The desert wind blew with merciless consistency, stirring up waves of sand that seeped into every nook and cranny of clothing, irritating skin and blurring vision. Under a blazing sun, a group of captives advanced with slow, heavy steps, their ankles chained to each other by crude irons.
The child was among them.
His head was still spinning. How long had he been walking? He had no idea. The burning sand beneath his bare feet made him feel like he was walking on hot coals. Every step was a struggle, an effort not to collapse and be dragged by the chains that connected him to the others.
He still didn't understand. Who were these men who captured him? Where were they taking him? Why was he here, in this desert he didn't even remember?
He looked up at the slave catchers. They rode camels with long, agile legs, adapting easily to the changing terrain of the dunes. Each of them wore a scarf wrapped around their face, revealing only their piercing eyes, scrutinizing the captives as one watches a cargo.
One of them, obviously the leader, was leading the way. He was imposing, his broad shoulders covered by a light cape to protect him from the sun. He did not need to speak to inspire fear. His simple look was enough to impose silence.
— Don't hang around! one of the hunters said sharply, pulling on the rope that bound the captives.
The child staggered from the blow, but he gritted his teeth and continued forward. His body screamed in pain, but he refused to fall. He had already understood one thing: here, the weak had no place.
Next to him, a man walked with difficulty, dragging his feet. His clothes were in tatters, and his face was marked by sunburn and fatigue. He whispered hoarsely, almost to himself:
— They are leading us to Samakhrystal…
The child turned his head towards him, but did not respond. Samakhrystal? This name meant nothing to him. Was it a city? A village? Another desert?
The man gave him a tired look.
"You're young…" He paused, as if he were weighing his words. Were you free before that?
Free? The child opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Was he free? Did he have a family somewhere?
He didn't know anything about it.
— You don't speak? asked the man.
Still no response. The child wasn't even sure if he had one.
"Keep it, then. The less we say, the better we get.
He nodded.
In front of them, the slave catchers exchanged words in low tongue, a harsh and sharp language that the child did not fully understand. But he caught a few snippets.
— … the youngest always bring in more…
— This one is strange.
— His eyes.
The child lowered his head slightly. He didn't like their looks.
The desert was a prison without walls, and the group walked in silence under the indifferent gaze of the sky. The sand stretched as far as the eye could see, without the slightest trace of life. No shade to rest under, no water to quench thirst.
Sometimes creatures crossed their field of vision. Giant lizards with rock-colored scales, sliding under the sand, leaving almost imperceptible trails behind them. Rare birds of prey hovered above them, scanning the column of captives, no doubt looking for those who would fall first.
The leader of the slave hunters turned his head slightly towards his second.
— How many days until Samakhrystal?
— Three if we don't slow down.
The leader nodded.
- GOOD. We will stop this evening at the Kezham oasis.
The child recorded these words without understanding their full significance. Three days of walking. Three days under this scorching sun, with chains on my wrists and ankles.
He didn't know if he could hold on.
The desert wind blew stronger as the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in red and orange hues.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air.
One of the captives had collapsed.
The child turned his head just in time to see a hunter dismounting from his camel. He grabbed the captive by the collar and shook him.
— Get up.
The man trembled, his dry lips muttering something incomprehensible. He no longer had the strength to get up.
The hunter sighed and poured a few drops of water on his face. Just enough to awaken one last hope.
— Do you want to survive?
The man opened his eyes with difficulty.
- Walk.
The child looked away.
The sun disappeared over the horizon, finally plunging the desert into the long-awaited coolness. But the relief was short-lived. The bitter cold quickly set in, replacing the stifling heat with an icy wind that seeped beneath the captives' light clothing.
The group stopped for the night near a small pile of rocks. The slave catchers drove a few stakes into the ground and tied the captives in a circle around a large fire.
One of the hunters threw waterskins at their feet.
— One sip each. No more.
The child waited his turn, his fingers trembling as he brought the container to his lips. The water was lukewarm and tasted metallic, but it was the best thing he had felt in hours.
"Don't get used to luxury, kid.
He looked up at the old man next to him.
— Is it always like this? he whispered.
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
— Sometimes it's worse.
The child watched the flames dance in front of him.
Tomorrow would be another day of walking.
But to go where?
****
Night stretched across the desert, wrapping the dunes in a mantle of blue shadows. The wind had calmed, but the air remained heavy with this fine dust which infiltrated everywhere, making each breath heavier.
The child sat with his back against a smooth stone, the chains on his wrists and ankles chilled by the night air. His body was exhausted from the forced march, but his mind found no rest.
All around him, the other captives were sleeping out of necessity, huddled together for warmth. Only a few murmurs rose here and there, prayers to gods he didn't know, sighs of anguish muffled in the darkness.
A shiver ran through his skin. Not because of the cold, but because of this strange feeling that he couldn't name.
An oppressive void in his mind.
He didn't know who he was.
No name, no memories, nothing.
Nothing except this feeling of being foreign to this world, as if it should not be there.
He let his gaze wander over the tired faces of his companions in misfortune. One of them, a man with a shaggy beard, leaned against a canvas bag and watched the slave catchers near the fire.
"You should sleep, kid. Tomorrow will be worse.
The child slowly turned his head towards him.
- For what ?
The man gave a sad smile.
— Because it's always worse.
A distant howl broke the silence.
All the captives jumped, and even some of the slave hunters raised their heads suspiciously.
The child felt his heart speed up.
It was not a human cry.
— A röthar? one of the hunters murmured uncertainly.
— No… it's too deep.
One of the more experienced men, his face marked by years spent in the desert, frowned.
— It's a kargan.
The word meant nothing to the child, but the hunters' reaction spoke for itself. Some took their weapons, others murmured among themselves.
He looked at the dunes on the horizon, where a dark mass moved slowly in the shadows.
A massive creature advanced with quiet steps, its body rocking from left to right with calculated slowness.
Then she stopped.
The air seemed to freeze.
The silence stretched on, oppressive.
The child felt the tension in the air, an unbearable expectation, as if the desert itself was holding its breath.
Then, the figure took a step back, then another.
And she disappeared into the night.
The hunters released a sigh.
"He saw us, but he chose not to attack," declared the leader of the group. We were lucky.
The kid wasn't sure if he'd call it luck.
Morning came too quickly.
The captives were roused from their rest by barked orders and sudden jolts. The march resumed even before the sun had fully risen, forcing them to advance in the still biting cold.
The chains rattled with every step, a sinister, repetitive noise.
The child had lost all sense of time.
The desert stretched around them, endless and unforgiving. He didn't know how many days they had been walking. An eternity, perhaps.
Then, finally, a green spot appeared on the horizon.
A thin trickle of water snaked between a few palm trees, offering a breath of hope in this sea of sand.
"The oasis of Kezham," announced one of the hunters. We stop for an hour.
The captives almost collapsed upon reaching the water. Some dipped their trembling hands into the basin, others drank in small sips, savoring the relief it brought.
The child knelt at the edge of the water and looked at his reflection.
What he saw gave him a blow to his heart.
A boy with an emaciated face, features marked by fatigue.
Dark skin, as if burned by the sun, disheveled black hair, and above all, electric blue eyes that shone in the shadows.
This face...
He didn't know him.
But it was his.
A little further on, the slave hunters had regrouped. They spoke in low voices, sometimes glancing towards the captives.
— The kid... did you notice him?
— His eyes? Yeah.
— It will be worth a lot.
— If we find the right buyer.
The child, seated a little further away, could not hear their conversation clearly, but he felt their gazes on him.
He knew his fate would soon be decided.
And he didn't like it.
****
The first ray of sunlight split the horizon, painting the sand a glowing golden hue. The air, still cool from the night, carried a deceptive illusion of respite before the heat of the day fell upon them.
The child slowly opened his eyes, his body aching from the hard ground he had slept on. Every muscle protested as he tried to move, his wrists bruised by the shackles.
— Get up, you wretches.
The voice of the chief hunter sounded like a whip. The captives emerged from their sleep with the slowness of those who no longer had any energy to waste.
The morning wind kicked up waves of sand, stinging skin and seeping into clothing. The child blinked, his vision blurred by fatigue and dust.
He was thirsty.
His throat was as dry as the desert itself. He felt his head spinning slightly, as if his body itself was beginning to escape him.
But he had no choice.
The march resumed.
The sun soon rose, and with it the heat became oppressive.
The captives walked in silence, their chains rattling with every step. Some dragged their feet, others gritted their teeth, refusing to show the slightest weakness.
The child struggled to keep his balance. His legs buckled beneath him, but he knew that falling meant exposing himself to the wrath of their captors.
Behind him, the old man who had advised him the day before placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Hold on, kid," he whispered. We must not give them an excuse.
The child nodded slowly. But a few moments later, a loud noise was heard behind him.
Someone had just collapsed.
Everyone stopped.
The leader of the hunters slowly advanced towards the captive who was lying on the ground. The man, exhausted, tried to move, but his limbs were trembling too much to obey him.
A heavy silence settled in, disturbed only by the blowing of the wind.
"One more," one of the hunters grunted, shaking his head.
The leader stared at him for a moment, then waved.
One of the men approached with a flask of water and crouched down near the captive. He slowly opened the cap and let a few drops flow onto the unfortunate man's dry lips.
The child felt a glimmer of hope arise within him. Maybe they would help him. Maybe…
The hunter abruptly closed the flask and stood up.
"If you want to survive, walk," the leader declared in a cold voice.
The man on the ground trembled.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He knew.
If he didn't get up, he would be abandoned.
He closed his eyes for a second, then, with a force that seemed to come from nowhere, he planted his hands in the burning sand and slowly stood up.
His legs wobbled, but he continued walking, silently.
The child looked away.
The afternoon passed in slow agony.
Each step required superhuman effort. Sweat ran down their faces, forming dusty furrows on their skin.
The child tried not to think about the thirst, the weight of his chains, the pain that devoured his body.
But his mind kept coming back to the same thought: how much longer would he last?
He glanced sideways at the hunters. One of them was chatting in a low voice with a companion.
"We'll be there soon," he said. Samakhrystal is a day away.
The child gritted his teeth.
One day.
He had to last another day.
And then?
He had no idea.
***
The desert seemed endless, an ocean of sand where each dune looked like the last. However, that morning, something broke the monotony of the landscape.
At first they were indistinct shadows, barely visible through the heat haze that floated in the distance.
Then, as they advanced, these shapes took shape: imposing stone walls, massive towers that rose high into the sky, and in the center, a colossal gate, framed by statues of ancient rulers of Topaza.
Same crystal.
The child felt his breath catch. Not from fatigue – although his body screamed in pain – but from the grandeur of the city.
He didn't know why, but this place seemed strangely familiar.
As they approached the walls, the convoy of captives attracted the attention of the inhabitants. Passersby stopped to observe the line of chained men and women. Some murmured among themselves, others looked away, feigning indifference.
The streets were busy. Merchants shouted to praise their wares, craftsmen hammered metal on their anvils, and children ran in all directions.
The child couldn't help but observe everything.
He saw a pale-skinned man bargaining for deep blue fabrics with a darker-skinned merchant. Further away, a woman in a golden tunic was making a snake dance before the amazed eyes of a group of spectators.
Every smell, every sound was a discovery.
But the journey did not end there.
The slave catchers guided their precious cargo through the city, ignoring the gazes on them.
The slave market was not far away.
The captives were brought to a large square lined with stone arches. In the center, a raised platform, where several people were already waiting their turn, chains on their wrists.
Buyers walked around the place with inquisitive looks, discussing prices among themselves, exchanging purses of golden obols.
The child clenched his fists.
He didn't understand everything, but he knew one thing: they were here to be sold.
The slave catchers began to bring the captives onto the platform, one by one.
— This one is robust, ideal for heavy work! exclaimed one of them, pointing to a man with an imposing build.
— This woman knows how to weave and sew, she will serve well in a noble house! added another.
The auctions began.
The child looked around him, looking for a way out, a way to escape. But there wasn't any.
He was trapped.
It was then that a man entered the square.
His imposing silhouette and haughty bearing distinguished him from the others. He wore a richly embroidered tunic, and each of his steps exuded cold confidence.
The slave catchers bowed slightly as he approached.
"Master Ghadib," one of them announced with a satisfied smile.
The child met his gaze.
And he instinctively understood that his destiny had just taken a decisive turn.
****