The Whispering Sands

Fiction fiction Sarah 0 Comments

The Ambush

The first attacker moved quietly—too quietly for most, but not Selene. She spun on her heel as his blade arced through the air. Her dagger rose to meet it, their weapons sparking as they clashed. The bandit snarled, his face wrapped in tattered cloth to shield him from the sting of sandstorms. It gave him the appearance of a vengeful phantom. Selene’s amber eyes bore into his, unwavering.

“Who sent you?” she hissed through gritted teeth. But he offered no words, only another attack. The bandit’s sweeping blade forced her back, her sandals scraping against the gritty ridge. Behind him, more figures materialized from the dunes. Silent, swift, and deadly.

Selene’s breath hitched. She had known this day would come, though not so soon, not so suddenly. Reavers—relentless scavengers of the desert. They didn’t seek goods or riches. They sought her.

Fragments of the Past

The past fell upon her like an avalanche. The name “Reavers” had first reached her ears in a distant oasis where the Bedouins whispered of assassins hired by the distant lords of Zakar. Selene had laughed it off then, considering herself untouchable. After all, she had grown up in the opulent city of Éphir, a merchant’s daughter draped in silks and gold, her every whim catered to by servants. But that life had crumbled—her father murdered unjustly in the night, her wealth stolen, and her name blackened.

Left with little choice, Selene had fled to the sands, learning to barter for survival with the nomads who neither trusted nor despised her. Over time, whispers of an artifact followed her—a relic she had taken from Éphir, one whose power could shift the balance of empires. But with whispers came pursuers. Dangerous ones.

The Choice

The second bandit lunged, a curved blade aimed straight for her heart. Selene sidestepped with nimble precision, her robes swirling dramatically. She slashed upward, grazing her attacker’s arm. He howled in pain. But the others were closing in, pinning her against the rocky precipice where the ridge dropped into the abyss of the ravine below.

A memory flashed in her mind—of her father’s face, weary but smiling as he handed her the fragmented stone that hung in a leather pouch at her waist. “Guard this with your life, Selene. With it comes the power to remake or destroy our world.”

Her fingers brushed the pouch now, its weight both comforting and damning. The Reavers didn’t want her; they wanted the stone. Despite her training, her tenacity, and her sharp wit, she couldn’t defeat all five attackers alone. Not like this.

She stumbled backward, her sandals kicking rocks into the oblivion below. The horizon loomed vast and endless, the descending sun perched delicately like it was holding its breath. Then, she made her choice.

Her dagger gleamed as she drove it into the sandstone beneath her feet, sparks singing in the twilight air. With a practiced twist, the ridge gave way, the rock crumbling in jagged shards. The Reavers surged forward too late, their momentum carrying them into the sudden collapse. Selene fell with the rest of them, the world a blur of sand and shadows.

Beneath the Surface

When next she awoke, Selene lay battered but alive in a cavern of amber light. She could hear water trickling nearby—a sound almost foreign in the barren desert. She opened her eyes to find the artifact in her hand, glowing faintly. The Reavers? Gone. She didn’t know if they had survived the fall or wandered elsewhere.