Author's Note: Thank you for taking an interest in my story. You may come across discrepancies between my work and canon dialogue and facts. In many cases I do this on purpose because a lot of what happens in my stories reflects how things are shaped in days to come. That's not to say I don't make mistakes now and then. Regardless, hope you all enjoy. Also check out my other stories if you like. Please review!

The year is 2250. A devastating force is rising, carving its way across the American southwest ushering in a new era of total war in attempts to unite the people beneath one banner. A man calling himself Caesar leads the enormous hoard of unrestrained men, like swarming beasts leaving behind a wake of destruction, violence and terror. After their parents along with the rest of their tribe is slaughtered, Athos and Aramis, the Chieftains children are taken to a place where they will need to embrace the ideologies of their aggressors as they age and grow or face a fate that only death would relieve them from.

Solace in Sand chronicles the Legion and its rise and development to be a formidable force in the American southwest. Read how things came to be. Where new and familiar characters got their start and how many will meet their end.

SOLACE IN SAND

A coyotes sorrowful yip called out in the night ushering its mate to the kill. Jaws snapped as meat tore from bone appealing to the insatiable appetite of the hunting pair. The moon was just a sliver in the dark ink sky, clouds of dust weaved in the air snuffing out the stars. The night air was cool, a welcoming change from the choking heat the day had brought in the harsh climate of the American Southwest.

Red rocks rose from the earth like pillars as if holding up the very sky. Deep fissures carved their way through the landscape, weaving through the most dense of rock. The bottom of the deepest canyons saw no light of the sun and nothing grew at their depths.

It was a treacherous place to live but the hardened people who chose to inhabit the wastes here were a sturdy, rugged people who knew how to make the most of it. They called themselves the Painted Rock Tribe. Little was known of how they came to be, it was a time many chose to ignore and dismiss altogether. It wasn't until they began etching their stories on the walls of the chasm that enclosed their home that they began to illustrate their place in time.

Massive murals in deep black paint made of various materials one found in these parts decorated the stone walls of the canyon. Scenes of great hunts, hard winters and animals at play were breathtaking sights to the bold wanderer who found themselves so far from anything remotely civilized.

The Painted Rock Tribe were a peaceful group, respecting the life of all and raising families in a sheltered upbringing. They had simple ideologies and prospered because of wise decisions and skilled leadership. The Chieftain was the most skilled hunter and warrior. His job, like that of an Alpha male of a Deathclaw pack, was to simply protect his brood and raise his young. He took only one wife, the matriarch, and raised his children with those of the other families.

The terrain brought with it a sense of security. Little could bother them here apart from a bold raiding party or a feral creature, though nothing made any scar on the tribe.

Night was the calmest part of all in the camp. The only sounds from each household were the subtle breaths of sleeping children nestled in thick animal furs at their parents side while warming fires crackled in their hearth. Smoke carried up through the center opening in the ceiling of the tent. Embers crackled and flames licked up at the hazy sky. The wind had picked up blowing hard and slapping against the fabric of the tent where the Chieftain, his wife and two children no older than six, slept. Pages of a book that had been placed on the floor beside the bed flipped over and over in the breeze.

The peace and tranquility came to a halt when the cracking of guns caused everyone to rise.

The children, a boy and a girl, were just about flung from their bed when their father rose up suddenly and reached for the hunting rifle he always kept beside their bed. The man screamed something back to his wife, a word neither child understood that sounded like 'Legion,' before dashing out of the tent with his own rifle ready to meet the interlopers.

Their mother scooped each small child up under each arm and raced out of the tent before it burst into flames.

"My book!" The young girl cried out but her mother cut back.

"Keep quiet!" she ordered her children.

The night had come alive in a brilliant display of fire and carnage. Bodies littered the ground everywhere the woman stepped, their familiar faces staring up at the children but their eyes were vacant and lifeless. The woman stayed to the shadows moving from tent to tent. The children's eyes scanned the scene before them with immense interest.

"Shadows," the small boy whispered to his sister.

She gasped at the word her brother dared to speak.

Stories told around the campfires always warned the children of the dangerous creatures known as Shadows out in the wastes. They were monsters that hid in the dark and would take children away from parents and eat their toes, according to the adults. The stories were often so frightening that the Chieftain's children had taken to sleeping in their parents beds at night.

