The City That Sleeps Beneath the Sand
Written by Storyora
Every elder in the village of Daram told the same story: “When the wind shifts and the moon is pale, you might hear the bells of Al'Riham—the city swallowed by the sand.” Most children took it as bedtime nonsense, but not Mael. He had heard the bells. Not with his ears—but in dreams that stained his nights like wine spilled on cloth.
The Boy with the Dream Scar
Mael was seventeen, a quiet boy with sand-colored hair and eyes the shade of an approaching storm. He bore a mark on his wrist, a faint crescent like a half-closed eye. His mother said he was born with it. The villagers called it a dream scar—an omen that he belonged to the sleeping city.
He grew up among traders, thieves, and storytellers, in tents patched with time and carpets full of sand. But Mael never felt rooted. His dreams were always elsewhere—wandering, glowing, strange.
When the Sand Spoke
It was during the season of firewinds when the dream changed. Instead of hazy whispers, he saw towers carved of crystal, half-buried in dunes, and streets lit by stars embedded in stone. He awoke with a name in his mouth—“Elurah.”
He asked the village historian, an old woman named Teyra. She frowned and dug through parchment. "Elurah was the name of the queen of Al'Riham," she whispered. "But that city has been lost for a thousand years. Swallowed by the cursed desert.”
The Journey Begins
Something inside Mael cracked open. He packed a waterskin, an old compass, and a pendant he had never taken off—shaped like an hourglass, left by his father who disappeared when Mael was just a baby.
“The sand has no mercy,” Teyra warned. “But perhaps it owes you a story.”
He left before sunrise.
The Trials of the Dunes
Days passed. Heat blistered the skin and cold snapped bones by night. But Mael was not alone. He began to see silhouettes that flickered in the mirage—tall, thin figures draped in silver robes. They never spoke, but they pointed. Always forward.
One night, sheltering beneath a rock arch, Mael dreamed of Elurah again. This time, she looked at him. "You carry the key, child of dust. When the sands open, you must choose: memory or mercy."
The Gate Below
On the seventh night, the compass spun wildly. The dunes around him shifted with unnatural rhythm. He collapsed, half-delirious, atop a stone slab buried beneath the sand.
At dawn, the sand peeled back like fabric caught in wind. Before him stood the entrance—a gate carved into the earth, etched with mirrored glyphs and hourglasses. The same symbol as his pendant.
He descended.
The Sleeping City
What he saw could never be described—architecture like frozen sound, fountains that flowed with starlight, murals that moved when you weren’t watching. The city wasn't dead. It was waiting. Preserved in a moment that never passed.
He wandered, drawn to a hall lined with statues—all bearing his face. Each one slightly different. A Mael who had chosen differently, lived differently. Versions of himself etched in stone.
The Mirror of Echoes
In the heart of the city stood a mirror of obsidian. It pulsed softly. As he approached, it showed not his reflection—but his memories. And then… not just his. His father. His mother. A man placing the hourglass pendant around a baby's neck. Elurah standing watch.
"We are not forgotten," a voice said—not aloud, but everywhere. “You are the memory. And now, the city will wake.”
The Choice
Mael felt it then—the choice she had spoken of. If he stayed, the city would rise. But the world above would forget it ever existed. Or he could leave, and carry the memory back. But the city would sleep forever.
He looked at his reflection. Then at the statues. Then at the starlight dancing on stone.
Epilogue
The village of Daram no longer exists. Maps show only dunes where it once stood. But some nights, travelers crossing the Amaruh Desert hear bells, soft and distant. And sometimes, in dreams, they see a boy with storm-gray eyes holding a pendant shaped like time.
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