Revolutions

136 - Legido

Perhaps in another life, you might savor the endless horizon, the rich colors spilling across the landscape in every direction. On a peaceful day, you could lose yourself in its beauty, marveling at the jagged peaks cutting into the deep blue sky. The slight chill in the air might even feel refreshing, brushing against your cheeks and weary bones.

But here, in the thick of this brutal march, the beauty feels hollow. It's a serene canvas that masks the slow unraveling of body and spirit. The scenery is nothing more than a distraction. When every step reminds you of how far you still have to go, it's hard to appreciate anything but the fact that this journey is far from over—and that it will only get worse before it does.

Your fellow settlers shuffle forward, heads bowed and eyes fixed on the harsh terrain. You began with well over a thousand—perhaps more—but with each step, the group thins. For every breath drawn in this unforgiving land, another slips away, claimed by fatigue, hunger, or despair. Each death is a quiet subtraction, like a single stone falling from a crumbling wall. Yet as the line of bodies stretches endlessly ahead, the loss of one person feels both monumental and insignificant at once. Does one grain of sand matter when there's a whole beach beneath your feet?

Those who fall are soon swallowed up by the land, becoming part of the barren landscape. Their faces already fade from your memory. The voids they leave behind are absorbed into the vast mass of moving bodies, and yet you feel their absence pressing on your spirit. It's impossible not to, even as you wade through this sea of people. Each loss diminishes the whole.

Still, the numbers that remain are staggering. A thousand lives, perhaps more. How can you reconcile the importance of each soul when you march among so many? And how can you honor the fallen when you know that more will succumb before the day ends? The Great Xiatli's vision may promise something greater, but the journey is a cruel test of endurance. It thins your ranks, grinding each individual into dust beneath the feet of the rest. And so you march forward, hoping that the destination is not just a mirage on the horizon.

The path twists and coils along the jagged slopes. You feel it in your legs, your back, the tightness in your chest—lungs working harder than they ever have. The air is thin, denying you the full breath you desperately desire. Each gust of wind bites, stealing away what little strength remains. This isn't the land your body was built for, a land not meant for human feet.

Past the broken bodies around you, you glance up to the towering mountains that still rise ahead. The sharp and indifferent peaks loom above you. Their stony faces cast long shadows over the endless line of weary settlers. For every step forward, there's a misstep—someone stumbling, slipping, or worse. There's no acclimating to this elevation, not in time. The land feels as though it's rejecting you, pushing you back with every incline. But still, you move. Still, you climb.

You do it because the Great Xiatli leads, and what else is there? He alone knows where this march ends. Like the air here, His promises are thin and distant, but you have no choice but to believe in them. The alternative is as unthinkable, something you wouldn't dare consider.

And so you trudge forward, your limbs heavy, your spirit heavier still. You know that each step could be your last—and you wonder if it would even matter in the end. Somewhere behind you, a body collapses. Gasps pierce the air. Commotion. You don't need to turn around to know what it means. Another life, consumed by the land.

The march feels endless. The horizon is an unmoving line that offers no promise of respite. With each labored breath, you count your steps in a grim tally of how much farther your body can endure. Occasionally, you glance up briefly, observing how the sky shifts to deep amber as the sun begins its slow descent. But it brings no comfort. Only the fading of light, and with it, the knowledge that night will soon press in, colder and more unforgiving than the day.