Mirage of The Desert
Far away, in the burning flame of Saharan sunlight, was a city of resplendent beauty known as Kaza. Often dismissed as a mirage by the weary travellers, it remained an unsolved enigma. Tired eyes which have endured the harsh desert saw iridescent images of floating domes and towers, aflame with all the colors that sunlight could offer. The legend of the city, untouched by time, whispered across the globe enticing an audacious explorer named Walter.
Born and raised in the bylanes of Dublin, Ireland, Walter was a middle-aged man, known for his daring exploits. He had a countenance hardened by his adventures, yet his eyes sparkled with the curiosity of a child. He had mapped the icy landscapes of Antarctica, charted the Amazon rainforest, and traversed the Himalayan heights, but the allure of Kaza fascinated him in a way nothing ever had.
Endowed with his arsenal that included an age-old map, a compass, and a firm resolve, he embarked on his journey towards the heart of the Sahara. Days turned into nights and weeks into months, and each passing sand dune seemed like a harbinger of the forthcoming hardship. Yet, Walter's spirit remained unscathed.
One scorching afternoon, he spotted a faint silhouette at the horizon. With heart pounding with anticipation and apprehension, he journeyed ahead. The silhouette turned into an ethereal image of Kaza, just as the tales had described, its golden spires reaching out for the sky, set against the backdrop of the deep blue desert sky.
The proximity of the city did nothing to abate its surreal aura. If anything, he thought, it grew stronger. However, upon reaching the glorious gates of Kaza, he discovered to his dismay that beneath his touch, the gates dissipated into shimmering dust. The city, so beautiful and tantalizingly close, was as unreachable as a rainbow.
Bereft of hope and consumed by despair, Walter saw the sand at his feet shimmering. On a closer look, he observed it was a golden medallion, half-buried and forgotten in the sand. As he brushed off the granules, the medallion revealed a carving of the city itself, and in the center was inscribed a phrase in an ancient dialect that Walter recognized: 'Only the chosen one may enter.'
In a moment of profound clarity, he realized that the city was not a mirage but merely hidden from eyes it deemed unworthy. With a deep breath, he held the medallied skyward. The golden city responded. The spires glowed brightly, and the once illusory gates solidified, standing majestically to welcome him.
As he walked through the gates, he saw streets paved with gold, pearl-adorned buildings, and gardens blooming with vibrant, radiant flowers. But there were no people. The elusive city of Kaza was an abandoned masterpiece. Walter walked the deserted streets, marveling at the quiet splendor of the city that had stood timeless against the relentless Sahara.
The grandeur of the city was overwhelming, a testament to mankind's architectural prowess and unfathomable riches. Yet, the silent lanes echoed with a profound melancholy. The city was akin to a beautiful song sung to an empty theater.
After weeks spent uncovering the city's materialistic marvels, Walter stood on his departure at the grand gates of Kaza, looking one last time at the city that was a paradox, so resplendently beautiful yet profoundly lonely. He wondered if the city had chosen him not as an explorer but as a companion in its loneliness.
With teary eyes and a heavy heart, he exited the city and watched as it dissolved from a solid entity into an elusive mirage. Like its legend, the city of Kaza became a secret buried in Walter's heart, a tale to be told, a victory to be cherished, and a love mourned in his solitude.