The storm was coming
The storm was coming. A wall of sand stretched across the desert horizon, rising like an unstoppable army. The woman stood still, her silhouette black against the sunlit dunes as she wrapped her crimson scarf tightly around her face. The murmurs had begun again, faint voices dancing on the wind, urging her forward. She adjusted the belt of her burnished leather gambeson, its brass studs catching the fading light, and tightened her grip on the worn hilt of a curved scimitar resting heavily at her hip.
Behind her sprawled the ruins of Hamna Tabir, the lost city of whispers, partially buried in gold sand. Some said the city was cursed, that only death awaited those who ventured too close. Others believed the ghosts of Hamna Tabir held a secret—a map to treasures that could rewrite the balance of power across the desert kingdoms. But for Akila, the secret was far more personal. She was here to find her sister, Zara, who vanished five moons ago chasing the same desperate whispers.
The dunes began to shift as the storm gathered strength. Akila didn’t have much time. She pressed forward into the ruins, her boots crunching against ancient, shattered tiles. Towering sandstone pillars leaned precariously, overgrown with dry ivy, and faded mosaics depicting celestial constellations peeked through layers of dust. Above, the sky turned sepia, burning with an oppressive weight that bore down on her shoulders like the judgment of a thousand unmarked graves. Hamna Tabir was alive, and it wasn’t pleased with her intrusion.
Suddenly, she froze. An echo. No, a memory—Zara’s laughter. It came not from her mind but from within the shifting ruins. The sound stabbed at Akila’s heart, and she tightened her gloved hands into fists. She remembered how Zara always wore the red hair tie that now hung from Akila’s belt, a talisman she’d found buried here on her last desperation-filled visit. Forcing herself to breathe, she glanced down at her outfit: the gambeson, her dark grey trousers tucked into tall leather riding boots, and the dagger strapped to her left thigh. Everything was chosen for survival—not style—but the red scarf wrapped around her neck was Zara’s. It served as her shield against both the wind and the hope that threatened to break her.
“You can’t save her,” a voice hissed suddenly. It wasn’t hers—or Zara’s. The ruin was speaking now, a cacophony of whispers leaking from the walls. Akila spun, her scimitar at the ready, but nothing moved except the wind. Her pulse hammered as sand sprayed against her jacket like tiny daggers. “She’s ours now.”
“No. She’s mine,” Akila snarled through clenched teeth, and her voice shattered the quiet. The whispers retreated momentarily, their strength faltering as though they had underestimated her resolve. Akila slammed her blade into the sandstone ahead, carving a deliberate mark through an ancient symbol etched into the doorway. The whispers howled in agony as the sigil fractured, releasing a surge of pale light that illuminated what lay beyond the archway.
The chamber stretched downward into an impossible abyss. Walls glowed faintly with crystalline veins of lapis blue, and the air felt heavy, humid even, despite the desert setting above. She descended cautiously, each step revealing more of the ruin’s secrets: hieroglyphs depicting constellations, stars carved into stone, circles linked by intricate lines that felt somehow infinite. Among them was an unmistakable engraving of two figures holding hands, one wreathed in fire and the other in shadow.
Akila finally reached the bottom and found herself in a cavern encircled by flickering braziers. In the center hovered a glowing artifact—a sphere radiating soft, golden light. Beside it stood Zara, wearing a dark grey cloak over a black leather tunic, her piercing green eyes locked onto the artifact. “Zara!” Akila cried, the desperation in her voice cutting through the air.
Zara turned, her face expressionless. A golden chain circled her wrist, attached not to the artifact but to the shadows pooling beneath it. The shadows moved as if alive, writhing up her arm like veins of ink. “You shouldn’t have come, sister,” she said slowly, her voice layered with an unnatural resonance. “This place takes what it wants.”
“Then let it take me instead,” Akila replied, stepping forward, her boots crunching over blackened, brittle sand. “But I’m not leaving without you.”
Zara’s expression faltered for a brief second. “You can’t save me. The whispering binds us all eventually. I can’t leave it… and neither will you.”
“No!” Akila roared, and the echoes of her defiance startled even the ruin itself. Ignoring the chains, ignoring the whispers, she lunged at Zara, reaching for her sister’s hand. For a brief moment—just a moment—the light from the sphere flickered, and the connection unspooled. Akila gripped Zara’s wrist, pulling her away from the artifact, her muscles straining against an invisible weight. The cavern roared in fury, the shadows erupting into spirals of darkness.
“We go together, or not at all!” Akila shouted. Zara’s chains snapped like brittle glass. The sudden disconnection sent shockwaves through the chamber, the artifact collapsing into a whirl of golden sand. The sisters fell back, their forms tumbling down as cracks ripped through the floor. A final, deafening scream of whispers filled the air as the ruin consumed itself in its fury.
When Akila opened her eyes again, the storm was gone. She lay sprawled on the dunes, the expanse of gold sand before her still and serene. Beside her, Zara’s chest softly rose and fell. For the first time in months, Akila let herself believe—truly believe—that they were free.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Black Leather Jacket, Grey Turtleneck, and Classic Blue Jeans: Chic Urban Fall Style for Effortless Elegance
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