inspire Resistance Against the Iron Foot
Jhon could use his survival to spark rebellion. Instead of spreading the Iron Foot's message as they intended, he could alter the story, turning it into a call to arms. He could rally the desperate, the oppressed, those who lost loved ones to the desert warlords. He could make his suffering meaningful by ensuring no one else endures the same fate.
But there are grave risks:
The Iron Foot would find out. And they wouldn't just kill him—they'd make an example out of him.He doesn't even know who to trust. Many fear the Iron Foot too much to rise up. What if his rebellion dies before it even begins?He is not a warrior. He's just a man who barely survived. Would people even listen to him?
Option 3: Run and Forget – Escape from This Nightmare
The simplest and perhaps most tempting choice: leave it all behind. Jhon could disappear into a distant city, change his name, bury the past, and try to live a normal life. He never wanted this fight. Why should it be his responsibility to fix the world's problems?
But could he really live with himself?
The nightmares wouldn't go away.His silence might lead to more deaths. The next group wandering into Sol-Mayora wouldn't know what awaited them.He has nothing left. His friends are gone. His past life is over. If he runs, what is left of Jhon Rackham?