In the wide desert where stars speak and the earth sleeps in silence, lives a creature no one remembers by name — but all things feel.
They call him the Watcher.
Not because he is fearful… but because he has learned.
His ears flick at the rustle of memory.
His eyes move with the moon.
His head turns, always gently, always scanning — not for danger alone, but for truth.
He remembers what it means to be hunted.
He remembers what it means to be loved, then forgotten.
And he remembers the cost of not paying attention.
So he watches.
He watches the wind carve ancient patterns in the sand.
He watches the cacti hold water like secrets.
He watches the moonrise like it’s a long-lost friend.
Some think he is paranoid.
But really, he is devoted.
Because someone must stay awake.
Someone must remember.
Someone must keep the fire lit, even if it’s only in their chest.
And though he looks alone, he is never lonely.
Because every glance, every twitch, every silent breath…
is a prayer.
A story.
A shield.
He is not just watching the world.
He is guarding its soul.