Chapter 3: Shadows Over the Oasis

The sandstorm’s last fury hadn’t quite passed; heat waves distorted the air, stretching the horizon into a blurred, purple-gold scar. Jamil was the first to squeeze through the narrow crevice of dunes, the obsidian against his cuff vibrating with a faint, cold hum, as if answering some ancient stirring deep beneath the earth.

He looked back over his shoulder. Nur was carefully dragging a camel that had been roasted red by the merciless sun, while the distance between Sara and Omar had shrunk by an inch, but the danger between them had grown by a mile.

Just as they were gaining their footing, a thick mix of rose and agarwood scent cut through the dry dust. It was the unique smell of an oasis, carrying a cloying sweetness of life tangled with the rot of death.

This hidden water source wasn’t some uncharted wilderness. In the distance, a few silver-white modern tents were visible, and high above them flew black banners, embroidered with the Rashid Clan’s emblem—a falcon with wings spread, its eagle eyes sharp enough to make your blood run cold.

Sara squinted, her fingers tracing the hilt of her blade as she murmured, “Habibi, look at those flags. This is Rashid territory. How are they showing up this deep into the remote interior?”

Omar let out a cold laugh, his boots crunching loudly on the scalding gravel. He ignored Sara’s question, his gaze locked on the prisoners tied up near a dry well at the far camp, a complex flicker crossing his eyes. The captives wore tattered clothes and looked hollow-eyed, clearly members of a caravan that had been stripped for parts.

Elder Rashid wasn’t there, leaving behind a group of guards in tactical vests to do the cleanup according to their brutal rules. One young guard had been dragged to the well’s edge, kneeling and trembling, while others nearby were roughly pouring hard liquor down his throat.

A sarcastic curve formed on Omar’s lips. “Sheikh Rashid is always like this—executing the dirtiest purges in the most respectable way. He thinks this is the middle of nowhere where he can deal with traitors freely, forgetting that in the desert, there are more eyes than people. There are falcons.”

He turned to Jamil, his gaze like a blade. “Are you sure we keep going? There are at least twenty fully armed guards there, plus that dry well, which is enough to trap an entire caravan.”

Jamil didn’t answer right away. He crouched down, pressing his palm against the ground. The obsidian’s light seeped through his cuff, illuminating the lines on his palm. Beneath the visible green canopy, the terrain wasn’t solid as it appeared; it was riddled with hidden underground rivers and soft mud.

It was a relic of riverbed shifts millions of years ago, now covered by vegetation but still soft enough to swallow steel. He slowly stood, a flash of resolve in his eyes. “Omar, you’re completely wrong. This isn’t a trap, it’s a hunting ground. Rashid’s men hold the high ground above, but they’re ignoring the abyss below.

As soon as we lure them down, this quagmire will become their grave.” He looked at Nur, who was anxiously rubbing his hands. “But Sir Jamil, our camels are exhausted. If we keep going, they’ll collapse within half a day. And those guards have weapons. How do we fight them with bare hands?”

“You don’t need bare hands, just a little accident.” