Wanderer ★

She emerged on a high, wind-scoured plateau she had never seen. Below, a silver river threaded through a valley of purple grass, and on the far hills, lights flickered that were not stars. A civilization no map had ever recorded. The air smelled of rain and strange honey.

It was not a ruin or a cave. It was a perfect, seamless arch of obsidian, set into the cliff face, humming with a low, sub-sonic thrum she felt in her molars. No handle. No keyhole. Just a smooth, dark mirror that reflected her own dust-caked face back at her. Wanderer

She opened her eyes, smiled gently at her mother’s ghost, and said, “I’m not home.” She emerged on a high, wind-scoured plateau she

The Scar lived up to its name. For three days, she climbed a staircase of shattered slate, the sun a hammer on her back. On the fourth day, she found the door. The air smelled of rain and strange honey

She finished her water, stood up, and tightened her pack straps.