The afternoon sun burned low in the sky, casting the oasis in a warm, golden light. Dhi’b al-Sahra’s gaze lingered northward, where longing sharpened the ache in his heart. He sighed, the sound soft but heavy. Regret—such a cruel, relentless thing. Time had not healed his wounds; it merely stretched them tight, leaving them as raw as the freshly plucked fruit displayed before him.

  The memories clawed at his heart, dragging him back to the moment everything was lost. A slave in a foreign land, stripped of purpose, stripped of hope. Even now, the thought of home felt hollow. The ties that bound him to that life were severed, and his desire for vengeance had long since burned out, smothered by the bitter ashes of unfulfilled rage. The one he had once hated most lay dead, and with that death, life had no meaning. He had gained everything, yet held nothing. At times, he questioned why he even continued, what purpose his existence served—if it served any purpose at all.

  “Master,” Nasir’s voice broke through, calm but laced with concern. “Tariq is late. He was due three days ago. He’s never broken a promise before. This delay… it’s unusual.”

  ‘He’s alive. I can feel it. The connection remains.’

  “Don’t worry,” Dhi’b said, his tone steady with a faint warmth softening it. “He’s alive. Trust me—I would know.”

  Nasir bowed slightly. “Yes, master.”

  “And this delay?” Dhi’b continued, reaching for his coffee and savoring the sharp aroma before sipping. “Hardly unexpected. The mission is perilous. That Tariq still lives is enough for now. The artifact, though priceless, is secondary to his survival.”

  Nasir’s expression brightened. “With the artifact found, master, you can finally settle the debt.”

  ‘Yes, the debt. A balance etched in life and blood. To repay it demands more than a relic’s weight in gold. It has consumed countless lives, left rivers of crimson in its wake… and yet…

  Is my life worth the cost of blood paid by so many others?’

  “Master?” Nasir’s voice intruded gently. “Forgive me… are you alright?”

  Dhi’b managed a faint smile. “I’m fine,” he said, though his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

  ‘The legends…’

  He sipped again, letting the coffee’s bitterness pulled him back.

  ‘If the legends hold even a grain of truth, the artifact’s value dwarfs the lives lost to secure it. Yet therein lies the problem. Such a relic shapes fate—bends it, twists it. The price for balance may yet surpass the blood already shed.’

  Nasir’s voice intruded again, softly insistent. “Master? The Satrap’s…”

  “Yes,” Dhi’b said, standing slowly as though the weight of his burdens pressed him down. “You’re right. Even here, in this secluded haven, respect must be shown.”

  With measured movements, he donned robes fit for the occasion, their intricate embroidery catching the waning sunlight. Together, they made their way to the Satrap’s palace, the oasis fading behind them as duty pulled him forward. Yet, the ache remained, unyielding as the desert sands.

  Rustam bellowed, his voice tearing through the still air. “You filthy hag!” With a sneer, he shoved the old woman, contempt dripping from every word. “I warned scum like you ain’t wanted around here!”

  Rustam, the self-proclaimed ruler of this corner of the oasis, was a hulking figure whose reputation loomed larger than his shadow. Fear was his currency, earned through ruthless cunning and sheer brutality. His men—a gang of ragged youths—laughed raucously, their jeers ringing out as they encircled their prey.

  The woman stood her ground despite her frailty. “Ain’t there no justice left in this city?!” Her voice cracked, yet it carried defiance. She jabbed a gnarled finger at Rustam. “You heartless thief! You’re shameless! Robbing a poor old woman—is there no decency left?”

  Rustam’s lip curled, his contempt palpable. With a sudden motion, he backhanded her, the crack of the blow silencing her protests. She fell hard, her body hitting the ground like a discarded sack. The crowd of onlookers, wary of Rustam’s temper, averted their gazes, though concern flickered in their eyes.

  “You crazy witch!” Rustam growled, towering over her. “I’ll show you what shameless looks like!” He raised his foot and delivered a brutal kick, his fury escalating with each blow. The old woman’s cries faltered, replaced by silence as she lay motionless.

  “Hey!” The shout pierced through the tension, startling the gang.

  Rustam turned sharply, his scowl deepening as his eyes locked onto two strangers approaching from the corner. One wore flowing robes of silk, their richness unmistakable even in the fading light. The other, an attendant in simpler but well-kept garments, stood close at hand. Together, they exuded an air of unshakable confidence.

  Rustam’s gaze narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face.

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  ‘Who the hell are these two? Fancy robes like that… probably some rich fools. No guards though. Nobodies tryin’ to look important.’

  He forced a grin and stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “You better keep your nose outta this,” he growled. “Take my advice, friend, and move along. This ain’t your business.”

  One of the strangers chuckled, a low, amused sound that seemed to mock Rustam’s bravado. “Nasir, did he just… threaten us?”

  The attendant’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a sinister edge. “It seems so, master.”

  ‘These damn fools think they’re funny. I gave ‘em a chance to walk away, but they’re too stupid to take it.’

  Rustam’s forced smile wavered, his mind racing. “It ain’t a threat,” he spat, barely masking his growing anger. “Just a friendly reminder.”

  “A reminder?” The stranger’s voice carried a mocking slur. “Why do you keep calling me—friend?” He turned to Nasir. “Hey, do I have a friend that ugly?”

  “No, master,” Nasir replied with mock solemnity. “You’ve got standards.”

  Their laughter erupted, rich and unrestrained, echoing across the marketplace. Onlookers froze, their disbelief plain on their faces. No one had ever dared mock Rustam and lived to tell the tale.

