Author's Preface
The ground vanished from beneath Halima so fast she gasped. Yahya lifted her effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, and a second later she was astride a massive, scaled beast, breathing beneath her in deep, powerful surges.
The height hit her before fear could form a proper thought. The creature's back rolled under its elaborate saddle with every stride, muscles moving beneath thick hide, and Halima gripped the front of the pommel until her knuckles turned white. Below, the ground swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm. One wrong slip, and she would fall beneath six churning legs.
Then arms closed around her from behind.
He held her securely, wrapping his cloak tighter around her shoulders as he braced her with one arm and gathered the reins with the other. Halima was pinned between the biting night air and the heat of his body.
He was burning hot, his warmth seeping through the cloak and the thick fabric of her jumpsuit, slowly easing the tremors she couldn't control. The scent of him - tanned leather, dry woodsmoke, and foreign spices - enveloped her completely.
A red icon flickered insistently at the edge of her vision:
Error. Unknown linguistic system. Collecting phonetic data...
A bitter, borderline hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. The neural chip implanted during her academy days - the sole remaining piece of her old life - was helplessly analyzing the phonemes of an alien tongue, finding zero matches in its database.
Yahya barked a short command over his shoulder, sharp and authoritative. Behind them, dozens of voices answered in unison, and the drumming of hooves accelerated. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple over the whistle of the wind.
He spoke low and quiet.
The chip flickered again, pulling a fragment out of the foreign words and projecting a hesitant translation in the corner of her eye: quiet... hold on...
The rest drowned in the roar of wind and hooves.
Halima tensed, but the arm at her waist tightened just enough to steady her. Against all logic, through the terror humming in her blood, a single realization struck her: she wasn't falling. His grip was surer than any harness in the capsule. In a world collapsing around her, the steady warmth at her back was the only solid thing left.
The varak surged ahead, leading the warband across the moonlit dunes in a blur of sand and shadow. The wind stung her eyes and pulled loose strands of hair out from under the borrowed hood.
Then, at the horizon, lights appeared.
Dozens of campfires stretched in a broad crescent across the sand. Above them, towering structures of fabric and bone rose into the night sky like a nomadic city.
The riders crossed the camp's perimeter in an unbroken wave of torchlight and dust. Yahya raised a hand, reining in his mount well before the outer ring of tents. The thunder of hooves slowed to a cautious walk.
"Quiet," he said low over his shoulder. "Let the tribe sleep."
The warriors obeyed, the silence broken only by the creak of leather and the heavy breathing of the beasts. Yet Halima felt their stares on her, tracking the small figure tucked beneath Yahya's cloak. Discipline kept them silent, but the shock was palpable.
Darim pulled his mount alongside Yahya, his tone quiet but firm:
"My Seyyid. Law requires you to inform your father immediately. Bringing an outsider into the camp without his knowledge-"
"She is under my protection," Yahya interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "My tent is her sanctuary. I will answer to my father at first light."
Darim inclined his head, conceding the point, and signaled the guard to fall back.
Yahya dismounted in one fluid motion, keeping Halima wrapped close to shield her from the curious gazes lingering in the shadows. Beneath his palm, he could feel her heart hammering rapidly, like a trapped bird.
He carried her past the main paths, taking the darker spaces between sleeping tents where embers cast a soft crimson glow against felted walls.
She felt light in his arms, almost fragile. Her fingers remained locked in the fabric of his cloak at her chest, her breathing shallow and fast against his throat.
No one here will touch you, he thought, making a silent vow stronger than any oath before the Council. Even if I must stand against my father.
His personal tent stood at the center - the largest in the camp, its entrance draped in heavy fabric embroidered with gold thread. The guards bowed silently as he approached, lowering their eyes.
Yahya paused at the threshold for a brief second, then pushed the heavy drape aside and stepped into the warm dark.
The flap fell shut behind them, cutting off the campfires, the whispers, and the rest of the world.
Inside, the heat was immediate.
The space was vast. Thick wool rugs layered the floor, covered by dark, heavy furs. Copper lamps hung from the wooden frame, their flames casting a warm amber light across embroidered walls. The air smelled of sweet resin, dried herbs, and woodsmoke.
Halima remained frozen on the rug, clutching the steel wrench to her chest like a lifeline.
Yahya walked to the far side of the tent and knelt beside a low bed stacked with cushions and heavy blankets. He set her down gently, then immediately backed away, raising his open palms to chest height to show he was unarmed.
He offered no threat, keeping his distance.
Halima watched him as he walked to a low table, poured water from a pitcher into a copper cup, and took a drink himself first. See? It's safe. Only then did he place the cup, along with a wooden plate of flatbread and dried fruit, on the rug near her bed.
He stepped back again.
"Water," he said softly.
The chip icon flickered, catching the word from the stream of sound: Rest. Safety.
Three clear words. Enough to ease the tension that had held her rigid since she woke in the capsule.
Exhaustion began to wash over her, heavier than fear.
Yahya didn't push further. He retrieved a long curved blade in a plain sheath from a rack near the entrance and sat on a mat by the threshold, his back against the flap, facing her.
Before settling into his watch, he reached for a thick blanket nearby and draped it gently over her shoulders, tucking it around her with quiet precision. Then he retreated to the entrance.
Halima's fingers slowly loosened around the steel wrench. It slipped from her hand and fell silently into the thick pile of the rug.
Her eyes grew heavy. The last thing she saw before sleep pulled her under was the soft amber glow of the oil lamp and Yahya's still silhouette at the door, keeping watch over her through the night.