I wake to the heat piercing through the metallic frame of the tent, amplifying the scorching air outside. Sweat beads along my forehead as I roll onto my back, sighing at the discomfort. Mia is already gone. Her side of the bed is empty, the warmth of her presence long faded. I thought I’d be the first one up, but somehow, I’ve slept better than I have since childhood.


Outside, I hear the soft rustle of movement. I assume it’s Mia, already preparing for the day. A strange nervousness settles in my chest as I push aside my grogginess and hurriedly pull on my clothes. My fingers fumble more than usual, my thoughts betraying me. Did she already see me like this? The idea alone sends a flush of heat to my face, and I shake it off, trying to suppress the awkwardness clawing at the edges of my mind.


Stepping out of the tent, I find her standing before the platform from the insta-campfire. She presses a green button and steps back. A mechanical hum fills the air as the platform collapses, swallowing everything upon it in one swift, precise movement. The entire process takes seconds, but I am frozen, awestruck. The box reshapes itself and settles into the dirt, as if nothing had ever been there.


"Thank you, Ark Tech," Mia mutters with amusement.


"Ark Tech?" I ask.


"An Old World company no one really remembers anymore. They built most of the technology that people like us can only scavenge and dream about now," she explains.


"So, they made the camp system?"


"Yep. The tent, the blaster—probably a dozen other things we don’t even realize yet," she replies calmly.


She kneels and gestures me away from the tent. I take a few steps back as she presses a second button. A brief flash of light forces me to shield my eyes. When I lower my hand, everything that had been inside the tent—bed, storage, amenities—is gone. Only the small silver cylinder remains, nestled in the sand like a discarded relic of gods.


"I’ll never get used to that," Mia laughs, rubbing her eyes.


"What other fancy gear do you have?" I ask, curiosity overtaking me.


"I’ll show you one of my stashes when we get to New Boston," she replies with a smirk.


She turns, striding forward with her usual confidence. I fall into step behind her, knowing by now she’ll lead the way until we reach New Boston—if we make it that far.


The wind shifts. A low, rolling tremor hums through the sand beneath our feet. Mia halts, her arm pressing against my chest in an instant reaction. The vibrations grow stronger.


"We need to move. Now," she says, her voice suddenly tense. Before I can react, her hand grips mine, and she pulls—hard.


She takes off at a sprint, and I nearly stumble before catching my pace. Each step feels heavier, the tremors intensifying beneath us. My heart pounds, matching the frantic rhythm of my footfalls.


A sudden crack splits through the air behind us, and I risk a glance over my shoulder. A towering blue fin slices through the sand, sending a cloud of dust into the air as it moves with terrifying speed.


"What the hell is that?!" I yell, struggling to keep up.


"Desert worm!" Mia shouts.


"WHAT?!"


"Run now, ask later!"

The ground bucks violently beneath us, like a living thing trying to shake us loose. Every step feels like running across a collapsing bridge, the shifting sands swallowing my feet with each frantic stride. Mia stumbles, her balance momentarily stolen by the chaos, but she recovers with a fierce determination, her movements sharp and instinctive. The sheer force of the tremors makes my chest tighten—whatever is beneath us is massive, relentless, and far too close.


Ahead, a breathtaking burst of green cuts through the endless dunes, an oasis standing defiantly against the desolation. Towering trees with thick, gnarled roots claw their way out of the cracked earth, their lush canopies swaying gently in the rare breeze. Vines curl around ancient trunks, clinging to life where none should exist. A shimmering pool, impossibly blue, reflects the golden light of the sun, a stark contrast to the barren wasteland that stretches behind us. The air is thick here, richer, laced with the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet. It feels untouched, sacred, like a fragment of the Old World stubbornly refusing to fade. Mia veers toward it without hesitation, her pace quickening, as if drawn by some unseen force.


The distant sound of flapping wings slices through the chaos, sharp and ominous. The air trembles with its weight, a dreadful warning that something massive is descending upon us. My breath catches, my pulse hammering in my throat. Whatever it is, it's close—too close for comfort.


"Oh, no!" Mia shouts. I can hear the panic in her voice now


"What? WHAT NOW?!"


"That’s an Ostoros! They eat worms!"


I don’t even know what an Ostoros is, but the sheer panic in Mia’s voice tells me all I need to know. It’s big. It’s dangerous. And we’re running straight into the very place it stalks its prey. I breathe raggedly, my legs burning as fear fuels each step, but however fast we move, I can't shake the sinking feeling that we've traded one nightmare for another.


The greenery looms closer—tall, reaching things that I barely recognize. Thin shafts of wood stretch skyward, capped with bursts of green, unlike the dried, lifeless things I’ve known. We dive behind one of them, pressing ourselves to the earth as the worm barrels past, sand erupting in its wake.

I breathe hard, my chest heaving. And then—silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, suffocating kind that presses against my ears like a held breath before disaster. The absence of sound feels unnatural, making my skin prickle, my mind screams at me to move, to do something—anything—but I’m frozen, caught in the eerie quiet that follows chaos.