The young girl's eyes went wide with fear. Friends, family and neighbours all seemed to be fighting with the creatures known to the children as Shadows. It had to be Shadows. Nothing else would attack their village this late in the night.

Their mother continued to hurry from tent to tent until she entered the one furthest away from the ensuing battle. She placed the children down and extinguished the small torch that had been burning inside.

"Athos! Listen to me!" the woman barked turning her attention to the boy.

Athos, who had been trying to catch a glimpse at the commotion outside the tent felt a hand grab him by the shoulder, hooking into his muscle and yanking him back to face her.

"You will look after your sister! You wont let anything happen to her! Do you hear me?!"

Her tone was quick, harsh and desperate. Athos wondered if he was in some kind of trouble. She often reserved this kind of voice for moments when he had displeased her.

His eyes flashed to the young girl beside him, his sister, who reached for her brother's hand and squeezed it tightly. Athos looked back to his mother when she knelt at the feet of her two children and pulled their tiny bodies close to her own. Athos felt his mother's breath on his neck and her tears on his cheeks.

"Its okay mom. Shadows can't get children who are with their parents," Athos assured her.

Her eyes welt with tears as her face turned splotchy. He barely recognized the once kind, softened features of his mother.

The glow of the fires outside cast an eerie light in the tent. Their shadows danced on the animal skin walls. In that moment, his mother's words drowned out the screams coming from outside.

"I love you so much but I wont be with you any longer. You need to grow up now, children. Be brave and be strong. Always be there for each other most of all," she told them.

Athos couldn't explain what was taking place.

His mother spoke to them like this was the last time she ever would. Her voice carried just above a whisper and her words turned to quiet sobs. 'Why was she so upset?' Athos thought. Papa had always said the ones thing the Shadows feared were himself and now he was out there protecting the tribe from the crazed creatures. Everything would be alright.

"Be strong my children. Be brave. No matter what happens I will always love you. You have each other. So long as you have the other, nothing can hurt you," she told them again.

Athos watched as his mother took her small carving knife she used every day to prepare meals for the tribe in her hand. He thought she was going to hurt his sister when his mother brought the knife to the little girl's head but instead; she began to cut the child's hair.

The small girl winced.

"Mama it hurts!" she cried but their mother continued to hack at the girl's long, sleek hair.

It took a few seconds but when the woman was finished, his sister was unrecognizable with messy short dirty blonde hair. Their mother whisked off the girl's clothes and tossed her in something similar to her brothers.

"From now on, you're a boy, do you hear me? Athos, you're to call her Aramis," she explained.

"Like the book you read us?" Athos asked. His mother smiled.

"Yes, like in the book. Just like your name," she explained with tear filled eyes.

"Why am I a boy?" Aramis asked.

Their mother looked cold and stoic.

"My dear, if anyone finds out you're a girl, they will kill you," she exaggerated. She knew the real threat that followed her daughter. A life of slavery, and reproduction; hardships no woman should bare."You're strong my daughter. I have taught you all I can to prepare you for this. You have your brother. He will make sure you behave properly, wont you Athos?" she asked.

The young boy nodded curtly.

She was so proud of them. She prayed she had made them strong enough to face what lay ahead.

"Now, stay here no matter what you hear outside. When everything is quiet, you may come out, but only when it is quiet."

"Why are you scared, Mommy?" Aramis' soft and gentle voice asked.

"I'm not sweetie. There's nothing to fear," the woman lied but kept a caring smile glued to her face.

The two children, confused by the events of the night, simply nodded in unison and stared doe eyed at their mother. After one last rib-crushing embrace, their mother left the tent shutting the Brahmin skin flap behind her keeping the images outside a secret to curious eyes inside.

Still, they did as their mother instructed. Even as the screams grew louder and the heat from the fires began to make the tent uncomfortable for them to remain, they did as they were told. If they didn't, mother would be furious and the consequences of disobeying would be worse then the heat.