  Rustam’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’ll regret this,” he snarled, unsheathing a blade with a metallic hiss. “Let’s see who’s laughin’ when I’m done with ya!”

  The gang rallied behind their leader, weapons drawn. Despite being outnumbered, the strangers remained unfazed. Dhi’b glanced at his attendant with an amused smirk. “Nasir, it seems the truth cuts deep.”

  Nasir nodded, mirroring his master’s calm demeanor. “Indeed, master. Shall I handle this?”

  “Go ahead,” Dhi’b said with a wave. “But keep it clean. I don’t want blood on my robes.”

  Rustam charged, his roar of fury echoing through the square. But before he could close the distance, Nasir vanished, reappearing in a blink before the thug. “Boo,” he said lightly.

  Rustam’s bravado crumbled. His eyes widened, fear overtaking him as he stumbled back. Before he could react further, Nasir flicked a finger against his forehead. The blow was light, almost playful, yet it carried an unnatural force. Rustam’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the ground—dead.

  Suddenly, the entire area fell into silence. Even Rustam’s rowdy men, once boisterous, stood frozen, their faces twisted with fear and disbelief. No one moved or spoke, paralyzed by the sight before them. Onlookers, equally stunned, stared in wide-eyed shock, struggling to process what they had just witnessed—the notorious thug, headless and lifeless on the ground.

  Nasir, however, remained indifferent. Unbothered by the horrified stares, he stood composed, casually dusting his clothes to ensure they were spotless.

  “You’re really bad at jokes,” Dhi’b remarked, shaking his head with a sigh.

  Nasir glanced at his master and chuckled. “I thought this one was good.”

  “No, it’s awful,” Dhi’b countered, feigning exasperation. “Worse than last time.”

  As their playful banter continued, the crowd’s gaze shifted between the two, astonished by their nonchalance. In that moment, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world.

  “What’s happening here?!” a booming voice cut through the tension. The head guard arrived, flanked by his men. His sharp eyes surveyed the scene, lingering on the headless corpse. Recognizing the fallen as a local gang leader, he quickly assessed the situation. His gaze settled on the two strangers, their stature and attire screaming importance.

  Suppressing his frustration, the guard approached cautiously.

  ‘Really? Now they show up? Guards are always late. Useless.’

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Dhi’b sighed, pulling out a golden insignia instead of answering. The head guard paled at the sight, immediately bowing in apology, his men following suit.

  “Forgive us, honorable one!” the guard stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  ‘I hate using this thing. It makes me feel like some pompous aristocrat. But these idiots... they deserve it. Corrupt fools, letting thugs terrorize even old women in broad daylight. What has this world come to?’

  “Nasir,” Dhi’b said, his tone light but pointed. “Have you ever seen an old woman attacked so brazenly? Is this normal?”

  “Troubling times, master,” Nasir replied, playing along. “Though I’ve never seen it happen inside an oasis before.”

  Their mocking words made the guards sweat even more. The head guard, desperate to save face, kneeled. “I deeply regret you had to witness this, honored one. I promise severe punishment for these men. Such atrocities will not happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t,” Dhi’b replied, his tone icy. With a barked command, the guards dragged the thugs away, leaving the crowd to scatter and pretend disinterest.

  ‘Shameless.’

  Dhi’b shook his head, his gaze softening as it fell on the injured old woman. Pity flickered across his face. “Help her,” he ordered Nasir, who nodded and dismounted his horse. Meanwhile, Dhi’b wandered toward the food stalls, letting his instincts guide him.

  As he approached, the air grew tense. People froze, their fear palpable. Dhi’b sighed.

  ‘I hate this. People dream of being feared or admired, but it gets old. Just awkward and exhausting.’

  Breaking the silence, a merchant stepped forward with a broad smile. “Peace be upon you, honored one! Welcome to Farid’s Kebab—the freshest and best in the oasis.”

  The tension eased slightly at the man’s enthusiasm. Dhi’b returned his smile.

  ‘A true merchant. I like this fellow already.’

  “Best in the oasis?” Dhi’b asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

  “That, I guarantee!” Farid replied with confidence.

  “Then let me taste this masterpiece,” Dhi’b said, chuckling. Farid’s wife handed him a kebab, her hands trembling slightly. “One bite, and you’ll never forget it,” the merchant declared. Dhi’b took a bite, savoring the flavors.

  ‘Fresh, delicious... but ordinary compared to the luxuries I’m used to. Still, it’s good. If I’d eaten this in my struggling merchant days, I’d have cried with joy.’

  Hiding his smile, he put on a mock frown. The couple’s faces fell, but he quickly grinned. “The best and freshest kebab in the oasis, indeed!”

  Relief and joy washed over them. “Thank you, honored one!” Farid said, bowing deeply.

  “Ten kebabs and seven naan,” Dhi’b ordered. The vendor quickly packed the food, adding extras as a gift. When Dhi’b tried to pay, Farid protested, but Dhi’b insisted, pressing a gold coin into his palm. “Respect and honor go both ways,” he said with a wink.

  Farid’s eyes widened. Bowing repeatedly, he thanked Dhi’b, who returned the gesture. “May the goddess bless your hands and bring joy to the oasis through your food,” Dhi’b said warmly before walking away.

  Nearby, Nasir sat beside the old woman, exasperated as she poked her wound. “Stop touching it!” he scolded. “You’ll make it worse.”

  “Bah! Youngsters these days, no respect for their elders,” she retorted, wincing but undeterred.

  Dhi’b chuckled at the scene. It reminded him of a mother and son—a bond he never knew. His smile faltered as a nagging thought crept in.

  ‘There’s something odd about that old woman.’

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