The hybrid creature—a bizarre amalgamation of pill bug, armadillo, and pug—rumbled across the cracked landscape, its odd, armored body rolling effortlessly over the stone as it sped forward. The woman’s fingers gripped the man’s waist tightly, her arms wrapped around him for support as the creature continued its steady pace. They passed by the remains of what was once a thriving city—now only silent, lifeless statues. Stone forms of people, frozen forever in their last moments, now littered the path, their faces contorted in terror.

The man didn’t flinch as they rode past them. His eyes, half-obscured by the brim of his hat, were focused ahead, the weight of centuries behind them. The woman’s gaze swept over the statues, each one telling a story of a world lost to time—a world that, to her, had only ever existed in fragments, half-remembered in the stories passed down through generations. Yet, now, they were here, riding through a place so far removed from hope that it almost felt like a dream.

"I know what you're thinking," the man said, his voice low, barely carrying above the hum of the creature’s movement. "Two lone riders in a broken world."

The woman didn’t reply immediately. She tightened her grip around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back, trying to shake off the chill that had settled in her bones since they had crossed into these lands. She had never been to this part of the world, but she had heard the stories. Of course, everyone had. But hearing it firsthand, feeling it with every mile they traveled through the desolation—she had no words for the weight of it.

"I know," he continued, his voice growing distant as if speaking to himself, "you’re probably thinking this is the end. That there’s nothing left. But we’re still here. Aren’t we?"

The woman didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure how to answer that. Could it still be called "life" when all that remained were the memories of what had once been? Or was this simply survival—one long, drawn-out existence in a world that had already died?