Voice Beneath the Sand
The desert sun rose like a blade, cutting the world into light and shadow. Tahir Al-Mansur walked at the front of the small caravan, his eyes fixed on the cracked horizon. Behind him came Layla Kassem, steady but watchful; Amira Noorin, pale and quiet; and Sabir Nazeem, guiding two tired camels that carried water and what little food they had left.
None of them spoke. The weight of last night's attack still pressed on their minds. Tahir's own thoughts were a storm. He could still feel the strange fire that had burst from his hands—warm, restless, almost alive. It scared him, yet called to him.
After half a day of travel they reached a ridge of broken red rock. The air shimmered with heat. Down below, a long trench split the desert floor-an ancient riverbed now dry and dead. Dark pillars of stone jutted out like the fingers of giants.
Sabir raised a hand. "We stop here. The white sun will soon be highest. We hide in the shade or we burn."
They slipped into the trench, found a pocket of shade under a crooked pillar, and dropped their packs. Layla gave water to Amira first, then passed the skin to Tahir.
When Tahir drank, he caught Sabir staring at his hands-the same hands that had glowed blue in the night.
"You want to ask," Tahir said.
Sabir shrugged. "I have seen many strange things in the dunes. None like that. Fire that pushes back blades? That is the power of legends, not men."
Tahir looked down at his palms. "Legends kill men, too."
Layla placed a hand on Tahir's shoulder. "We can study the power later. First, we must stay alive."
Amira suddenly raised her head. Her eyes were far away, as if listening to something only she could hear.
Layla knelt beside the girl. "What is it?"
Amira spoke in a thin voice. "The sand is… calling."
Tahir's neck prickled. A dry wind crawled through the trench though the air above was still. Sand began to lift, grain by grain, twirling in small spirals.
Sabir cursed under his breath. "Storm?"
"No," Amira whispered. "Someone is here."
The spirals joined into one column of whirling sand, growing taller, thicker, humming with deep vibration. The camels cried, pulling against their ropes. Sabir held them tight.
Tahir stepped forward, hand on his scimitar-but the blade heated, forcing him to let go. The column of sand turned black at the center, then burst apart, revealing a figure that seemed born from smoke and embers.
Om'bara.
He was taller than any man, neither solid nor formless. His body flowed like slow fire, black and gold streaks crossing a surface that never stopped moving. Symbols—older than any script Tahir knew-glowed and faded across his chest. Where eyes should have been burned two coals of calm, endless light.
The trench fell silent. Even the camels stopped breathing.
A voice rose, but not through the air. It rumbled in the bones of anyone who listened, heavy with an ancient African cadence, each syllable spaced like a drum-beat.
"I am Om'bara, Whispering Flame.
The sand remembers my name.
Who calls the fire from the blood of kings?"
None dared answer. The god's gaze burned holes of light in the dirt.
Tahir forced words past a dry throat. "I did not call. The fire came by itself."
Om'bara drifted closer, feet never touching earth. Dust climbed his legs like servants.
"Power is never by itself, child.
Power is given… or taken."
Layla stepped forward. "Great One, we mean no offense. We seek only safe passage."
The golden eyes shifted to her. She felt heat blooming on her skin but did not move.
"Safe passage is bought with balance.
The scroll you guard tilts the scale.
If fire rises, shadow follows."
Sabir swallowed. "We—We carry no shadow, only a map."
Om'bara's laugh was a low thunder. Sand shook from the rocks overhead.
"The map leads to silence.
Silence hides the Flame of First Blood.
The First Flame burns even gods."
Tahir clenched his fists. "If the flame is so dangerous, why let me wield it?"
Lightning-thin grief flickered through the gold eyes.
"I do not let. I test.
Use the flame for pride,
and I take it back.
Use it for greed,
and the desert will eat your heart."
He extended an arm of black smoke and gold spark. The air wavered with heat. A glowing mark bloomed on Tahir's chest, just above the heart— a small circle wrapped in a broken ring.
"This mark binds the loan.
Three faults, and the fire returns to me."
Tahir winced at the burning brand. "Three faults?"
"Unjust kill.
Selfish wish.
Lied oath."
"Cross one, the mark grows.
Cross three, flame turns to ash."
Amira stepped forward. To everyone's surprise, the god bowed his head to the girl.
"Seer of two lives… you remember, yes?"
Amira nodded, voice small but steady. "I remember the gates. And I remember the cost."
Om'bara faced Tahir again.
