The Seed.

​

Birth into a bitter and dead world. A crying newborn born into the heat of a radiated summer. Morachia we call her, with Mother and Father beaming over the small one. Her arrival was no easy feat and her welcome into the tribe had been awaited nine long months. She’s a part of the Solsedan of Sunring, a small group of primal scavengers from the cratered lands. The family of Sunring are small but strong with patriarchal leadership and deep traditions. The Sol are blessed in communication, mysticism and the strength of the sun. The elder-sol tell stories of how the craters came to be, through their own interpretation and how the sun watches over the family and rests at night. Solsedan are bound to the earth, the sun and all in between. As Sol, it is customary to travel to one of the craters each day, to give thanks to the burning sphere and meditate on the energy of the earth. The sol worship the crater - they call it the eye of the earth, the mouth of the desert, the ring made by the bright sun and fire.

​

Many suns and many moons had passed overhead, helping grow the sprout that was the radiated summer child. She studied and learned the ways of her family, most importantly, that of the scribe. Her father and a small handful were the only family left with the knowledge of writing and documenting stories. She would be the one to carry this tradition after all had passed. But for now, her studies had ended and the shortline to the crater had begun. Morachia always enjoyed the sacred time of meditation. But more importantly she reveled in her future ritual to take place in the largest crater of all, named Sedan. Her transition would be upon her soon. Seventeen radiated summers and nuclear winters have proven her grace of spirit and her strength of knowledge. 

 

The wind embraced the valley, her hair spiraled around her crown, her woven dress dancing about. She walked up to the vast sunken empty, the mouth of the desert and released her breath. It was a beautiful, powerful and humbling place. She sensed it...an old energy felt. Eyes closed. Warm stone in hand. Chest rising and falling. Stone thrown. “Sol guide me.” 

​

---

Escape.

​

Broken chain, bruising, exhaustion followed by sunlight and a breath of the freshest air she had in a long while. Morachia slowly descended down the hill behind The Grave. Praying to the old gods she wasn’t spotted or recaptured. Surely she would have perished if found. The drop was steep in some areas and she minded her footing carefully, only to take a moment to look out to the Acid Plains. She swelled with feeling. A bittersweet moment of distant and recent memory. How things have changed… Morachia finally reached the far reach of the valley, looking back to the towering and torturous raider fortress. 

 

With dry breath she whispered the reminder, “They can break you, but not your promise.” Turned heel. Squinted eyes. Parted lips. Closed eyes. She remembered the promise, but where was the closest Safehaven? The Sol had set up a few south of Vegas and they shouldn’t be far. 

 

Halloran - Southwest of Vegas and not too far from The Grave. She wouldn’t make it very long in this environment without some supplies. The rags given to her did little to protect her skin from the fiery sphere. She could hear the rumble of guzzoline echo through the canyon. There must be a Grave Horde convoy somewhere close searching to reclaim escaped slaves. She must hurry and get out of their stronghold as soon as possible. Quickened pace along the edge of the valley would find her near the safehouse soon enough. 

 

“Gas and liquor. If only…” Morachia entered the small decrepit building. Decorated with peeled paint, debris everywhere and dust piling on all corners and surfaces. She walked into the backroom and luckily it looked as though no one found the cache of supplies. Her father’s scavenging crew from Sunring supplied hidden caches throughout the area. Most had been claimed at this point since her family had been long gone. She was sure to discover their fate soon.  

 

---

The Return.

 

Morachia painfully walked the Longline from The Grave to the beginning. The place where the seed sprouted, the tells were told and the sun made beautiful rings in the earth. Sunring had long since been destroyed, but there were still traces of memory in what remained. She found the ruins of her childhood home. All of those years, no way of knowing what was to come. The death, the destruction, the betrayal. All of the beautiful cloth her mother wove, turned to dust. The stories on the walls, blackened by smoke. 

 

She felt faint from loss and her wounds, trying to steady herself on a wall that remained but she knew it was time to dream. Heart pounding, soul heavy, breathing weak, her eyes began to roll to the back of her head and she collapsed in the doorway, falling into a fever dream. 

 

Screams. Metal on Metal. Flesh on Flesh. The cage. All for just a brief moment. Morachia writhed in her fever, fallen on the ashy ground beneath her, hands clenched, drenched in cold sweat. A dust storm swept through what was left of Sunring and the wind swirled around her like a passionate embrace. She took a deep breath, and the cage disappeared with a valley taking its place. A vast desert wasteland with a beautiful shining light. A quarry in the distance, two hillsides towering above a sacred place. A hovel, adorned with woven rags, burnt bottlecaps and eyes. The colors of the woven rags seeping into her soul, burnt oranges, rusts, browns and blacks. The rich texture, a rich history. 

 

A beautiful woman approached from an ornately textured hovel. “I’ve seen you in dreams... Gemini. You are split, like the celestial twins. One twin holds your suffering, the other holds your spirit. Will you stay there broken on the floor, or will you fight for your spirit and find yourself again? Listen to the wind and seek us.”

​

To be continued...