Chapter 4:
Part 1 The Man Who Walks Between Shadows
The desert wind whispered like a voice from the past, carrying dust and secrets across the dunes. Tahir Al-Mansur stood on a rocky ridge, eyes narrowed at the fading footprints below. Layla Kassem crouched beside him, brushing her fingers over the sand.
"They're not fresh," she said. "But whoever left them… wasn't alone."
Tahir nodded. "Sabir."
The name carried weight between them. Sabir Nazeem—smuggler, trickster, survivor. A man known more for slipping through problems than solving them. And yet, he was the key to their next move.
They were headed to the Oasis of Sarran—an outlaw haven where gold and danger were traded freely. Sabir was said to pass through once a month. If they were lucky, he'd still be there.
"Tread carefully," Tahir said. "Sabir doesn't deal in favors. He deals in leverage."
The journey took two days. On the second evening, as dusk bled into night, the dunes shifted from orange to deep violet. The Oasis of Sarran rose like a mirage—hidden behind jagged cliffs, guarded by black tents and quiet watchers with blades.
Inside, the air smelled of spice, oil, and something rotten. Music drifted from low-lit corners, and laughter echoed from behind canvas walls.
Tahir moved with Layla beside him, his hand never far from his blade. They asked for Sabir quietly, using an old code: "The sun owes the moon a debt."
A small man with broken teeth smiled. "You're lucky. He's in the back. Drinking with ghosts."
Sabir Nazeem sat in shadow, legs crossed, black scarf covering most of his face. His eyes-sharp as glass and twice as cold—studied Tahir as they entered.
"Tahir Al-Mansur," he said with a grin. "I heard you were dead. Or running from something worse."
"I need information," Tahir said, ignoring the chair offered.
Sabir chuckled. "You always did come straight to business. No wine, no stories? That's cold-even for you."
"I heard Malik Zahari's riders passed near the Bone Cliffs," Tahir said. "What do you know?"
Sabir's eyes flickered. "I know they weren't just passing. Malik's searching for something. Something tied to an ancient name—Al-Mansur."
Layla stiffened. "You're lying."
"Not this time, healer," Sabir said, voice suddenly low. "The scroll you carry… it's not just a key to unity. It's a map to something buried. Malik wants it."
Tahir frowned. "How do you know what we carry?"
"I have ears in places you wouldn't dream," Sabir replied. "And maybe I have dreams too. Ones where Malik burns everything, unless someone stops him."
Tahir leaned closer. "Will you help us or not?"
Sabir tapped the table. "Only if I get something in return."
"What?"
"Protection," he said. "If I betray Malik, I become a hunted man. I want your word. If this ends badly, you get me out. Alive."
Tahir hesitated. "You're already a hunted man."
"Not like this."
Layla touched Tahir's arm. "We need him."
After a long moment, Tahir nodded. "You have my word."
Sabir's smile returned. "Then let me show you what Malik fears."
End of Part 1
Part 2: Sabir's Secret and the Dead Man's Map
Sabir led them through the winding tents of the Oasis, deeper into the maze of traders, thieves, and whispers. Past a silent courtyard and beneath a blackened arch, he stopped before a thick curtain draped in old desert charms.
Inside was a single oil lamp, a pile of rugs, and a wooden chest—chained and nailed shut.
"This," he said, crouching beside it, "belonged to a man who once served under Malik Zahari. A mapmaker who turned mad before he died."
Tahir exchanged a glance with Layla. "You trust a mad man's map?"
"I trust what Malik feared enough to bury," Sabir replied, pulling out a small iron key from beneath his cloak. "And what I risked ten fingers to steal."
The chest creaked open. Inside, wrapped in faded cloth, was a leather scroll, rough and cracked from age. Layla gently unrolled it across the rug. Her eyes widened.
"This… this shows underground paths beneath the Salt Wastes," she whispered. "It leads to something… hidden."
"A city," Sabir said. "One not on any known map. Its name was erased long ago. But the mad man called it Sahran'Zud—the City of Silence."
Tahir frowned. "And Malik is looking for it?
Sabir nodded. "He believes it holds a relic. Something powerful. A relic that gives the bearer not just control of tribes—but the right to rule."
Layla's voice dropped. "Like a crown?"
"More like a curse," Sabir muttered. "If legends are true, whoever holds it can call the desert winds, break armies, and shatter oaths."
Tahir stood silent, heart thudding. "Then we must find it first."
Later that night, as the wind moaned outside and the fire grew low, Layla sat near Tahir, staring into the flames.
"Do you trust him?" she asked.
"No," Tahir said simply. "But I trust his fear. It's real."
She nodded. "Something is shifting. I feel it. Like… the sand itself is holding its breath."
Tahir didn't speak, but his thoughts were restless. Every step brought them closer to danger—and to truths he wasn't ready to face.
The next morning, they set out before sunrise. Sabir led them through a narrow pass behind the oasis. Camels packed, weapons sharp, hearts uncertain.
They were heading for the Salt Wastes, toward a forgotten city buried in myth. Toward a secret Malik Zahari would kill to possess.
But already, danger followed.
As they left, two cloaked riders watched from a distance. One held a black hawk. The other whispered to it, then released it into the sky.
The hawk circled once—then soared east.
Toward Malik Zahari.
End of Chapter 4