"Know this, bearer of scroll and flame:
Malik Zahari seeks the city not for crown,
but for the Ember Throne—
a seat forged in First Flame.
If he sits, desert dies in shadow fire."
Sabir muttered, "So the legend is true."
Tahir felt the heat in his palms; sparks danced at his fingertips. "What must I do?"
"Guard the flame.
Guard the scroll.
Reach Sahran'Zud before Zahari.
Seal the Ember Throne with blood untainted by greed."
Layla frowned. "Blood untainted? Whose blood?"
Om'bara's eyes dimmed, as though saddened.
"A heart that chooses sacrifice over rule."
"Flame closes only in willing loss."
The god turned away. His body dissolved into drifting fire, then ash, then nothing. The heat faded. The mark on Tahir's chest cooled but remained, glowing faintly under his shirt.
Silence wrapped the trench once more.
Only then did anyone breathe.
A Moment of Fear
Layla touched Tahir's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
"Not in ways I can see," he said.
Sabir exhaled. "Three faults? Better hope you like honesty, my friend."
Amira hugged herself. "He is not cruel. He is balance. If you follow what is true, the fire will remain your ally."
Tahir stared at his palm, watching sparks flicker, vanish. "I fear what happens if I fail."
Layla met his gaze. "Then we will remind you who you are before that happens."
Sabir cleared his throat. "And what if saving the desert means losing the desert's last good man?"
"No," Amira said softly. "The desert chooses those willing to bleed for it. Not those eager to burn it."
March to the Gate
With Om'bara's warning heavy on their backs they climbed out of the trench and pushed toward the east where the Salt Wastes grew white and cruel under mid-afternoon sun.
They spoke little. Each footstep seemed louder than before, each gust of wind carrying the echo of Om'bara's words: Three faults… flame to ash.
Hours later, jagged black shapes appeared on the horizon. The Black Canyons at last. Between those teeth stood the hidden gate to Sahran'Zud.
Sabir stopped. "We reach the Eye of Vashir by dusk."
Tahir nodded. His chest burned lightly under his shirt; the mark felt alive, like a second pulse.
Layla watched him with quiet worry. "Remember, your mind guides the flame, not your anger."
Tahir gave a faint smile. "Then I must keep my anger small."
Amira whispered, "Or let the anger burn for others, not for yourself."
Into the Eye
By sunset they stood before the ancient stone gate described by Sabir's map. Giant pillars flanked a slab carved with snakes, flames, and an all-seeing eye.
Sabir produced the stolen leather map. "According to this, a hidden lever lies beneath that symbol."
Tahir approached, hand ready to ignite if needed, but the stone shifted on its own. A groan echoed like a dying beast. Dust exploded outward as the gate opened inch by inch.
A smell rushed out—old, bitter, like charred bone.
Beyond lay a dark tunnel lit by thin cracks of dying red light.
Amira shivered. "The city sleeps beyond."
Layla held Tahir's hand. "You do not face this alone."
Sabir slid a dagger into his sleeve. "And if Zahari's hunters come, they meet my knife first."
Tahir nodded, heart pounding like war drums. The mark on his chest glowed brighter, guiding the fire under his skin.
They stepped through the gate.
Sand whispered behind them, closing the path. And somewhere far away, thunder rolled—though the sky was clear.
Om'bara's Second Whisper
Halfway down the passage, the walls shook. A sudden hush fell. The torches in Sabir's hands flickered blue.
Om'bara's voice returned, softer but colder.
"I watch, bearer of flame.
Remember: a throne may shine,
but it is still a cage."
The flames went back to normal.
Sabir exhaled. "I think I prefer scorpions to gods."
Layla squeezed Tahir's arm. "One step at a time."
They walked deeper. The tunnel widened into a cavern where an underground river once flowed. Now it was dry, full of dust and bone. On the far wall, broken statues of forgotten kings stared down.
Tahir felt the fire pulse. Something was calling him farther in. But he thought of Om'bara's warning: three faults. He breathed, steady, and forced the sparks to sleep.
The whisper of the desert followed them. Om'bara's final words echoed in Tahir's mind:
"Power is loaned.
Greed breaks the seal.
Blood must choose… or desert will decide."
He did not know which blood would be asked to seal the Ember Throne, but he knew one truth:
If sacrifice was the price, he would pay it before Malik Zahari ever sat upon that throne.
And so, with fear behind and flame within, Tahir led his friends toward the heart of Sahran'Zud—as Om'bara watched, somewhere beyond the swirling sands.
End of Chapter 6