The Sleeper Beneath the Dunes

You descend through the fissure, lantern trembling, and find it — vast, scaled, half-dreaming. One ancient eye opens, and recognizes the blood it remembers. You whisper the seven names, and the desert answers in a voice older than thirst.

The leviathan rises. The wastes transform. You speak first in the reborn age — your name carved on every drifting dune.