As the sun set behind the golden dunes of the Sahran Wastes, long shadows stretches the desert the reaching fingers. The air shimmered with heat, but the wind had turned coolssued at Zayd's clothes and whispered in his ears like a voice trying to speak but never quite saying anything
Twelve-year-old Zayd pulled his scarf tighter around his mouth, squinting into the horizon. The wind cammed a strange scent-smoke and honey. Familiar, yet out of place.
Zayd had grown up in the quiet village of Qalat, where life followed the mythen of sun and sand. Momings began with prayer at the old stone mosque, followed by hours helping his father in the date groves. In the afternoons, he would sit cross-legged before Sheikh Amr, the village's white-bearded scholar, who spoke of
the old stories-tales of jinn, forgotten kings, and lights that walked in the dark.
But this evening felt different. The desert felt... alive.
The wind shifted suddenly, sweeping through the dunes with a fow, hollow moan. Zayd paused, his hand resting on the leather satchel slung across his shoulder. He should have turned back-his father would worry -but something unseen called to him, tugging at his chest like a string pulled tight.
That's when he saw it.
A faint glow, pulsing behind the crest of a nearby dune-soft and silver, like moonlight trapped in glass.
Curiosity flared inside him. Zayd glanced hack once toward the direction of the village, now hidden by sand and distance. Then he began to climb, each step sinking slightly into the fine grains. The wind whipped harder at the top, nearly pushing him back.
When he reached the peak, he stopped.
There, hall-buried in the sand, was a glass lamp. Unlike any he had ever seen, it bumed with a pale silver flame that danced behind the glass but gave off no heat, no smoke. The flame moved as if it were alive.
Zayd's heart quickened. Something about the lamp made the hairs on his arms rise.
Then he heard it.
A voice-low, ancient, echoing-not with his ears, but deep within his chest and behind his eyes.
"The Flame of Noor is awake. The shadows will rise again."
Zayd spun around. Nothing. Only sand and wind. No footprints, no travelers. He stood utterly alone beneath
the darkening sky.
He swallowed. His palms were damp.
"Who's there?" he called, but his voice was swallowed by the wind.
The lamp pulsed.
Something deep inside him stirred-an emotion he couldn't name. Fear. Wonder. Destiny.
He knelt beside the lamp. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the glass-
The flame roared to life.
Light exploded around him, blinding and silent. The sand beneath his feet seemed to fall away. He cried out, but rio sound came. The world stretched and twisted like a reflection in rippling water.
He was no longer in the desert.
He stood on a vast plain of darkness, stars swirling above and below. In the distance, he saw silhouettes-mountains? Creatures? Cities made of glass? A storm of silver light spun overhead like a spiral galaxy.
And before him stood a figure cloaked in shadow, its eyes like twin moons.
"Bearer of the Flame," it whispered. "You have been chosen."
Zayd gasped.
Then, in an instant, the vision shattered.
He blinked and was back on the dune, the lamp cool and still in his hands. The wind was calm now. The scent of honey lingered in the air.
Zayd stood slowly, clutching the lamp to his chest. He didn't know what had happened. He didn't know what
it meant
But he knew one thing:
His life would never be the same again.