The bounty hunter walked through a world of silence, their footsteps soft against the endless stretch of sand. Above, the crimson sun began its slow ascent, spilling its tentative light across the spire mountains, whose cracks shimmered faintly like starlight fractured by the weight of dreams yet to awaken.
The air was heavy, filled with an unspoken longing, as if this world itself mourned the passing of the night. The bounty hunter paused, their gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sun’s glow bled into the retreating shadows. It was like a quiet song for the sky surrendering its rest.
As the first full rays of light broke over the sands, they moved on. The spires stood unmoving behind them, ageless and resolute, their jagged silhouettes softened by the dawn’s gentle touch. The wind stirred, carrying not a sound but the faint echo of something unformed, as though the sky’s first breath lingered in the stillness, waiting for the day to give it voice.