The desert stretched endlessly, a sea of rippling sand bathed in moonlight. Beneath a velvet black sky pricked with countless stars, Ophira trudged forward, her hood pulled low over her face to shield against the biting wind. The camel behind her grumbled under its breath, the sound eerily human. The only other noises were the crunch of sand beneath her boots and the occasional scrape of leather as she adjusted the straps holding sacks of supplies.
She had crossed miles of unforgiving dunes to reach the Midnight Oasis, a fabled location said to appear only one night every decade. According to legend, the oasis offered more than just shelter; it held secrets, treasures, and something more elusive—answers. Ophira didn’t trust many legends, but desperation often made skeptics out of pragmatists. She needed healing. Not for herself, but for the dwindling tribe she led after a devastating disease swept through their camp.
Hours passed, and with every step, doubt seeped deeper into her thoughts. What if the oasis didn’t appear? What if she had miscalculated the date? She glanced skyward, tracing constellations with practiced ease, her breath forming small clouds in the chilly night air. Then, as if gifted by the gods, the soft gurgle of water touched her ears. She followed the sound until the glint of water mirrored the crescent moon’s silver glow.
The Midnight Oasis.
It was ethereal, more beautiful than any story could have described. Palm trees draped with luminescent vines swayed gently in an unnatural breeze. The air was fragrant, a blend of jasmine and honey. Water as clear as crystal formed an inviting pool at the center, shimmering faintly as if lit from within. Yet, she hesitated. Magic of this kind always came with a price.
“Finally.”
The voice startled her. Spinning around with a hand on the hilt of her dagger, Ophira spotted a solitary figure lounging against a tree. His silhouette was lean, his features partly masked in shadow. What she could see was unnervingly perfect—sharp cheekbones, eyes like molten amber, and skin too unmarred for someone traveling the desert. He wore dark robes stitched with silver patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer on their own.
“Who are you?” she demanded. Her voice held steady, but internally, tension coiled like a serpent.
“A better question,” he countered, his lips curling into a smirk, “is why you’ve come to the oasis.”
Ophira hesitated. Sharing her plight felt dangerous, but lying to whatever this man—or thing—was seemed unwise.
“I seek a cure for my people,” she finally admitted. “Does the oasis hold what I need?”
The man pushed off the tree, his movements unnervingly smooth, almost predatory. He approached the water, kneeling beside it and skimming a hand across the surface. A ripple spread outward, and the water changed, reflecting images—not just scenes of Ophira’s life but her deepest regrets, her darkest fears.
“The water grants what you desire,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers. “But only if you are willing to give something in return.”
“What kind of price?” she asked warily.
He smiled in a way that made her blood chill. He raised his hand, and the water shifted again, this time showing her tribe, their faces becoming clearer and healthier with every passing second.
“Your memories,” he said simply. “All of them. Leave them behind, and the cure will be yours.”
Ophira felt as though she’d been struck. Memories were what bound her to the people she loved, what defined her existence. Was the price too steep? Yet, abandoning her quest would mean the slow death of her tribe.
She knelt, her eyes fixed on the water, its enchanting glow pulling her toward a decision she knew would shape more than just her future. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the surface.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered.
The man watched her with an unreadable expression, a spark of something almost like admiration in his eyes. As her hand broke the surface, a shock ran through her, like lightning surging through her veins. Pieces of herself began to slip away, the faces of loved ones growing hazy, the scent of desert rain after a storm vanishing, the sound of her mother’s laughter silenced forever. But as she looked back into the water one last time before the memories vanished completely, she bore witness to hope—the tribe healed, the children smiling, the elders strong once more.
When Ophira finally rose, the man was gone, and so were her memories. She stood in the oasis, whole but hollow, staring at the tribe who would now live because of her sacrifice, though she no longer remembered why it mattered.
The Midnight Oasis shimmered briefly behind her as she turned to leave, then faded into the sands, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate her path.
Genre: Dark Fantasy
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Fashion Forward: The Definitive Guide to Beauty, Style, and Iconic Looks
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