I rise cautiously, taking in our surroundings. Towering trees cast long shadows over a glistening pool, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze—a stark contrast to the lifeless dunes beyond. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth, rich and unfamiliar, carrying a coolness that seeps into my skin. The ground beneath me is softer, layered with scattered leaves and twisted roots that have clawed their way through the sand in defiance of the wasteland. This place feels ancient, untouched by time, a secret having been hidden from the ravages of the Badlands.


A pool of blue spreads before us, shimmering under the sunlight, swallowing the sand where it meets the shore. The air feels different here—cooler, heavier with moisture. I shift my gaze to Mia, searching for some sign of reassurance, something to tell me this isn’t just another illusion of the Badlands. She stands firm, her eyes scanning the oasis with an intensity that makes my stomach twist. If even she is wary, then what does that mean for us?


"Now, this isn’t something you see often out here," Mia says, slinging an arm around my shoulder, leaning on me like we aren’t seconds away from being something’s meal.


"What… what is all of this?" I whisper.


"This, Etha, is how the Old World used to look. Before they ruined it."


The weight of her words settles in my chest. I stare at the water, the trees, the colour of life I never knew existed beyond the scraps we scavenge. I try to imagine it—the Old World before it burned. Vast forests stretching farther than the eye could see, rivers winding endlessly through fertile lands, cities teeming with people who never had to worry about clean water or food. The sky, once clear and blue, untainted by the lingering scars of war. It feels impossible, like a legend told by someone who barely remembers the truth. And yet, standing here in this oasis, it feels like a whisper of what once was—a glimpse of a world lost to time.


"Think that’s safe to drink?" I ask.


"Let’s do a test and find out."


She kneels at the edge of the pond and dips a small rectangular device into the water. She waits, then shakes it before dipping it again. Her face twists in disbelief. I watch the ripples spread across the impossibly clear surface, my throat tightening at the thought of water—real, safe water. No gritty taste of sand, no metallic bitterness of desperate filtration, no lingering fear of sickness. Just smooth, crisp liquid, something I had only imagined in stories, something I never thought I’d touch, let alone drink.


"Rad clear."


I blink. "No radiation at all?"


She nods, her expression unreadable. We share a long silence, both absorbing what this means. The idea of water untouched by radiation feels almost absurd, like stumbling upon a fairy tale made real. Every drop we’ve ever known has carried some trace of the Old World’s sins, a lingering poison passed down through generations. But this—this is pure, untouched, a relic of a time before everything burned.


The rest of the day is quieter. We clean the dust and sweat from our skin, filling empty containers with the pristine water. Mia seems at ease here, but I can’t shake my paranoia, glancing over my shoulder every few minutes, waiting for the next threat to come crawling from the dunes.


"You’re a nervous wreck out here," Mia comments, amused.


"Well, yeah. I never left Basha before this."


"Really? Never? Why?"


"Why leave? Nowhere is safe."


"Fair. No risk, no reward, though." Mia stretches her arms, looking over the oasis. "If you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have seen this."


She’s right. I exhale, pushing back the unease. "I guess some things are worth the risk."


As the sun sinks toward the horizon, the sky erupts in a fiery cascade of orange and deep crimson, stretching shadows long across the dunes. The fading light bathes the desert in an eerie glow, casting an almost surreal beauty over the desolation. But as the last golden rays vanish, the heat that once dominated the land dissipates rapidly, replaced by a creeping, bitter chill that seeps into my bones. By dusk, Mia finally stops. My legs ache, exhaustion weighing me down. She unpacks the tent and campfire device, setting them up without a word.


"Mia…" I say, breaking the silence.


"What’s up?" she asks.


"Tomorrow we reach New Boston, right?"


"Should be in the afternoon, yeah. Homesick already?"


"No, just wondering how long we’ll be staying."


"A couple of nights. We need to resupply before we head to the next stretch."


"Which is…?"


"The Lawrence Canyon," she says.


I frown. "Never heard of it."


Mia sighs, stretching her arms. "It used to be a massive river that ran from the sea inland. It’ll take us to Ottawa."


"Weird name."


She rolls her eyes. "Not my fault the Old World had strange names."


I watch as she tosses the tent device onto the ground, and within seconds, it whirs to life. Metal plates extend outward, unfolding with a series of precise mechanical clicks. The framework rises from the sand as if being pulled by unseen hands, stretching into a rigid, angular form. Fabric-like material spreads between the joints, securing itself seamlessly. The entire structure stabilizes with a final hiss, locking into place. In an instant, the lifeless desert around us has a shelter, conjured from nothing like some Old World sorcery. My breath catches at the sheer ingenuity of it all.


"It’s nice to have someone around, Etha." Her voice is softer now.


I hesitate before answering. "I never thought about it like that. You must get lonely."


She exhales, staring at the fire. "Yeah. Often."


The conversation lulls as we settle by the fire. The air is colder now, biting deep. The deeper into the Badlands we go, the stranger everything feels. I watch Mia poke at the flames, and I wonder—how long has she been doing this alone?