After many hours things began to quiet and the light of the fires was replaced by the light of day. Suddenly the flap of the tent was pushed aside and a strange figure stood before the children. He was tall, brawny and a stranger in the children's eyes. Thick leather armour hugged each defined muscle. He was unlike anything they had ever seen but there was still a sense of familiarity. The man wore brilliant red and gold fabric that many would mock as a dress, but they knew better. Their mother had read them stories, so many stories of men in armour much like his: Knights, Gladiators, Heroes of their dreams. This man wasn't the scary, monstrous Shadows they had been warned about time and time again.

The children stood very still even as the man came closer. He filled the tent with the aroma of a burnt campfire. The sweat on his skin glistened in the early morning light. A bandana covered his mouth and the lack of compassionate smile when he saw the two children. Dark goggles covered his inquisitive eyes that sized up each small body in front of him. He wore a rather unusual helmet that plumed black feather around the top. A large scar carved down his left arm trailing from his shoulder right down to his wrist. It must have been a very large cut and Athos wondered how many Brahmin skin bandaids were needed to heal something like that.

"Hmmmm," he mumbled as he folded his arms across his chest. "This should be interesting," he concluded without indicating what had just occurred in his head. "Come with me."

Without delay, the children followed the man out of the tent. When they emerged, they saw the outcome of what had happened last night. The men in armour were piling the dead bodies in the center of the children's camp. The pile burned, competing with the morning desert sun in its brilliance. The smell was atrocious, stinging at Athos' eyes and nose that he brought up his hand to try and shield his senses from the odour.

"Get your hand down!" the man with the scar barked.

Athos' arm dropped to his side and he grimaced as the smell stung once more.

Large wooden structures were being erected throughout the camp. They looked like ritual monuments much like their tribe marked the graves of those who had passed but these were much larger. Upon closer inspection Athos could see people were tied to the large structures. What was the purpose of this, he wondered innocently.

The two children gathered in a small group of other children from their tribe. Some were older, others younger but all carried the same worried expression. Two young girls, sisters, were crying for their mother. Athos didn't cry. He and his sister were raised to be brave. They were the Chief's children. They had to be brave according to their father.

"Boys on this side, girls on the other," the man with the scar on his arm ordered.

Athos began to move to the indicated direction when he noticed his sister waver. He grabbed her arm and the two moved towards the boy's side. Several other armoured men gathered around. There was no mistaking these men all belonged to the same tribe but not all wore the same style of armour. Some were much more elaborate then others. Athos liked the fancy style like the man with the scar wore.

The man with the scar was joined by another dressed in the same manner. This armoured man was just as brawny as his counterpart. Athos noted an interesting mark seared into the flesh of this man. Athos couldn't tell what it was meant to be but, like the man with the scar, the healed wound looked like it had hurt. The pair moved through the collection of boys with masked eyes scanning each fragile figure.

The one with the mark on his wrist stopped and examined the Chief's children. Both hard the same dark grey eyes. Them of them had dirty blonde hair, messy and uneven. Dirt and soot covered their small faces.

"This is different," he exclaimed.

"The twins? I know," his counterpart replied.

It was true, the children were identical twins despite the gender difference. There was no mistaking the resemblance but Athos was slightly bigger than his sister. At the young age of six, the difference was barely detectable.

It wasn't uncommon for people to be in awe of the Chief's children. According to their mother, most twins died during childbirth. Something about the poor maternal conditions amongst the tribes made infant death almost certain. The children's mother was resilient; there was no doubt about that. She survived the childbirth and reared her children because, in her words, "she was their mother. No one else was going to be."

The man with the mark on his wrist continued to move through the group and nodded with approval.

"This group looks strong. Caesar will be pleased with the new Captures he concluded.

The man with the scar crossed his arms.

"Yeah, well, we'll see how many make it through the march back to camp," he replied with a twisted grin hidden behind his mask.

The children were formed into two rows. There were eleven in total. Athos and Aramis lucked out to be beside one another. There was no mention of parents or any other concerns or complaints. The children of the tribe, always taught discipline and respect for elders began to march just as they were told to an unknown destination.

"There will be no talking." the man with the mark on his wrist began his lecture. "We're three days walk from camp. We will walk mostly at night and early morning and rest during the hottest part of the day. If you fall behind, no one will pick you up and carry you. You will be left behind for the Radscorpions and crows to pick your bones clean. Each of you will be given one bottle of purified water per day. Ration your water or you will die."

