Sand, Sunburn, and Rainbow Road

The first thing Marcus Aurelius Silvanus noticed about Dune’s End was the wind: it howled through the mud-brick alleys like a bored god whistling through his teeth. The second thing he noticed was that his imperial silk robes did nothing against desert grit; after an hour, even his eyebrows had become repositories for half the Sahara.

He had come with three fellow envoys from Aurea—the finest city-state in all the Known World (according to themselves). Their mission? To bring order, commerce, and superior cuisine to these sun-baked villagers who seemed entirely too comfortable with their own chaos.

The local chieftain, Rahim, met them at the edge of what passed for a plaza: a few stunted palms clustered around a cracked cistern. He wore a turban wound so many times Marcus wondered if it was holding his head on. Rahim’s only greeting was a wary squint and a nod toward the one patch of shade in sight—a faded canopy where they could negotiate their grand plans for civilization.

But Aurean plans did not include boredom. Negotiations crawled like a tortoise trapped in molasses. By midday of the second day, Marcus’s fellow envoy Lucilla—a woman who’d once charmed an entire senate into approving her pet ostrich project—was hunched over her travel bag, searching for relief. From its depths emerged salvation: a gleaming, rectangular tablet with strange glyphs upon its face and two detachable talismans.

“It’s called Switch,” Lucilla whispered conspiratorially. “When conversation fails, racing prevails.”

Soon, four adults—two imperial envoys and two local elders—were hunched together under the canopy as Lucilla tapped through rainbow-hued menus. She selected something called "Grand Prix." Rahim’s youngest nephew, Idris, watched wide-eyed as cartoonish figures zipped around impossible tracks lined with fire-spewing plants and floating coins.

“My cousin says you can compete against anyone—even when traveling,” Idris said, his English inflected with desert vowels. “How? Spirits?”

“More like magic,” Lucilla replied, handing him one of the talismans (she called them ‘Joy-Cons’). “Trust me: you’ll pick it up fast.”

The first race was chaos incarnate. Bowser Jr. careened off cliffs; King Boo drove backwards into lava; someone’s grandmother kept drifting in circles around a coconut tree. The village dog barked at every jump.

As the races continued—spurred by shouts and laughter that echoed across the dusty plaza—something remarkable happened: Aurean arrogance dissolved faster than ice in noon sun. Rahim grinned as he shot a blue shell at Marcus, who was still figuring out how to stay on track using Smart Steering (“Aha! Even fools can finish now!” Rahim crowed). Lucilla taught two old men how to drift around corners like seasoned charioteers; in return, they showed her which local figs were best for snacking during gameplay intermissions.

That evening, as camel caravans returned in shimmering mirages along the horizon, travelers from distant lands found themselves drawn to Dune’s End by peals of laughter—and rumors of legendary races held on magical screens.

By day three of negotiations (or what passed for them), even Marcus saw merit in this desert diplomacy: trade routes were mapped out over rounds of frantic multiplayer mayhem; disputes settled not with drawn swords but with red shells fired at just the right moment; children and elders alike learned to cheer for Inklings and Dry Bones with equal enthusiasm.

One afternoon, during an impromptu tournament beneath the battered canopy, Marcus found himself facing Rahim head-to-head on Rainbow Road—the most treacherous course yet. Sand swirled at their feet as they leaned into each curve (sometimes literally), bumping elbows as much as karts.

“You see?” Rahim laughed as they both sailed off yet another neon bend into oblivion. “Only fools think they can control everything.”

Marcus blinked grit from his eyes and smiled back—genuinely—for the first time since arriving at Dune’s End.

As dusk fell and stars crowded out the last blush of sun, Marcus realized he’d learned more about these people from shared losses (and one glorious win by Lucilla) than any number of royal decrees or trade agreements could teach him.

Long after Aurean banners faded from memory, travelers would still tell stories of a little outpost where sand met silliness—and strangers became friends thanks to frantic races on an enchanted tablet that brought joy wherever it went. And sometimes, that was civilization enough.