The glimmering desert

At the base of the cliffs, past the darkness of the storm and the glimmering desert, lies a doorway to a treasure of creation. What is known throughout the world as the last wonder and lost many years ago to the greed of old people, stolen from the world in a desperate attempt to control the eye. In a plea to return what was lost, he concluded that he had to go to the desert, leave the city, and return the treasure to his city. To save it from falling into a cycle of mundaneness and self-destruction. He left alone, warmed by a single coat and burdened by a single pack. He did not turn around to look back at the city for there was nothing to look back to. The moment it had disappeared over the horizon, it was gone. The terrain wasn't dangerous, nor harsh, nor tall, nor deep. In many ways, it wasn't staggering at all despite the distance that he had to travel. The plains were large and flat, the rivers deep but slow, the forests dense but gentle, and only the wastes remained harsh. But those pockets were easily ignored and passed quickly. Truth be told, it was even impossible to get lost, for nothing was distracting and nothing raced the heart, keeping the traveler in a sense of monotony throughout his walk. Nothing gave him Wonder in this journey, nothing drew the eye.

The only thing that kept him pushing forward was the treasure, that which was once stolen and yet survives. And then in the distance, and possibly small he felt moved. A tear rolled down his cheek, cutting through the Dust that had accumulated on his face throughout his journey. The tears grew and grew as he approached the desert, to such a degree that they soaked his coat and left a trail behind him, cutting through the worthless dust of the waste. For you see: 

The path had taken him through the soft yellows of the tall grassy plains, over the gentle blues of deep rivers, through the shadowy greens of the sprawling forest, and the quiet whites of the empty wastes. In the end, you will reach the glimmering desert at the base of the greatest of mountain ranges. Peaks so tall and steep that clouds and winds converge against the wall and become trapped above the desert. Cliffs made of shimmering, brittle quartz crack, fall and shatter onto the desert below. From the south of the desert comes a powerful jet that lifts up the thousands of shards of crystal and blows them into the air. The clouds, high above, trapped by the mountains, unleash a storm of lighting and glass, turning the particles into countless fractalline spears. Eventually the clouds clear and the sun shines down upon the desert, each ray hitting the sea of spears accumulated at the mountains' base, splitting into a shimmering wave of light and color. The dunes erupt with a cascade of golden yellows like a sunlit field, vivid blues like an endless ocean, deep greens like a verdant jungle, thunderous whites like a towering city, and furious reds like a sky ablaze. A display of brilliant color that climbs even to the peaks of the mighty mountains. The beauty of the glittering desert is fleeting and brief; before long, the clouds will return, as will the storms. The wonder replaced with a wall of darkness, illuminated only with quick, harsh bolts from the storm. Beyond the mountains, there is nothing, nothing that can be as the desert is to the eye.

The greed was apparent, the sin that these old people had done to deserve the loss of their world. They had taken the Wonder. The world had become dull and monotonous, because the people had lost the ability to create the Wonder, to draw the eye, to love the eye. And so he had to leave, to walk a thousand miles just to see something that he would not back home. A wonder beyond his own, one that put the world to shame. And so he abandoned the treasure and turned around. The journey back was treacherous, dangerous, and harsh. The salty waste made any step a risk to take. Whether or not his foot would collapse the thin layer of salt and plunge into the deep water and ruin his equipment, made every movement one of danger. Many sections he had to crawl, scraping his stomach and tattering his cloak, upon the uneven surfaces of the unforgiving wastes. covering the surface of salt, were piles of powdered salt, as the harsh winds had cut the salt and spread it over the uneven ground, leaving a snow-like covering over the wastes. The jungle was tall and dark, spreading its canopy High blocking out the sun and moon, it was alive with the sounds of the million creatures talking. From the smallest insect to the greatest of jungle cats the jungle moved. The light that did cut through the thick canopy came down and beams and pillars, illuminating the only flowers on the jungle floor as those were the only areas that got enough light to support the delicate petals. Teaming with every danger imaginable, from poison to claws, the jungle was a living thing making the eye move frantically left and right and the ears perk to just survive a moment more. To escape the jungle, roaring rapids would have to be crossed. Removing his cloak and pack, cutting it into strips, and tying them together he crafted a rope. Casting the rope over the river he managed to wrap it around a small tree in the planes beyond. After that, the river became a desperate struggle for survival. A terrifying thought that at any moment his makeshift rope would snap and he would be lost among the current. Dragging himself to the bank he had made it to the gentle plains. The gentle flowing grass or a tremendous relief to see after his trials before him. Dragging himself through the final Chapter, he arrives home to a city. He had returned with this Treasure of wonder.