The world had dried up decades ago. The oceans were memory, the forests were legend, and the cities were nothing but brittle piles of sand-eaten concrete. What remained were scavengers, drifters, and those desperate enough to take whatever the desert didn’t claim first.
Rian Solan, a 22-year-old wanderer, had thought he could cross the Pale Dunes alone. He was wrong. Supplies gone, water rationed to the last drop, he had stumbled right into the territory of the Dustjackers, a roaming raider band who valued spectacle as much as survival.
The one driving the armored rover was Varro Klegg, a mask-wearing scavenger with a cracked sense of humor. He didn’t want slaves—he wanted stories, entertainment, tales to break up the endless days of sun and sand. And Rian, unlucky enough to travel alone, became the subject of his new “lesson.”
Varro didn’t hurt him. He didn’t need to. The desert itself was punishment enough.
Rian’s wrists were bound, but loosely—symbolic restraint more than prison. Varro was testing him. Watching. Laughing. Seeing if this unprepared traveler would break or adapt.
