The Dazakstan sun beat down on Vielza's neck like a forge hammer. He squinted, pushing a stray strand of his long, shiny blue hair from his sweat-slicked forehead. At fifteen, he was far too young to be doing this, far too young to be swallowing dust and chasing ghosts across the endless expanse of the crimson desert.
But needs dictated destiny in Dazakstan, and Vielza needed to remember. He needed to remember who he was before he woke up here, before his memories shattered like glass on the unforgiving dunes.
"Scout 7 to Central, Scout 7 to Central, you reading me?" he muttered into the cracked microphone attached to his worn headset. The static crackled back, a symphony of emptiness that mirrored the landscape.
"Central here, Scout 7. Loud and clear. What's your status?" a gruff voice finally responded.
"Still nothing, Central. Just sand and silence," Vielza said, his voice betraying a weariness that belied his age. "But I'm pushing east, towards the Scarred Peaks. Heard rumors of… activity."
"Rumors are cheap, Scout 7. Stick to the protocol. Report any anomalous activity, however minor. And be careful. We can't afford to lose another scout."
Vielza felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Another scout. They were dropping like flies these days, succumbing to dust storms, the desert's usual Hell-spawned creatures, or simply the crushing despair of their miserable lives. He was probably one of the last few still willing to take the risk, drawn by the meager credits offered by Central. Credits that went straight to the memory weavers in Dust Gulch, hoping for a flicker, a fragment, anything to stitch back his fractured past. It was a stupid, desperate gamble, fueled by a burning desire to reclaim himself.
I love gambling for my memories back...
He adjusted the goggles that protected his eyes from the swirling sand and kicked the sputtering engine of his sand bike to life. It was a beat-up machine, cobbled together from scavenged parts, but it was his. It was his ticket to the edges of the known, to the places where the Empire hadn't quite swallowed everything whole.
The human planets were half free ran, half ran by the Empire. He liked living in Dazakstan, it was the one of the free planets. Few laws, and few regulationats. Just a place where even nobodies like himself could prosper.
The Scarred Peaks loomed on the horizon, jagged teeth tearing at the sky. Between him and them lay miles of barren wasteland, dotted with the occasional skeletal remains of long-dead creatures. He rode for hours, the sun a relentless tormentor, the wind a constant whisper of madness.
Occasionally, he would pass nomadic tribes, the desert people, their faces etched with a harsh wisdom born of survival. They eyed him warily, their silence a judgment of his youth and his doomed quest. He tried to engage them, to ask about strange sightings, about whispers in the wind. But they offered nothing but cryptic pronouncements and averted gazes. They didn't trust Central, and they certainly didn't trust someone who worked for them.
Once, he encountered a small band of Scorpion people, their chitinous bodies gleaming in the harsh light. They were scavengers like him, but far more ruthless. Their eyes, multifaceted and cold, lingered on his sand bike, a silent threat hanging in the air. He quickly steered clear, the encounter leaving a chill in his bones.
As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and bruised purple, Vielza saw it. A colossal shape hanging impossibly high above the horizon. A spaceship. Its hull, a patchwork of metallic plates and glowing conduits, shimmered in the twilight. It was a breathtaking, terrifying sight, a stark reminder of the world beyond Dazakstan, a world he could barely imagine.
And then he noticed them – two ethereal, shimmering circles hanging close to the ship. The two moons of the planet created a mirage, amplifying their sizes tenfold. It was a sight that made his heart ache. He often dreamt of commanding one of those ships, of exploring the galaxy, of leaving the dust and the despair behind. But dreams were a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a past to reclaim, a core to fix.
He killed the engine, letting the silence of the desert envelop him. The spaceship, a distant beacon of hope and despair, hung in the sky. He pulled out his ration bar, its synthetic flavor doing little to quell the gnawing hunger in his stomach. As he chewed, he listened. He listened for the whispers of the wind, the rustling of sand, the subtle signs of life – or death.
Then he heard it.
A low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath him. A sound that spoke of immense power and ancient hunger. A sound that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Central, this is Scout 7. I think... I think I've found something," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Large seismic activity. East of my position. Sounds like... a worm. A big one."
Static crackled back in response. "A worm? Scout 7, confirm. What are your coordinates?"
