The sky hung low, a bruised canvas smeared with ash and smoke, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Mara stood on the cracked edge of what had once been a bustling town, now nothing more than a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered glass. The wind whispered through broken walls, carrying the scent of scorched earth and forgotten memories.  Her hands trembled as she tightened her grip on the dented metal canteen-water, the most precious currency in this broken world. Every drop counted. Every drop could mean the difference between life and death.  Beyond her feet, Skull River wound through the desolation like a dark vein, sluggish and stained with secrets. The name was a warning, a promise of blood and loss etched into the land itself.  Once, children had laughed by its banks. Fish had darted beneath its clear surface. The river had been a giver of life, not a harbinger of death. But those days were swallowed by firestorms and ruin, buried beneath the ashes of a world that had forgotten how to live.  Mara's eyes traced the river's path, searching for something-hope, perhaps, or a reason to keep going when everything felt lost

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