Wasteland Novels & Stories

He said smilingly, “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. Head back to the Crepe Myrtle Sword Pavilion and wait for us there.” “Mr. Jaxon, the Barren Wasteland is a really sinister place.” Yanina looked at Walganus worriedly. Walganus smiled and said, “I’ve adventured many sinister places before. I don’t believe this Barren Wasteland can take me down.”

Chapter 42: Whispers in the Desolation Xal'dar trudged through the desolate wasteland that was once Xylos. The vibrant forests he remembered were replaced by a twisted mockery of nature – skeletal trees clawed at the blood-red sky, and the ground was littered with the shattered remnants of buildings. A chilling wind howled, carrying with it the mournful echoes of a world lost.

But I also saw, in my mind’s eye, the towers rising in Nova Bastion, the highways crossing the desert, the faces of children waving to our signal drones. Aeternum isn’t one city, one nation, or even one people anymore. It’s everywhere we bring light. And the Wasteland? It’s just another star in the constellation. We used to say the sky in the Wasteland had a color of sorrow. It was always pale. Always quiet. No rain, no clouds, just the sun hanging above like a judge watching a trial that never ends. The land—cracked, brittle, and spiteful—gave us nothing but dust and thorns. The seeds we planted died in silence. The only thing

The title on it was 'wasteland ' . ''Wasteland '' he uttered taking out the book from the shelf and reading the first page . After some minutes he was reading through the entire book , .'' So wasteland is a world where mythical things like fairies lives ? do they really exist ?'' he was confused . Then in the middle of the pages he found a note . Being curious he unfolded it . There was a coordination written there along with a symbol . '' What is this coordination ? and this symbol it looks like a full moon does'nt it ?'' he mumbled .

The campfire at the edge of the Obsidian Plateau was a lonely, flickering eye in a world that was rapidly turning to ash. It didn’t crackle with the cheerful snap of pine or cedar; instead, it hissed as the grey dust of the Wastelands drifted into the embers, turning the flames a sickly, necrotic green. Around the fire, the silence was a physical weight, a suffocating shroud that made every breath feel like a labor.

The wind which blew across the middle eastern desert slapped sand particles painfully against the skin and blew ferociously hot, but somewhere in the vast Arabian desert not far from the city, in the tent of Omar bin Khalid bin Aaban, the wind outside was like a cool winter breeze compared to the tension that stretched thin within and fanned a burning heat which was slowly developing. He stood tall a little distance away from his father who sat on a soft cushioned pillow, legs crossed and eyes closed, anger evident on his old wrinkled face. Omar was being impossible.

I opened my eyes, the rusty ceiling and the faint smell of dirt on my room greeting me an early morning. I got up from my dirty mattress which is my bed and walked towards the tilted window allowing the sun to shine all over me. The early birds chirping outside greeting me on the starting of the day. "AMARA" my mom shouted warning me to wake up and get started with my work. I sighed. Already knowing that the day will be a hectic one.

The Waste Lands, hell on earth, the nature of this doughty landscape. It’s the only place ever known to allow crime prevail in its full potential; there are four towns in this desert land, separated by a day’s ride. Each town has its head but under the lord of the Waste Lands, Goru Sein, a ruthless man with no regard for human life.

"I know I sound crazy, but you have to believe me when I say that I have a bad feeling. I know something is wrong. I need to get to him." Adam's mother thinks again about my words. It's as if I can see her thoughts processing through the black of her eyes. "Alright," she says. "Let's go. Come on." She drives us down a road I've never been on before, and it suddenly turns to dirt. I realize it's because I've never been this north of Waindale, an area close to the mountains and blanketed by dense forest. The ground is uneven and rocky, bouncing me around in my seat. When I stare out at the trees, they seem to carry on forever, never thinning out, only becoming thicker, so close that they seem

The temperature dropped drastically, the wind that blew felt colder, piercing the skin's surface. The trees swaying in the wind dance a dance of death that is both beautiful and magical, their dance accompanied by the sound of dry leaves, and the leaves singing as the wind blows them. The hoarse singing was muffled, their singing was like a muffled screams. It was like someone who wanted to scream with his neck choking hard, someone who was in a transitional period between life and death. They sang and danced as if it was the end of the world. The last day that humanity can taste before everything is destroyed with nothing left