The sand shifted over Levy’s boots, finding their course with the subtlest of changes in the wind. All around him, a vast expanse of dunes rose and fell in a gentle lull. Their harmony was only occasionally disturbed by patches of bare rock that jutted out against the horizon. Some rose high into the sky above, a sure landmark in the ever-changing landscape. Others just barely peeked their way through the surface, though the inevitable shift of the winds would surely bury them. On a truly rare occasion, pieces of tech, uses long lost to the passing of time, would make their way to the top only to be snatched up by an eager scrapper passing by. Though he was one of the few individuals who still frequented the wasteland for this purpose, that wasn’t why he’d ventured this time.

“Why am I here?” He wondered aloud.

As if answering his question, the wind whipped around his cloak, circling his feet and tearing his hood from his head. With it, the distant whisper of voices washed over him. They were quiet, but many. So many he couldn’t make out any of what they were saying, but it felt as though they were calling him, beckoning him deeper into the vast expanse of rock and sand. Or maybe somewhere beyond that.

Levy knew it was crazy. The only thing you would find making it to the edge of the desert were cliffs. Tall, towering cliffs that blocked the path of anyone who dared to think there was anything beyond the wasteland. In fact, he could see them on the horizon, taller than any rock that stuck out of the dunes. People had tried time and time again to climb them, to escape, but failed. Most people had stopped trying.

Levy knew it was crazy, but he felt an unexplainable pull towards the edge of the desert.

Staring into the distance, he couldn’t help but start to make his way towards the cliffs. Step by step, he made his way closer, but as he did, the sand surged up around his feet, dragging him down by the ankles. He fell to his knees, clawing at the sand in front of him as a feeling of panic rose in his stomach. Desperately, he tried to pull himself free, but to no avail. Eyes fixed on the distant cliffs, they still felt hopelessly far away and they were the last thing he saw before the sand swallowed him, dragging him deep into its depths.

And he was awake.

Levy bolted upright, eyes wide with fear as his chest pounded, heart racing from the intensity of the dream. He rubbed his tired eyes with the balls of his hands, letting out a sigh to calm himself down. The inside of his tent was warm and the early morning sun was starting to flicker over the horizon, promising an even warmer rest of the day. He unzipped the flap that shielded him from the outside world and stepped out onto the tall flat rock he called camp - at least for that night. In reality, he was met with the same dry wasteland as he frequently found himself in his dreams. The only difference was that, here, the likelihood of the sand dragging you down by surprise was slim. There simply wasn’t enough moisture to make quicksand. Thankfully. Wasting no time, he packed up his tent and its contents, storing it not-so-neatly in his rucksack. After a good while of wrestling and finagling, he buckled his pack closed and took a moment to look around him.

Much as he expected, the sands shifted overnight, to his benefit and detriment. On the up-side, the 25-foot climb he’d made to reach the top of the landmark spire, as they were often called, was now only about a 10 foot belay to reach the bottom. That part was easy. Most landmark spires had bolts drilled into them for scrappers and other wasteland wanderers to use to climb them. If there was one thing anyone experienced in the desert would know, it was that you didn’t want to find yourself without a landmark spire to call camp while you slept. With the wrong weather, you’d be buried before you knew it. Speaking of buried, Levy could see the downside of the previous night's weather before he’d even started climbing. His speeder was thoroughly buried.

Levy grumbled with frustration, untying its tether from the top bolt before making his way to the ground. Fortunately, he’d remembered to tie it off at all. It was a rare occasion when he’d forget but a more than unpleasant find in the morning. Spending an hour, potentially more, digging a speeder out of the sand wasn’t the most welcoming way to start the day. Granted, pulling a speeder from the sand wasn’t great either, but it was certainly less time-consuming. Once it was freed from its sandy prison, Levy swung a leg over the vehicle's body, sitting down. He pinned his violet-tipped bangs back against the top of his head against the rest of his dusty blond hair as he flipped the on switch. A plethora of sounds erupted from the conglomeration of scrap and new tech. It hissed and whirred as it always did when the engine got itself going and a steady hum emanated from the vehicle as it started to hover. As it did, the vehicle's two large, flat wheels began to pulse with energy, vibrating the sand below them in a steady rhythm.

Then it started to click awkwardly and the whole thing shook as the obvious malfunction stressed its internal mechanisms. Levy scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows in distaste before giving the thing a few good thwacks to the side, just in front of one of his knees. With that, the odd sounds dissipated and he revved the engine a few times, making sure it had rid itself of any extra sand that might make his trip longer than anticipated. Before he left, he did a quick check over all the things strapped to his speeder. One lost pouch would mean a week's worth of lost scrap which would mean a weeks worth of lost wages. Not ideal. He gave a nod of satisfaction and pulled his goggles over his violet eyes. Satisfied with his findings, he set off, sending a subtle trail of scattered sand behind him. Every now and then, he fiddled with the navigation, pressing the buttons around the fuzzy screen to orient himself. Although the built-in compass had stopped working, he’d fixed one onto the left side handle to accommodate.

By the time he reached his destination, the sun had risen well into the sky, beating down on the largest city in the wasteland. Compared to most other places, it was impressive, but Levy only found it suffocating. Not only was the place packed with people, but the buildings were cramped as well. There was a large dry spot in the desert that, for whatever reason, the sand hadn’t invaded and people intended to use it. There were few places in the desert where a permanent settlement could be made and this was one of them. Constructed of scrap metal, lost tech, new tech, rock, and anything else builders could get their hands on, Foolshope had been a beacon of prosperity for ages. It had been that way for as long as Levy could remember. It had been big back then and was only growing as time went on.

“5 coin for parking.” A nearby worker drawled as Levy approached.

He slowed, pulling his hood over his head before dismounting quickly. In the stable, there was a menagerie of speeders parked with a few spaces open here and there. Many of them looked to be in much better condition than his, but he didn’t mind. His had gotten him this far and probably worked better than the newer, fancier types. Materials weren’t exactly in abundance and many companies made new products just to make a profit, not caring about their quality. Homemade speeders were the best in Levy’s opinion, though perhaps he was a bit biased. He quickly rummaged through the many pouches that hung around his belt and plopped 5 small, square-shaped coins into the employee’s waiting hand.

“Any free spot you can find.” They said, idly waving a hand as they moved back to their shaded station nearby.

Levy pulled his bike into the closest open spot he could see and tied it to the post. Not that it needed it. It wouldn’t go anywhere without the key that he kept stashed in his pack… somewhere. Looking around the stable, he was relieved to find it empty of people other than himself. He removed his goggles and closed his eyes. Not much longer, he felt his fingertips start to tingle with magic and a dark brown faded over the violet of his hair. When he opened his eyes again, they were the same color as the tips of his hair. This was the hardest part of coming back to the city. Not necessarily maintaining the magic. No. It was maintaining the facade of being just another scrapper, just another person, just like everyone else.

With a sigh, he unclipped the pouches that sat on either side of the bike and heaved them over a shoulder. To his disappointment, there was a line at both of the city gates, though they weren’t long. There were three in total, but only two of them were for pedestrian traffic and both were guarded. The process to get into the city wasn’t that much of a hassle, but when he was bringing in scrap, it became tedious. He let his arms fall to the side, dropping the pouches with a clank. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited.