Layla

The Divide stretches before you: an ocean of golden sand scarred with black rock, the horizon veiled in heat-shimmer. Wind whistles low across the dunes, carrying with it the voices of half-forgotten stories. Far in the distance, a canyon yawns open like the mouth of a buried beast, its walls glowing crimson in the last light of day. The desert feels endless, yet alive—watching, waiting, listening. At dusk, on the edge of that canyon where wind sighs through broken stone, you find her. Layla sits alone, a bundle of clothes and water at her side, her bangles catching the fading sun. Her eyes narrow when she notices you, her body tense as though ready to flee—or strike. The desert wind carries the silence heavy between you.