He dismounted, lifting Gaida carefully into his arms. His voice lowered to a reverent whisper.
"My goddess… I'm sorry for being late."
Jawhara and Rashad exchanged sharp, unreadable glances, their eyes narrowing with suspicion and resentment.
"Don't be shocked," Sewar said, his gaze piercing Jawhara's like a blade. "Soon, you'll be praying for her — especially you."
Gaida stirred weakly in his arms, her voice trembling as she asked, "My son… where is he?"
Sewar's jaw tightened. "We must leave him behind, for now. It's not safe."
Far off on the horizon, a wall of dust rose, not a natural storm but the fast-approaching dust clouds kicked up by Master Sewar's guards. They rode fiercely, an ornate carriage trailing behind them like a dark omen.
One of the guards swung open the carriage door. Sewar carefully placed Gaida inside, his eyes lingering on the baby now peacefully asleep. Then, with a cold edge, he fixed his gaze on Jawhara and Rashad.
"Keep him alive," Sewar warned. "Or he will be the end of you both."
Rashad's face contorted with rage. "Who do you think you are? You'll rot in one of my prisons for this insolence."
Sewar remained still, a calm shadow amidst the brewing storm. Average in appearance, but his presence was like a still wind before a desert tempest. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of secrets older than the sands beneath their feet — knowledge beyond his years and beyond the desert itself.
Inside the carriage, Sewar sat beside Gaida, the gentle sway lulling them both. His eyes were heavy with sorrow as he reached out, brushing his fingers over her cracked, dry lips.
You must be thirsty, my goddess, he thought softly. A sacred mouth, parched and worn from suffering — a holy descendant of the heavens trapped in fragile human flesh.
From beneath his cloak, he withdrew a necklace carved from ancient wood, its surface etched with symbols lost to time. With care, he fastened it around Gaida's neck, the amulet resting against her chest like a talisman of hope.
He closed his eyes and began to whisper,
"I pray to the One who answers my parents' prayers — without hesitation, without conditions.
I pray to you, Gaida."
His hands rose slowly in a silent worship, trembling ever so slightly with the weight of his plea.
Gaida's eyelids fluttered open, just enough to steal a quick, uncertain glance. Doubt flickered in her eyes — was this real, or merely a cruel dream? With a shudder, she shut them again, trying to hold onto the fragile thread of hope.