The Kings of Nowhere

We’ve been here a couple of days now. At first, I thought maybe we’d found it—the place she’s been chasing. The land from her dreams. It has the feel of something new, something untouched. But something doesn’t sit right with me. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there. The air feels heavy, like it’s waiting for something. Like the land is holding its breath, unsure whether to welcome us or swallow us whole.

Imelda, she’s as bright as ever, hopeful as always. She says this is it. She says this is where everything changes. But she doesn’t know how to unlock the rest of the vision. It’s like the last piece of the puzzle is right in front of us, but it won’t fall into place. She can feel it too, I think. She’s searching, like she’s waiting for some sign to tell her that this is the place where the world turns around. That this is where the future begins.

But I don’t know. The ground’s soft, the air’s still. There’s nothing alive here, not in the way that should be. Not yet. It’s just… quiet. Too quiet. A waiting kind of silence, like everything’s paused, just before the inevitable comes crashing down.

Still, I watch her, and part of me believes. How could I not? She’s fought so hard for this. She’s dreamed of it every night. This place—it means everything to her. She wants to see it bloom. To see the promise she’s been holding on to for so long come to life. I want to believe it too. I do. But deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re on the edge of something we don’t understand.

And then they came.

Out of nowhere, just as I expected. The Kings of Nowhere. They didn’t announce themselves, didn’t need to. The land trembled when they arrived. I felt it in my bones before I even saw them. The heavy silence of the place shifted, filled with the weight of something dangerous. I knew they were coming. I knew they would. We’re not the only ones searching for what’s left in this world. But I didn’t think they’d find us here. I didn’t think they’d find Imelda’s dream.

They came on their blackened horses, like ghosts, like the last remnants of a dying world, dragging their darkness behind them. Raiders. Kings. Lords of nothing but destruction. The land doesn’t belong to them, but they think it does. They think they can take it, like they’ve taken everything else. I can see it in their eyes. There’s no life in them, no soul. They’ve come to feed on what little hope is left, and I know that once they claim it, there won’t be anything left for us.

Imelda looks at them, still hopeful, still holding on to the dream. She doesn’t see it yet, but I do. I see their hunger. They’re looking for something—looking for a piece of this land they can carve out and call their own. I don’t know if they understand what they’re dealing with, but they’ll soon find out that they’re wrong to think they can have it. The land doesn’t belong to them. It never will.

They stand in front of us now, and the tension is thick. Imelda hasn’t wavered. Her faith hasn’t broken. She’s still searching for the key, still searching for the moment when this place becomes what she’s seen in her dreams. But I see it clearer than I ever have: this land will not bend to them. It will not be claimed by their greed. Not without a fight. Not if I can help it.

We stand in the shadow of their arrogance, and I know that this is the moment. The moment where we make our stand. They think they can rule here. They think they can take what doesn’t belong to them. But this world, this wasteland—it belongs to the ones who fight for it. And I’m not going to let them win.

Not now. Not ever.

They came on blackened horses, a horde with hunger in their eyes,
Raiders of the wasteland, bearing chaos as their prize.
The scent of fertile soil, the lure of green among the bones,
Awakened the kings of nowhere, with hearts as hard as stones.
Their shouts cut through the quiet, their blades thirsty for the fight,
A storm of rage and malice in the dying, desperate light.


Imelda clutched my arm and said, “This is our cross to bear,
Stand your ground, my Lazarus, let them taste our will to dare.”
But I felt the weight of every soul who’d perished in this game,
A final battle in a world where no one ever wins the same.
The ground trembled beneath our feet as their war cries filled the air,
A reckoning for all our sins—a fate we couldn’t help but share.

Stand up, stand tall—this is our fight,
We face the darkness in the dying light.
Together, even the damned can rise—
In a world of ashes, our defiance never dies.

“Lazarus,” she whispered, “this is not the end,”
A challenge to the fates, a vow to never bend.

They struck with fire and fury, a storm of lead and flame,
And I roared in defiance—no more a pawn in fate’s cruel game.
Bullets sang a deadly hymn, each note a bitter score,
As I stood amidst the chaos, determined to settle every score.
I called out her name, but fate would have its say—
Imelda’s chair rolled on into the dark, far, far away.

In the heart of the carnage, I fought like a man possessed,
Every scar a testament to the life I’d left suppressed.
I knew this was my reckoning—a price to pay in blood,
Yet every swing of my worn-out fists was filled with grudging love.
The night was long, the battle fierce, but my resolve would not rescind,
For I’d chosen this life of ruin, yet found a cause worth fighting for in the end.


Run, Imelda, run like the wind—
Your destiny’s calling beyond this din.
I’ll hold them off till my breath runs thin,
So you can chase the dream you’re destined to win.