Where The Wild Stands

The Dream

[Her heart pounds, not from exhaustion, but from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She's being hunted, but not by the usual predators that stalk this wasteland.

Behind her, a man howls—a sound that's more animal than human. His skin crackles with electricity, eyes hollow and filled with an insatiable hunger. Once a kind farmer, now he's a living generator, unable to contain the energy that courses through him. His touch means certain death, and Mara has no intention of becoming his next victim.

As she rounds a corner, she collides with something solid yet soft. Falling backward, Mara finds herself face-to-face with a large, silver-furred dog. Its eyes, an impossible swirl of colors, lock onto hers. This is Kairos, the source of the chaos that has engulfed the world.

Mara knows she should run, but something in those mesmerizing eyes holds her in place. A voice, neither male nor female, echoes in her mind:

"Child of the wasteland, you who fear nothing, will you be the one to break the cycle?"]

Mara awoke in the half-light of dawn, the faint rays of the sun barely penetrating the thick, overgrown canopy that blanketed the ruins. Her shelter was a modest structure she had cobbled together from the remnants of a fallen building. It was just enough to keep the rain off her head and the wind from chilling her to the bone. A makeshift bed of old blankets and clothes was tucked into one corner, and a small fire pit sat in the center, its ashes cold from the night before.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Every day began the same way: a moment of stillness, a deep breath, and then the familiar tug of reality pulling her into action. Mara moved with a purpose, her movements economical and precise. She had long since learned that wasting time or energy was a luxury she could not afford. She quickly folded her blankets and stowed them in a hidden nook beneath a pile of rubble, where they would be safe from the elements and any wandering animals.

Mara’s first task was always the same: water. She needed to refill her canteen from the stream that ran through the eastern edge of the city. The stream was her lifeline, a rare source of fresh water in this desolate place. She made her way carefully through the maze of crumbling buildings, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the main streets where she might be seen. Though she rarely encountered other people in the ruins, she had learned to be cautious. There were others like her—survivors scraping by on whatever they could find—and not all of them were friendly.

As she walked, Mara kept her senses sharp, her eyes scanning the ground for signs of movement, her ears attuned to the faintest sound. She had grown up in this world of ruin, and it had shaped her into someone who was always aware, always prepared. She was tall for her age, with a lean, wiry frame that spoke of a life lived in constant motion. Her skin was tanned from the sun, and her hair, dark and unkempt, hung around her face in a wild tangle. She wore a loose, patched shirt and a pair of faded trousers that had once belonged to someone much larger than her, cinched at the waist with a piece of rope.