Some of the older kids were nodding in understanding. Athos and Aramis nodded simply because the others were.

Aramis looked out into the desert. How could they possibly know where to go. Occasionally she had been allowed to venture off and explore the tops of the dunes that surrounded their camp and from her account; there was nothing out there. She didn't know how Papa always managed to go out there and come home with food. The land was barren.

The first few hours weren't too bad. The adrenaline from fear lasted quite some time but as the distance from home increased and their feet began to ache, the groaning and the sighing commenced.

Athos and Aramis stole a glance at one another when they felt it safe to do for peace of mind the other was still holding in there. Aramis would smile at her brother who would smile back.

Athos had to admit this was a little exciting. They had never been so far from home. After several hours every dune looked the same. The horizon never seemed to get closer. The heat was getting intense and their muscle ached with each quick stride. The older kids set the pace letting their longer legs carry them forward while the younger ones were forced to trot along side. The pace was difficult and many were evidently struggling.

The first one to drop was a very young boy. It looked as though he tripped but when he fell, he couldn't get himself up. He began to cry and some of the children, including Aramis and Athos looked back at him with worry.

"Get up," Aramis whispered to herself but the boy did not get up. None of the men even glanced at the boy calling for help with outstretched arms. Every one of them kept walking until they had all passed the boy. After a few long minutes the boy simply disappeared from sight. Gone forever, swallowed by desert.

The two young girls that had been crying before started to cry again. At first their muffed sobs were only audible to the other children but eventually the armoured men heard their hysterics.

"Shut up or we'll make you shut up!" one of the men yelled from the back of the group.

This only worsened the cries of the two girls.

"I said shut up!" the man roared.

"Quiet!" whispered the oldest youth in the group. He was a strong looking boy. Athos often saw him go out with his own father on the hunts learning the ways of the tribe. Athos didn't know the boys name but he felt intimidated by him. The older boy seemed to always been scowling. His dark brown hair hung just over his eyes and he had already gotten the Tribes tattoo on his neck - a sign he had to be older than twelve.

The young girls began to sniffle but they managed to control their sobbing.

The rest of the day's march was uneventful. No one else fell and the group was silent. Most of them had drank all of their water by the time they stopped to rest when the sun was at its highest.

There was no shade. The men rolled out padding and lay without complaint while a few stood watch. The children had no such luxury as a pad. The sand was burning hot so lying down wasn't an option.

Worry set in again. If they couldn't rest, they would surely not make it to the unknown destination.

Athos bent down in place and began to dig. The top layer of sand burned at the flesh of his hands but eventually the cool moist sand below came through. Other children began to follow his lead. His father had taught him this trick when he began his training as a hunter. He may have been young but Athos was quick to pick up on his Father's tactics.

Eventually the children all had a cool spot for them to lie down and try to get some sleep. The sun was blistering hot and finding sleep didn't come easy. After what seemed like too few hours, the men woke the children and ready them for the next day's march. Water was replenished and the march continued.

The setting sun made the walk much more bearable but when the sun disappeared over the dunes; the air became so cold that the children began to shiver. None of them were dressed for the cold nights of the desert. All in the group could hear the chattering of teeth. Their captures showed no mercy and offered no protection from the harsh cold that nipped to the bone.

Quickening the pace didn't help the situation either. Exhaustion was the worst enemy by far. No matter how fast they traveled, something tore away at their life be it the cold or fatigue. There was no balance.

The rising sun offered a bittersweet relief. The temperature would be more bearable but in time the children knew the day would be scorching their skin once more. What made things worse, nearly all of them had drank their water already. As the hours went on the day grew hotter and hotter.

Athos looked to his sister who displayed a uneasy fear that he shared deep within. He always put on the tough act even if he struggled on the inside for her. He looked from her to the remainder of the children. The group started to look weak. Children were tripping more frequently. They had all gotten up again but it was getting more difficult, that was for sure.

As the group marched, one of the sisters who had been crying early on fell. She was the younger one. There was no crying or call for help she simply fell and lay face down in the sand. Her older sister knelt beside her and tried to hoist her to her feet but the child didn't move. The older sister began to cry and shout at her sibling to get up but still the child lay motionless. The younger girl had been over exerted and her body couldn't take any more abuse. It quit on her allowing her to slip into death quickly and without any more pain. The older sister knew she had lost the one person she was always told to protect. Athos had to give the older girl credit when the she left her sister's side and ran to catch up with the rest of the group ...the older sister simply whimpered, wiped the tears from her eyes and got back in formation.

