After days of a steady march across the endless stretch of gold and silence, the world finally began to change. The heat still lingered, but the sand no longer swallowed their steps. Beneath their boots, the pale dunes began to harden, the soft grains giving way to firm, earthen soil. Tufts of grass began to show—dry at first, then greener, stronger. The border had been crossed.
The air itself seemed different here. It smelled faintly of life—of dew, of trees, of distant rain. After what felt like an eternity in the Wasteland, where the wind screamed and the sun never relented, the subtle coolness was a balm to their lungs.
Luke, walking among the group, slowed for a moment just to take it in. The way the soil held his weight instead of sinking. The soft hum of insects somewhere far off. Even the shadows cast by the rocks felt gentler now. He could almost feel his soul exhaling.
