"Father... when do I leave?"
The question came out faster than Saed intended, his voice taut with anticipation. He tried to sit still in the heavy chair across from his father's desk, but his fingers betrayed him, tapping restlessly against his thigh.
Yamu, ever composed, glanced up from the parchment he was reviewing. His expression was unreadable beneath the folds of age and wisdom carved into his face.
"So eager," he said, a wry smile barely touching his lips. "You are always too hasty, Saed. Like the desert winds : wild, impatient. You must learn that victory comes to those who wait, not to those who rush."
Saed lowered his gaze, chastened but undeterred. He knew his father's words were true, yet it was difficult to still the restless energy that churned inside him.
With slow, deliberate movements, Yamu retrieved a scarlet letter from the pile on his desk. He held it up, letting the sunlight streaming through the lattice windows illuminate the dried wax seal.
"The date is Janash the 7th," he said, voice steady. "You have three days to prepare."
"And the location?" Saed asked, sitting forward slightly, barely able to contain himself.
Yamu's gaze grew distant. "The Plains of Anissar," he said. "The place where the battles of the war happened."
Saed swallowed. Even he, born of the desert, knew of Anissar. A land where battles were once decided in a single afternoon, where blood was swallowed by dirt before it could even dry. A fitting place to set the stage for something... great.
He bowed his head slightly. "I understand."
A long silence stretched between them, the kind that says more than words ever could. Saed felt it then, the unspoken hopes, the generations of pride and failure that now rested, trembling, in his hands. Every boy, he thought, dreams of this. To be the sword that mends what was broken. To be the son that lifts his father's name out of the dust.
Yamu rose slowly and crossed the room. Without a word, he placed a firm hand on Saed's shoulder. His grip was not just paternal, it was heavy with expectation.
"Make the Nafura name proud," he said simply.
"I will," Saed replied, voice barely a whisper.
"…"
Later that afternoon, the estate was cloaked in that strange golden stillness that only comes before a great change. The sun hung heavy over the gardens, spilling light onto the marble floors and the flowering trees that lined the inner courtyards. Bright blooms of red and violet shivered in the dry breeze, releasing a faint, sweet fragrance that carried through the halls.
Saed made his way slowly to the eastern wing, where his mother spent her mornings. His sandals whispered against the stone as he passed familiar columns and archways, each one etched with prayers older than memory.
He found his mother, Yasira, sitting in the inner courtyard, a small paradise of swaying palms and bright, delicate flowers that seemed to defy the surrounding wasteland. She was weaving a shawl of fine silk, her hands nimble even as her eyes seemed lost in thought.
"Mother," Saed called softly.
She looked up and immediately smiled, her face lighting up like the dawn over the dunes. Saed hesitated a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence.
"I'll be leaving in three days," he said carefully. "There's… a game I've been invited to."
Her smile faltered just slightly. "A game?" she asked, suspicion lining her voice.
He hesitated before answering. It felt wrong to lie to her. "It's more like a… competition. Between the sons of the noble houses."
Her brow furrowed. She set the shawl down and rose to her feet. "What sort of competition would call you to the Plains of Anissar?" she asked. "That is not a place for children's games, Saed."
He looked away, feeling the heat of guilt rise in his chest. "It's probably closer to a war," he admitted. "A war... between young nobles."
Yasira's face paled beneath the soft veil she wore to shield herself from the desert heat. She took a step closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm, as if anchoring him to her.
"You must rethink this," she said, her voice low, urgent. "It is not too late."
Saed didn't respond. He couldn't. How could he explain the way the letter had called to him, how the thought of securing a Ring, of forging a new future for House Nafura, set his very soul ablaze?
Yasira's hand dropped from his arm, and her gaze fell to the tiled ground. "Your brother would have—"
She cut herself off, biting down on the words, but the damage was done. The ghost of the one who came before him, the brother Saed had spent years trying to live up to, loomed between them like a shadow.
Saed stiffened. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The courtyard was suddenly too quiet, the flowers too still.
"I'm sorry," Yasira whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to..."
He forced a small smile, shaking his head. "It's alright, Mother."
It wasn't. But it wasn't her fault.
She composed herself, smoothing down her robes with trembling hands. "Just... promise me you'll think carefully. Promise me you won't throw your life away for pride."
"I promise," he said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.
They embraced, and for a long moment Saed wished he could stay like that — enveloped in the warmth of home, safe beneath the heavy branches of their courtyard's lone fig tree, the smell of sweet flowers perfuming the air. But duty was a chain he wore with pride, and it pulled him onward
"…"
The next few days passed in a blur.
Servants scurried about the estate, polishing armor and sharpening swords. The forge blazed at all hours, mending old blades and crafting new ones. The scent of heated iron clung to the wind, mixing with the ever-present tang of dust.
Saed spent most of his time in the courtyard, training under the brutal sun. Sweat soaked through his clothes within minutes, the leather of his boots burning hot against the white stones. Yet he did not slow, did not falter. Every strike, every step was a silent promise to himself, to endure, to survive, to win.
On the night before his departure, Saed found himself standing outside the servant's quarters, staring up at the endless sprawl of stars overhead.
There was no moon tonight. Only the desert sky, vast and uncaring.
A familiar figure approached, Alka, his personal servant since childhood. A still young, full of life woman with two dark braids like woven silk.
"You're really going, then," Alka said, her voice platonic and without expression.
Saed smiled faintly. "Seems so."
Alka clapped him on the back, while chuckling silently. "Then you'd best come back, Saed. I'm too young to end up on the streets.
"I'll come back," Saed said. "I'll bring our name back with me."
Alka grinned, but there was something sad in her eyes. "Then may the sands be kind to you, young master."
"…"
At dawn, the courtyard was alive with the muted bustle of departure.
The flowers lining the walls drooped under the weight of the early heat. The banners of House Nafura , faded gold stitched into deep blue, stirred lazily in the breathless air.
Three riders waited beyond the gate: lean horses trained for endurance rather than speed. A single covered wagon bore supplies: water skins, cured meats, oiled swords, and bolts of cloth.
Saed stood at the threshold, the heavy doors of the estate yawning open behind him. He wore a simple tunic and a long traveler's cloak, the dark fabric absorbing the sun's cruel light.
His mother came forward first, wrapping a necklace around his neck.
"For luck," she whispered.
His father stood beside her, offering no words, only a proud nod. Alka hovered nearby, looking like she wanted to say something more but thought better of it.
Saed bowed low to them all.
When he straightened, he did not look back.
Not because he didn't want to, but because if he did, he might never leave.
He mounted his horse in one swift movement, the leather saddle creaking under his weight.
As he rode out into the desert, the estate shrinking behind him like a dream half-remembered, he felt the first stirrings of fear deep inside his chest.
Ahead, the desert stretched endlessly, glittering beneath the pitiless sun.
And somewhere beyond that horizon, Anissar waited.
The first step of his story had begun.