Athos glanced at the girl. The older sister had long wavy blonde hair tinted with streaks of copper. She was a pretty girl of maybe ten. Athos was bad at guessing ages. The girl was slender but not malnourished. She let her eyes wander to Athos. Soft blue eyes filled with tears. Athos smiled but the girl just let her attention fall back to the ground.

Athos didn't know the sisters very well. He didn't know many of the children very well. Being the Chieftain's children meant their life was controlled from day one. Everything was a structured lesson to groom them for leadership especially Athos. He got it the worst from Papa.

"One day you will lead this people, my boy!" were the words Papa always spoke. Words meant to encourage Athos to try harder. Aramis was a little more fortunate. Women were the providers and nurturers. Aramis was taught to cook, heal the sick and wounded and tend to the people as an ambassador for the Chief. Still, her mother was not without her secret lessons.

Aramis' mothers had not been from their own tribe. Their Papa had won a great battle against a rival tribe and as a sign of mending the tribes, took the daughter of the other tribes now deceased Chieftain as his bride.

The rival tribe had been known to be great warriors. Not just the men but also the women as well, a trait the children's mother carried with her in her new life. It may not have been a loving partnership at first according to the children's mother but in time she grew to love and care for her husband and soon they were blessed with the twins.

Their mother refused to let Aramis grow up knowing only how to be an obedient wife. Even at six, Aramis had been taught to trap game using snares and make ammunition. Being able to shoot was a very well kept secret between her and her mother but Aramis had told Athos in confidence. Aramis may not have been very old but she was keen to learn everything her mother taught her and relished in the opportunity to have skills beyond the typical woman in their tribe. For that, Athos knew she would be all right.

"You'll be a beautiful girl one day. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't teach my daughter to fight off the boys," Athos' mother often teased Aramis during their many lessons while Papa was off hunting or planning a future battle leaving Athos to play man of the house.

The thought of his mother carried Athos during the difficult trek across the desert. As the day grew longer the wind began to pick up tossing sand around like millions of stinging needles against their exposed skin. The next few hours saw the loss of a couple more children. They'd fall only to be buried by the blowing sand within seconds. No one was getting up anymore.

By the time they stopped to rest, nearly half their numbers were buried somewhere out in the desert. This time the group huddled in closely to try and shield one another from the pelting sand. None of them spoke or cried. They were much too tired to waste energy on anything. If they lay down, they knew they wouldn't be getting up so they sat back to back to keep themselves propped up the same way the guards were.

Even with the howling winds and sandblasting, every one of them managed to fall asleep. By the time they were woken up again by the shouts of their captors, the wind had died down and the march carried on. The falling sun meant another cold night would soon be upon them.

This night was worse then the one before it perhaps because their bodies were ravaged by exposure and exhaustion. The night claimed another child leaving just Aramis, Athos, the older girl, the oldest boy and one other boy younger than all of them. Five in total.

Athos was surprised the smallest boy had made it. He was small - smaller than most boys his age. He had a twitch about him like he was just trying to match what every anyone else was doing without thinking about it. His little legs moved at a pace quicker than anyone else and yes he conserved his water best and seemed to have no issues keeping the pace.

When the sun crested the horizon, painting the desert sky in brilliant blues, purples, pinks and oranges, the children knew they were nearly there.

"Just a few more hours," a man called out.

This news brought with it a wave of hope than they had nearly done it. They were going to make it.

Sure enough something appeared on the horizon. At first it as just a speck but then it grew larger. Flags blowing high atop masts stood out like beacons. Large walls were now visible and spread a great distance across the desert encapsulating their salvation.

Athos could see even their captors were dragging their feet towards deliverance.

Finally they were nearly there. He wondered what was on the other side of those walls. What kind of life awaited them now? A slight glimmer of excitement lingered in his mind and he found himself smiling slightly.

As the large gates swung open and beckoned the children in, Athos saw this place was no oasis in the desert.