🗺️ Ubar—The City of Pillars

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In the Arabian Peninsula, somewhere beyond charted reaches of the desert, a military detachment came into sight of large stone pillars, vast and endless. At first they intended to steer clear—but ravaged supplies and lost communications forced them to settle among the ancient structures.

“What is this place?” asked a soldier, rifle in hand, the rest trailing behind atop weary camels.

“From the looks of it… the City of Pillars,” murmured the sergeant, pulling down his sand-crusted cloth. “Ubar, they call it.”

“Sounds old and forgotten,” said the Lieutenant, leading the platoon through southern Oman.

“Sounds pointless,” another scoffed. Grunts of agreement followed.

Gabriel said nothing then. He merely studied the horizon and the fractured silhouettes of pillars scraping the sky. These stones remember. Places like this don’t survive time—they defy it.

“Regardless, we’ll rest until nightfall,” the Lieutenant declared. “No sense pushing through another sandstorm.”

“Should we search the city?” asked a soldier, moistening cloth for his brow with the last precious drops of his flask.

“I doubt there’s value in it—looks like it’s been sacked,” the Lieutenant said, eyes drawn upward.

The pillars were carved with remarkable skill, buildings and staircases etched impossibly high into their faces. A central temple wasn’t clear, but fallen statues half-swallowed by sand hinted at something sacred.

Gabriel finally spoke: “We should not delve too deep. This place may be cursed, or protected.”

The Lieutenant turned. “You believe in such things?”

Gabriel nodded slowly. I don’t believe. I remember.
He looked back toward the rising pillars. My grandfather vanished chasing tales of Ubar. He left behind only a sketch—a spire of stone drowning in sand.

The rest laughed.

“Briefly search the city,” the Lieutenant ordered. “If you find something, leave it where it is.”

Teams dispersed.

The buildings were ancient, but surprisingly intact. Carved deeply, their stairs remained firm. Rooms were empty—hollowed long ago.

Until they heard the call.

“Sir! Come quick—Assad is trapped!” someone yelled from atop one of the pillars.

Inside a large chamber, Assad lay ensnared in vines—webs of pulsing, root-like tendrils growing from the stone floor.

“Help me!” he cried, writhing.

“What happened?” the Lieutenant asked. He drew his blade and slashed, but the vines resisted. “What is this?”

Gabriel’s face hardened. “This man is dead. Leave him.”

“You’re mad!” shouted the Lieutenant. “They’re just vines—damn them!”

But I knew them. Sinews of betrayal. That was what the stories called them. I saw that same root-shaped symbol in my grandfather’s notes—burned it to forget. But they never forget us.

They tried to pull Assad free. It was no use. The vines grew thicker, harder.

“Help… me…”

The Lieutenant fired his handgun. Still nothing.

Then the vines wrenched—eviscerating Assad in an instant, scattering flesh, bone, and marrow across the room.

Horrified, the men fled. Only Gabriel and the Lieutenant remained.

“Gabriel… what madness is this?”

“We have awakened something. We must leave before it reaches us.”

“No. We press on,” said the Lieutenant.

He stepped toward a pedestal. A sword lay there—rusted and wrapped in what looked like decayed sinew.

“Leave it,” Gabriel warned. “You don’t know what it is.”

But I did. Or sensed it. A relic from the city’s hunger. It wasn’t rusting. It was rotting.

“It calls. I must have it,” said the Lieutenant, voice dimming as vines crept up his boots.

“I’ll leave you to your luck…” Gabriel whispered, sprinting down the stairs, slipping on weathered stone.

He recovered, breath ragged, just as the others arrived.

“Stop, stop! The Lieutenant… he’s mad!”

They pushed past him.

Gabriel watched them vanish, one by one into the room above.

Then: screams. Screeches. Panic.

“What’s happening up there?”

“We must leave!” Gabriel shouted, frozen by a piercing cry from the top.

He saw it—vines spreading, a black mass crawling toward the center.

A pool of darkness formed. From it emerged the Lieutenant—eyes emptied, sword in hand, dripping blood.

“Get away!” Gabriel screamed.

The soldiers below hesitated, frozen by the surreal horror.

The Lieutenant shrieked again—a tremor shook the pillar.

Then Gabriel heard them.

Rats.

Not rats—echoes. A tide of hunger born from memory itself.
They surged through cracks in the walls—half-eaten, rabid, starved.

“Damn it, if it’s not one thing it’s the other,” Gabriel muttered.

He climbed again.

The smell hit first—blood and death soaked into stone.

At the doorway, he saw the aftermath. Limbs strewn, organs scattered. A frenzy of slaughter.

And amid it, a woman knelt.

Devouring flesh.

“A witch?” Gabriel thought, his body freezing.

She turned—eyes glowing orange.

“I… knew it…”

His body stopped obeying. He walked forward—compelled.

Her voice echoed inside him: “This is not your land, man of Solomon. Why do you come here?”

Man of Solomon? What…?
A sharp pain bored into the back of his skull. He staggered.

“I warned them. Their fate is theirs… devoured by rats…” he gasped.

She laughed.

“Rats… all of you. Feeding on the carrion of those before you. Do you dare throw them at me to save yourself?”

Gabriel couldn’t respond. His tongue twisted, his thoughts turned blind. The light of her eyes consumed him.

“What are you… talking about?”

“You truly are an ignorant fool of your past.”

The pain lifted. He collapsed.

“Leave. Never return. Speak not of Ubar or I shall hunt you myself.”

Gabriel passed out.

He awoke to silence. The temple empty. The sword—reset on its pedestal.

Outside, nothing remained. Not bodies. Not camels. Just pillars, as if no one had ever come.

The markings had changed—claw marks, gnawing patterns in stone. Everywhere.

Even without knowing what fate befell the others, the walls spoke plainly.

Alone, Gabriel scavenged. Whatever the rats hadn’t devoured, the desert had.

And so he wandered. Toward the coast.
Toward civilization.
Toward forgetting.
But never fully.

Archivist’s Note: The narrative ends not with a resolution, but with silence. We recommend ritual containment protocols be applied if further analysis is pursued. Do not return to Ubar.