The low hum of the chronowatch shattered the stillness of the desert cavern. Dust rains had ended a week ago, but the air was still thick with the earthy scent of petrichor and sun-baked stone. Oran Valis knelt beside the skeletal remains of a bridled camel, its brittle bones tangled in the kind of rug-weaving harnesses that the nomads of the Sulai Empire had all but abandoned some seven centuries ago. He adjusted the copper clasp on his sahari\u2014a traditional linen tunic with a storm-grey hue and black ornamental etching along the hem. It clung to his lithe frame, tailored more for agility than comfort, but in this deadly heat, even dead weight had its purpose.<\/p>\n
Oran didn\u2019t notice the figure behind him until he already had his hand on the buried relic\u2014a smooth, onyx cube that glimmered faintly against the cavern\u2019s modest light.<\/p>\n
\u201cTouch that, and the sands will take your voice, then your name, and before you know it, you\u2019ll be part of the terrain,\u201d came a voice, quiet as conspiracy but pulsing with threat.<\/p>\n
Oran turned his head sharply without rising, his emerald eyes catching a flash of steel held loosely in the stranger\u2019s grip. Tall and wrapped in indigo-dyed rajmat linens, the man\u2019s exposed face was a canvas of lined wisdom and feral disdain. His knife hand didn\u2019t shake\u2014not once.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd yet, the sands spared you?\u201d Oran dared, his fingers still grazing the relic.<\/p>\n
The man tilted his head, a raven fluttering noisily in from the shadows to perch on his shoulder. The bird cawed. Playful. Almost thoughtful.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re scavenging what you don\u2019t understand,\u201d the man finally said. \u201cBut then, that\u2019s what you Iryshsons do best, isn\u2019t it? Snatching dead stories to claim as your own.\u201d<\/p>\n
The barb almost landed, but Oran parted his lips in a thin, humorless smile. \u201cI was told old sea-haunters offered better warnings,\u201d Oran quipped and then did something reckless.<\/p>\n
He pocketed the cube and stood, brushing his knees down. The eyelather boots (black and double-buckled) whispered against the cavern\u2019s dust with his movement. The stranger\u2019s steel didn\u2019t edge closer; it lifted higher, a muted acknowledgement.<\/p>\n
The compact skyship Oran had borrowed\u2014technically purchased after a somewhat lawful poker duel over the dunes\u2014was held hostage outside the very cavern they were standing in now. By the kind of pulse-pummeler drones that even paved Ecliptic Basin nomads prayed not to tangle with once past 22% dayfade.<\/p>\n
The Source<\/strong>...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Ever feel like your gut health is trying to tell you something?<\/a><\/p>\n
![\"storybackdrop_1737066353_file](\"https:\/\/www.inthacity.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/storybackdrop_1737066353_file.jpeg\" "\\"\\"")
<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"