The desert winds howled like mourning spirits, sweeping across the endless dunes. Beneath the cold glow of the twin moons, a lone traveler stood at the threshold of the forsaken city. Towering obsidian walls, carved with hieroglyphs long erased by time, loomed before him. The air shimmered with an eerie, golden haze—whispers of a power lost to the ages.
They said the gods once walked these streets. They said their voices still echoed in the silence.
The traveler, wrapped in tattered robes, hesitated. He had come seeking the city's heart, the legendary artifact whispered about in forbidden texts. But the legends also spoke of something else—of those who entered and never returned. Not because they perished, but because they forgot.
Forgot who they were.
Forgot why they came.
And became something else entirely.
The city did not kill. It consumed.
Taking a deep breath, the traveler stepped forward.
And the city remembered him.