The cart rattled and groaned as it left the walls of Uruk behind, past the final stone outposts, rolling into open land—where the gods watched in silence.
I lifted the edge of the cloth again, staring out. The city was shrinking. Fading into dust and morning light.
The sun had begun its climb, and already the heat pressed down on us like a hand.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd left Uruk. But the strange thing was—nothing felt unfamiliar.
Everything looked exactly as I remembered it.
Barley fields stretched along both sides of the road, dry and golden beneath the growing light. The air was still—no wind, not even a whisper. Cracked irrigation canals ran beside us, their water thin and sluggish, barely enough to keep the land alive.
In the distance, I spotted ox caravans dragging their weight down the brittle path, kicking up slow trails of dust behind them. Scattered along the horizon, small camps clung to the land—makeshift cloth shelters, stone fire rings long since cold. They looked abandoned, half-forgotten, as if the wind itself had chosen to avoid them.
Sweat clung to my skin. My back ached from the cart's motion. The wound in my shoulder pulsed like it had its own heartbeat. Every breath dragged fire through my chest.
"We're moving northeast" Namur said, noticing my glance. "There's a mountain up that way where Alubane still grows. We'll cross into Elamite land for a while. It's quicker."
I looked at him. "And that's safe?"
He smiled without humor. "Elam isn't known for laws or cities. Cults, maybe. Tribes that don't write or build. But safe? No."
I grunted.
"Perfect."
The sun climbed higher. The wind began to rise, brushing across the road in warm, dry gusts. Time passed.
Two days later, the land had changed.
The flat plains were gone—no more barley, no more canals. The soil turned red, cracked and dry, broken by jagged stones and knotted roots. The wheels slipped often. Gamir muttered curses and pulled the reins tight, trying to keep the cart from veering off the path.
The road wasn't the only thing that wore on us. I couldn't stay lying down the whole time—every so often, I forced myself to sit up. Staying in one position too long only made the pain worse.
Namur was crouched beside me again, going through the same routine he'd been doing these last few days—unwrapping the bandages, wiping the dried blood, trying to slow what couldn't be stopped.
I'd gotten used to the sight—the darkened flesh, the veins stained violet. But every time he cleaned the wound, it had spread a little more. The black rot crept further along the skin, and the veins pushed higher, slow and steady, as if drawn to something inside me.
If they reached my heart, I would die.
That's why we didn't stop—unless the oxen needed to drink or eat.
We were running out of time.
Gamir's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"Smoke over the next hill. We're heading straight for it."
Namur had just finished wrapping the wound when he stood, eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.
Minutes later, we found it.
The cart slowed.
Azel didn't say a word—like always. He climbed down and took a few steps forward, then stopped—silent and still, eyes fixed ahead. Like he was standing watch.
Namur followed a moment later, stepping off the cart, his gaze locked on whatever lay up the road.
"Hold the reins" he said to Gamir as he moved.
"I'll take a look."
He disappeared down the road without waiting for a reply.
Minutes passed. The wind picked up, lifting dust around us. No one spoke.
When Namur returned, his steps were quick. He spoke in a low voice to Gamir, but I caught most of it.
"A burned caravan. One cart, overturned and blackened. Two bodies. Torn apart—limbs ripped off, half melted in ash. Whatever did it wasn't human."
He paused.
"The tracks go that way. Same direction we're headed."
Without a word, Gamir let go of the reins and jumped down.
"I'll take a look myself. Wait here" he said.
Namur climbed into the cart beside me.
"I heard" I said. "Are we in danger?"
He shook his head.
"Not right now. Whatever attacked them isn't nearby anymore—probably. But it depends on what Gamir finds."
I raised an eyebrow.
"What exactly can he see that you couldn't?"
Namur folded his arms.
"His blessing gives him the ability to detect traces—footprints, movement, spiritual residue. He sees what others miss."
I nodded slowly. "Sounds useful."
Namur let out a short laugh. "In most cases… it is."
We waited.
When Gamir returned, his expression told me everything before he spoke.
"Bad news" he said simply.
"Whatever it was… it went straight down the road ahead. Same direction we need to take. I can't say how strong it is—but it left deep marks. Heavy. Fast. And it wasn't alone."
He looked between us.
"Could be we handle it. Or it tears through us—especially with someone to protect."
Silence fell over the group.
I clenched my fist. Frustration rising in my chest.
"There's another way" he added. "A longer route. Safer. Fewer chances of a fight."
Namur shook his head.
"I know it. It's safer, yes—but it'll set us back a full day. Maybe more, if anything slows us down."
I exhaled through my nose.
"Too long. We don't have that kind of time."
They looked at me. Gamir hesitated, then nodded.
"It's your call" he said. "But if we go forward, we better be ready for whatever's waiting."
I sat up straighter, ignoring the pain pulsing in my side.
"We take the direct path."
No one argued.
The reeds here grew wild, crowding the sides. In some places, the cart scraped against stone. The wheels creaked in protest. Every bump sent pain flaring through my shoulder.
Then we hit a steep slope. A rock shifted under the weight.
There was a loud crack. One ox slipped, and the cart lurched hard. We almost tipped over.
Gamir jumped down first, muttering curses under his breath. Namur followed close behind.
"We can patch it" Gamir said, breathing hard. "Not perfect, but it'll move."
Azel stood watch, one hand always near his weapon.
My shoulder throbbed. The wound kept getting worse.
The heat wasn't normal anymore.
I didn't speak.
We moved again. Slower. Rougher.
And then it got quiet.
Not just quiet—empty.
No birds. No insects. No rustle of leaves.
Even the air felt wrong.
It took effort to sit up. My body protested every motion, but I forced myself upright and managed to glance outside.
Nothing looked out of place. That was the unsettling part—just dry stone, quiet hills, and not a single sound.
It felt too still.
No one said anything at first.
Gamir spoke quietly. "I don't like this. Something's off."
The silence didn't argue.
We crossed through slowly. None of us spoke. The oxen stepped lighter. Even Namur's usual ease had gone.
The sun began to fall.
The sky turned red—deep and burning, like blood filtered through sand. Dust swirled in the air, painting everything in dry orange.
My vision blurred. The pain flared again.
But I didn't lie down.
I kept watching.
This land didn't want us here.