The desert of Desiru had no beginning and no end. The locals said it was less a place and more a want —a hollow hunger carved into the earth by a god who had forgotten what he was craving.
Sand began to swirl. The city trembled.
Desiru remains on no map. But on quiet nights, when longing presses against your ribs, you can still feel its dunes shifting—waiting for someone who mistakes a wish for a way home.
On the third day, the heat began to warp not just the air, but memory.
Kael looked past the figure. In the shattering reflection, he saw not the past, but a shape walking toward a distant ridge—Mira, thin and alive, carrying a water flask. She wasn’t trapped in Desiru. She had left it, walking away from her own desire to undo her mistakes.