“Damn those sailors!” The vizier cursed as a gust flapped at him, still angry that the crew refused to come any closer, forcing them to take the creaky airship. “May the djinns take ’em!”

“Careful with your wish,” laughed the young prince, “lest the djinns do take them.” Then they’ll never make it back to Cairo alive.

The unforgiving sun, having circled high like an eagle for six straight months, was now hovering low, drenching the dead shoreline with gold. Soon it will be night—for six months.

Centuries passed since godlike soldiers fought with terrible force, pushing sideways the very axis the Earth rotates about. Mankind huddled in a thin habitable strip along the equator; only heat and coldness ruled the remaining landmass.

“We’re approaching an ancient outpost.” The prince took his binoculars. “Wait, no, that’s a statue!”
“Statue?”
“Of a Godess.”

Then the vizier saw: a lonely figure, wearing a thorned tiara, with one arm raised high, as if giving a warning, to those lost and forgotten eons ago…