August had been walking for about two hours when the road started asking him personal questions.
It began subtly. The stones beneath his feet shifted from their cheerful color-changing routine to forming patterns that looked almost like words. Then the patterns became more definite. Then they became actual words.
"WHO WALKS UPON THE PATH OF CERTAINTY?" appeared spelled out in blue-glowing stones directly in front of his boots.
August stopped walking and stared down at the message.
"Uh," he said to the road, "August Philistine?"
The stones rearranged themselves: "CERTAINTY IS AN ILLUSION, AUGUST PHILISTINE. WHAT IS YOUR TRUE DESTINATION?"
"Well, that's philosophical," August said cheerfully, pulling out the crystalline earplugs Jim had given him. "Good thing I came prepared."
He inserted the philosophical dampeners and immediately felt better. The road's questions became muffled, less insistent, like someone asking deep life questions from the bottom of a swimming pool.
"Much better," August said, resuming his walk. "Thanks, Jim."
The road, apparently frustrated by his reduced receptivity to existential inquiry, decided to try a different approach. The pavement began rising and falling in gentle waves, like a stone ocean. August found himself walking up and down small hills that definitely hadn't been there a moment before.
"MMPH MRMPH MRM EXISTENCE MRMPH," the dampened road mumbled beneath his feet.
"Sorry," August called down to it, "but I'm on a schedule. Maybe we can discuss the nature of reality another time?"
The road sulked for a while, expressing its displeasure by occasionally creating small potholes directly in front of August's feet. But his Foundation monitor flickered green each time, and within seconds he found himself immune to unexpected road hazards. After the fifth failed attempt to trip him, the road gave up and returned to its normal philosophical muttering.
August consulted his map. According to the route Marcus had sketched for him, he should be approaching the edge of the Singing Desert soon. Beyond that lay the Contradiction Forest, and beyond that, the deep zones where Arthur supposedly operated.
"Making excellent time," August told himself, checking his supplies. He still had most of Marta's food, plus the crystalline emergency rations Marcus had given him. His Foundation monitor showed steady green—his immunity system actively working but not strained. "This is definitely going better than Maya's warnings suggested."
The landscape around him was beginning to change. The twisted trees gave way to scrubland, and the scrubland gradually faded into something that looked almost like normal desert, if you ignored the fact that the sand formed elaborate geometric patterns and occasionally hummed in harmony.
August crested a small rise and found himself looking out over the Singing Desert.
It was beautiful.
Rolling dunes of crystalline sand stretched to the horizon, each grain catching and reflecting light in impossible colors. The patterns in the sand weren't random—they formed complex mandalas that slowly shifted and evolved, as if the desert itself was composing music in visual form.
And it was, literally, singing.
Not loudly—more like a gentle humming that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, wordless but somehow familiar, like a lullaby he'd heard in a half-remembered dream.
"Okay," August said, genuinely impressed, "this is actually incredible."
He started down into the desert, following what appeared to be a path marked by stones that chimed softly when the wind passed over them. The sand was surprisingly solid under his feet, and walking was easier than he'd expected.
The singing grew more complex as he moved deeper into the desert. Harmonies layered upon harmonies, creating music that was both alien and deeply moving. August found himself humming along without realizing it, his own voice blending naturally with the desert's song.
His Foundation monitor flickered to green briefly, then settled back to blue. Whatever the desert was doing to him, his immunity system had already adapted to it.
"I could get used to this," August said, walking in rhythm with the music. "It's like having a personal soundtrack for the adventure."
The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in layers of orange and purple that seemed to pulse in time with the desert's melody. August consulted his map and decided to make camp for the night. According to Marcus's notes, the desert was safe to sleep in—the singing would actually help ward off any dangerous wildlife.
He found a comfortable depression between two dunes and set up his bedroll. The crystalline sand was surprisingly comfortable, forming itself into a natural sleeping surface. August ate some of Marta's stew and one of the emergency rations, washing it down with water that tasted faintly of starlight.
As darkness fell, the desert's song changed. The gentle humming evolved into something more complex—not quite words, but definitely communication. August lay on his back, staring up at a sky full of stars that seemed to twinkle in harmony with the music below.
"This is nice," he said to the desert. "Very relaxing. Much better than Maya made it sound."
The sand around him shifted slightly, forming small ridges and valleys that made his sleeping spot even more comfortable. It was like the desert was trying to be a good host.
August closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. For the first time since leaving Edgeharbor, he felt completely at peace. The zones weren't dangerous—they were just different. Beautiful in their own strange way. Full of wonder and mystery and friendly people who'd adapted to impossible circumstances.
He was going to find Arthur, have a reasonable conversation about whatever was troubling him, and probably be back in Edgeharbor within a week with a great story to tell.
What could possibly go wrong?
The desert sang him to sleep with melodies that spoke of ancient sorrows and distant hopes. In his dreams, August walked through landscapes of crystalline beauty, following a figure that stayed always just out of sight, calling his name in a voice that sounded like wind through broken glass.
He woke once, briefly, to the sound of something howling in the distance. But the desert's song grew louder, more protective, and whatever was making the sound moved away. August rolled over and went back to sleep, completely secure in his belief that the zones were looking out for him.
Above him, the stars wheeled through patterns that spelled out warnings in languages he couldn't read. Around him, the sand shifted and flowed, hiding tracks that led toward his sleeping form before being carefully erased.
The Singing Desert kept its vigil, protecting the sleeping traveler from things that moved in the darkness between the dunes. But it couldn't protect him from his own dreams, where voices that sounded like Arthur called his name with increasing desperation, and shadows with too many teeth smiled at his approaching footsteps.
August slept peacefully, unaware that he was being watched by things that counted his heartbeats and measured his breathing, waiting for morning to decide whether he was prey or something else entirely.