The night after the dust storm, I walk out into the desert. I spot the light on the horizon, a distant red dot like a fading star.
After a night and day of walking, I reach the source: a gigantic face nearly buried in the sand, fallen with only a single glowing eye visible. The last god-kings made it from metal they pulled from the stars to be an oracle that remembered them forever.
I bow before the half-sunken face and beg it to teach me of the old world. It replies in a language that no living person understands.

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