Page 22 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
But the feeling stayed. She knew he was still out there. She had seen him.
Okay. So. The Yucca Man is real. And apparently hot. That’s... fine. That’s completely fine.
But what was he? She knew the legends, but none of them equaled what she had seen, or made any sense of how she felt. He was not a monster. She could see that very clearly. But she also could see that he was not entirely human. What was their connection?
She turned from the window and grabbed a journal from the table. It had no date, just a bookmark of red twine and sun-warped pages. Her fingers flipped with the urgency of someone trying to stop herself from thinking.
Halfway through, a passage snagged her attention.
The land remembers him.
He was once a man. I believe that. But he’s not anymore. The desert made him something else.
A Guardian, maybe. Or a warning.
He doesn’t haunt this place. He anchors it. Moves through it like gravity, not ghost.
He waits. Not because he’s lost.
But because he can’t leave until the one who’s meant to follow him finally does.
Her breath hitched. She read it again.
The one who’s meant to follow him.
Her.
It felt stupid to think it, but the truth was already forming in the center of her chest, expanding each moment that she remained in the desert. The dreams, the footprints on the porch, the stone in her hand. Opal telling her of the pact, one to guard and one to bloom. These weren’t coincidences. They were a map. A pull towards something.
She sat back down on the bed, knees drawn up. The room felt too small now, claustrophobic. She rubbed the smooth stone with her thumb. It felt alive under her touch. Her fingertips tingled where they’d clenched the stone. A slow warmth spread through her chest, not soothing, but… expectant. Like something inside her had started to listen back. She felt different, changed.
Tomorrow, she’d go back. She’d find him and get her questions answered, once and for all.
A high, lonesome howl split the dark, a coyote off in the distance sending a warning call.
Nora pressed the obsidian to her chest and let its chill settle her. Outside, the air had cooled. Inside, her skin still burned. Her mind drifted loose, unspooling.
***
Sleep didn’t just take her that night. It claimed her.
Like a descent into warm water, slow and total. Like remembering something she wasn’t supposed to.
It began with sound.
A low hum. A vibration, like heat rising off stone. It moved through her ribs, her throat, her hips. Her limbs tingled. Her breath thickened. The hum wasn’t outside her. It was her.
Then, scent.
Sage. Smoke. Rain on dust. Wet earth after a years-long drought.
And then, form.
He rose from the sand like something the land had dreamed up. He didn’t step. He emerged.
A silhouette at first. Shifting. Unstable. She saw him clearer this time. Part man. Part something older. Shoulders too broad. Hair long and dark, caught in some invisible wind.
His eyes burned.
