Kael's boots sank into the shifting sands as he walked, his breath ragged under the weight of the blistering sun. The desert had a way of taking everything from a man—his dignity, his sanity, his hope—and spitting him back out like a forgotten relic. The heat was a constant presence, oppressive and suffocating, but it was nothing compared to what he carried inside.
He had always thought the desert was a place of death. And here, in the heart of it, it felt true. It wasn't just the scorching sun or the brutal winds that threatened to strip a man to his bones. It was the vastness of it all—the emptiness that echoed through his chest like a hollow drum. The horizon stretched endlessly, no end, no escape. Djurah was the only thing standing between him and the eternal sands.
And it was already falling apart.
The sun had just begun to dip when the woman—the one who had warned him—finally spoke again.
"I'm Neyla," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness like a sharp wind. Her eyes gleamed dark, full of secrets he couldn't quite read. He glanced at her. She didn't seem particularly dangerous—no more so than any other desert survivor—but something in her demeanor made him wary.
"You're not afraid to die," she added, more as an observation than a question.
Kael didn't respond. What was the point? The desert had been his death for years now. Every day, a little closer to the edge.
They walked on, side by side, the sound of their footsteps the only noise in the vast silence. The city of Djurah grew nearer, the first signs of civilization flickering on the horizon: a flicker of smoke, the faint outline of stone walls. It was a city wrapped in both beauty and decay.
Djurah was the heart of the Shifting Empire—a land of deserts and shattered kingdoms, where the few who ruled held their thrones through power and fear. There was no mercy in Djurah. There never had been.
As they neared the city gates, Kael's eyes swept over the walls. Jagged and scarred, they seemed to defy the desert, standing proud despite the erosion. Inside, he knew, was a maze of streets—narrow, crowded, and filled with the smell of sweat, spice, and metal. It was a place where men like him could vanish if they weren't careful. But he had no intention of hiding.
He stopped as they reached the gates, watching the guards who stood in the shadows, their faces obscured by black veils and heavy helms. They didn't speak, but their eyes—sharp and calculating—followed them closely.
Neyla, without missing a beat, reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, round coin, flat and heavy. It was black as the night sky, marked with the symbol of a scorpion. She tossed it to the guard, who caught it without a word. He examined it for a heartbeat before stepping aside.
Kael didn't flinch. He'd seen bribes before, but this coin—the way it was passed with such ease—told him everything he needed to know. Neyla wasn't a mere wanderer. She moved with purpose. And she had friends in high places.
The gates creaked open. A gust of hot air hit Kael's face as he stepped through, the sounds of the city crashing against his senses. The streets were a blur of color and noise, a chaotic tangle of life that seemed to pulse with energy. Camels meandered past, their drivers calling out to customers. Merchants shouted their wares, children ran between the throngs, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, incense, and spices.
For a moment, Kael allowed himself to get lost in the overwhelming tide of humanity. It was a stark contrast to the endless, oppressive silence of the desert. But even here, in the heart of the city, something felt off.
Djurah was a powder keg.
Neyla turned abruptly, leading Kael down an alley so narrow that they had to walk in single file. The walls on either side were stained with the marks of age—cracked and weathered, as though the city had long since forgotten how to care for its own skin. A chill crawled down his spine, not from the cold, but from the sensation that they were being watched.
"Where are we going?" Kael asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Neyla didn't answer right away. She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes flashing with something unreadable.
"To the south," she said simply. "Where the real power is."
Kael wasn't sure if she meant that literally or metaphorically, but he didn't ask for clarification. He had learned long ago that answers were often distractions in places like this.
They reached a small, decrepit building at the end of the alley. There was no sign, no indication that it was anything more than a crumbling ruin. Neyla pushed open the door, and Kael followed her inside. The air inside was thick and heavy, the smell of dust and sweat clinging to the walls. A single lamp flickered in the corner, casting long shadows across the room.
Neyla motioned for Kael to sit on the floor. He hesitated but then lowered himself onto the worn rug.
"You'll need to move quickly," she said, her voice lower now, more serious. "The prince's men won't give you much time once they know you're here."
Kael's blood turned cold. The prince.
He had been expecting this. There was always a price for power in Djurah. And Kael had come to collect.
"I came for one man," Kael said quietly. "A prince. Sadar al-Sharif."
Neyla's eyes flickered, but she said nothing for a long moment.
"He's not just a prince," she said at last. "He's a god to some. And a devil to others."
Kael's hand clenched around his blade. "I'm not here for his followers. Just him."
Neyla gave a slight nod. "Then you'll need to go to the Vulture's Nest. It's where the city's underbelly gathers. If anyone knows where to find Sadar, it'll be there."
"I thought you said the prince's men would be watching."
"They are. But the Nest is different. No one dares to touch it." Her lips curled into something that resembled a smile, but there was no joy in it. "It's a place where even the prince's guards keep their distance."
Kael stood. "Then I'll find him there."
"You'd better," Neyla said softly, "because once the sun rises tomorrow, Djurah will be a very different place."
The weight of her words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Kael felt it—an unmistakable pull. The city was on the edge of something violent, something that would change everything. And he would be there, right in the middle of it.
Before he could ask more, Neyla turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Kael alone in the dim room.
Outside, the streets of Djurah waited. And somewhere in the heart of the city, the prince waited for him, too.
Kael wasn't going to let him escape.