The hoverjet pierced through a ceiling of clouds; ahead lay only endless sand and emptiness.
Henry pressed his hand against the viewport, his breath misting the glass. Below stretched dunes of pale sand that shimmered unnaturally, as if each grain were flecked with powdered gold. The landscape was barren yet beautiful, a desert sculpted by the memory of grandeur.
Henry: "This is it?"
His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the drone of the engines.
Elara's hands tightened on the controls. Her eyes, sharp as glass, didn't waver from the horizon.
Elara: "The Dead Lands. Once, they say, the heart of the world. Now, nothing but dust and silence."
The hoverjet banked left, revealing the first jagged spires of ruins half-buried in sand. The remnants of towers, melted like candlewax, glittered faintly in the dawn light. Broken statues, faceless and eroded, jutted from the ground like bones.
Henry leaned closer to the glass, unsettled.
Henry: "What happened here?"
Elara's answer was low and careful, like she feared the land itself was listening.
Elara: "Greed. Always greed. The Golden City was built on it. Every street paved in riches, every hall dripping in splendor. They say the King in Gold could turn anything he touched to treasure. But what feeds greed never lasts. His city collapsed under its own hunger. The people vanished into the sand."
Henry: "Vanished?"
Elara: "Some say they died. Others say they turned into gold themselves. But one thing is certain—when the city fell, it left behind nothing but a kingdom of corpses that still shines."
The hoverjet descended, kicking up clouds of shimmering dust as its landing gear touched the brittle ground. Silence closed in around them—no birds, no insects, no wind. Only the faint, eerie hiss of sand sliding down ruined walls.
Henry unclipped his harness and stood.
Henry: "It feels like the place is still watching. Giving me creeps."
Elara stepped out first, boots sinking slightly into the glimmering sand. She lifted her head, scanning the distant skyline. Far ahead, through veils of heat haze, a crown of broken towers loomed—the Golden City.
Elara: "It remembers. Lands like these always do."
They walked in silence, their shadows stretching long across the golden dust. As they passed through the outer ruins, Henry felt a weight pressing on his chest. Every shattered column seemed to stare at him; every faceless statue seemed to whisper.
Henry (murmuring): "It feels weird, like it's waiting for us."
Elara: "It is. That's why we came."
The first archway they crossed was half-collapsed yet carved with intricate reliefs. Gold leaf clung to the stone despite centuries of decay, catching what little light filtered through the clouds. The carvings showed processions of faceless figures bowing before a radiant king.
Henry ran his hand across the wall, tracing the lines.
Henry: "He wanted to be remembered."
Elara: "No. He wanted to be worshiped."
They pressed deeper. The streets unfolded in spirals, designed to lead every path back to the central palace. But the city was a graveyard—doors sealed by sand, fountains frozen into lumps of metal, bridges collapsed into and covered with hot sand.
Henry stopped at a ruined fountain. Its basin was filled not with water but with hardened gold, frozen mid-pour. He clenched his fists.
Henry: "All of this… for nothing."
Elara watched him for a long moment, her gaze softer than her tone.
Elara: "This is what greed does. This is what power does when unchecked. Do you understand why I brought you here, Henry? Midas isn't just some man with wealth. He is this city. A reminder that when you worship power, you end up with nothing but bones and treasure dust."
Henry looked away, jaw tight.
By the time they reached the palace, the sun was high, but the air grew colder, not warmer. The ruins rose around them like a fortress of shadow. The gates, taller than any cathedral Henry had ever seen, were sealed by sheets of fused gold.
Elara raised her hand, brushing dust from the engraved sigil at the center—a sun with a crown of spears.
Elara: "The mark of the King in Gold."
Henry: "And behind this is Midas?"
Elara: "Maybe not yet. But his shadow is here. Can't you feel it?"
Henry could. The palace radiated a pressure, as if something beneath its walls was breathing, faint but steady. It prickled against his Heavenly Awakening, making the blue sparks around his fingertips stir.
Henry: "Yeah. I feel it."
Elara nodded.
Elara: "He ruled here; this was his palace. A palace of gold."
Henry: "But that's not where he now lives. This all is just ruins."
Elara stepped back, her expression grave.
Elara: "This is why we came. Not to fight him—not yet. But to understand the kind of monster we're up against."
Henry stared at the sealed gate, the weight of her words sinking into him.
Far away…
Deep in the Dead Lands, Midas stood before a pool of liquid gold. His reflection shimmered across its surface, fractured by ripples.
He smiled.
Midas: "They've arrived."
Behind him, a golden droid stood silently, hands folded, eyes lifeless.
Droid: "Shall I prepare the guard, my lord?"
Midas: "No. Let them walk. Let them breathe in the silence, taste the ash of my city. The Dead Lands are their stage now. And like an old friend said, every stage…" He spread his arms, golden fire spilling from his fingertips. "…ends with applause."
His laughter echoed through the palace, carried faintly by the winds of the Dead Lands—straight to where Henry and Elara stood before the gate.
Henry's chest tightened, the sound like claws dragging across his bones. He raised his fists instinctively, sparks dancing across his knuckles.
Henry: "He knows we're here."
Elara's eyes narrowed, her voice calm despite the tension twisting the air.
Elara: "Good. Then let him watch."
The gates loomed, the palace waited, and the Dead Lands held its breath—as if the city itself knew the dog had begun chasing the sausage.