Vielza fumbled with his outdated navigation device, his hands shaking. "Coordinates are... uh... mark..." He recited the numbers as quickly as he could while the ground vibrated harder. "Central, you need to hear this. This isn't just a sand worm. This is something else. Something huge."
"Understood, Scout 7. Proceed with caution. Observe and report. Do not engage."
He knew better than to engage. He was just a scout, a pawn in Central's game. His job was to find the threats, not to fight them. But curiosity, and a morbid fascination with the monstrous, compelled him forward.
He revved the engine of his sand bike, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape. He had to see it. He had to witness the horror that lurked beneath the sands of Dazakstan.
He rode towards the sound, the engine screaming in protest as it struggled through the shifting dunes. The rumbling grew louder, the ground trembling violently. The air crackled with an unnatural energy.
And then he saw it.
The sand parted, erupting in a geyser of crimson dust. A colossal maw, lined with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, emerged from the depths. The worm.
It was unlike anything he had ever imagined. Its body, segmented and armored, stretched for what seemed like miles, disappearing into the swirling dust clouds. Each segment was the size of a land cruiser, its chitinous plates scarred and pitted by countless years of scouring sand. The color resembled some dark red ore that was found deep in the mines.
Its mouth, a gaping abyss of teeth and cartilage, pulsed with a sickening rhythm. Tendrils, thick as pythons, writhed around the edges of its maw, tasting the air, sensing for prey. The smell was overwhelming – a mixture of ozone, decay, and something ancient and alien. The air crackled with an unnatural energy.
The worm rose higher, its immense body undulating like a living earthquake. It dwarfed the Scarred Peaks, casting a long, ominous shadow across the desert. Vielza felt a primal fear grip him, a feeling of utter insignificance in the face of this monumental force.
He forced himself to focus, to remember his orders. He pulled out his radio, his hands still trembling.
"Central, this is Scout 7. I have visual confirmation. The worm... it's massive. Beyond anything I've ever seen." He paused, struggling to find the words to describe the sheer scale of the creature. "It's... it's like a living mountain, Central. Its mouth is wider than my bike!"
He continued to describe the worm's physical characteristics, its movements, its behavior. He noted the strange energy fluctuations around it, the way the sand seemed to ripple in its presence. Every detail was crucial to helping the people at the central base understand the magnitude of the threat. He focused on the details, on the technicalities, forcing himself to ignore the instinct to flee, to run as far away as possible.
The worm shifted, its colossal body turning towards him. Its multifaceted eyes glinted in the fading light, locking onto his position. Vielza felt a chill run down his spine. He was nothing to this creature, a mere speck of dust in its vast domain.
The worm opened its maw, a deafening roar erupting from its throat. A wave of heat washed over Vielza, momentarily blinding him. He gripped the handlebars of his sand bike, preparing to flee.
But then, the worm did something unexpected. It shifted again, its body sinking back into the sand. The ground trembled one last time, and then, silence. The only evidence of its presence was the gaping hole in the earth and the swirling dust clouds that filled the air.
Vielza stood there, paralyzed by fear and awe, as the desert reclaimed its silence. He caught his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen something truly extraordinary, something that would forever be etched in his memory.
"Central, the worm... it's gone," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's retreated back into the sand. I don't know where it's going."
"Understood, Scout 7. Remain in your position. We are dispatching a reconnaissance team. Do not approach the area again."
Vielza knew that he wouldn't. He had seen enough. He had reported what he had seen. His job was done.
He turned his sand bike around and began the long ride back to Dust Gulch, the image of the colossal worm seared into his mind. He didn't know what Central would do with the information he had provided. He didn't know if they would be able to stop the worm. He only knew that he had done his duty, that he had faced the horror of the desert and lived to tell the tale.
As he rode, he thought about his memories, about the fragments that still eluded him. He wondered if they were worth chasing, if they were worth risking his life for. But then he looked up at the sky, at the distant spaceship hanging between the two moon mirages, and he knew that he couldn't give up. He had to keep searching, keep fighting, keep hoping for a better future, a future where he could be more than just a scout in the dying deserts of Dazakstan. A future where maybe, just maybe, he could be a commander on one of those ships, exploring the vastness of the galaxy.
The dust swirled around him, the wind whispered in his ear, and Vielza rode on, a lonely figure in a desolate world, driven by a burning desire to reclaim his past and shape his destiny.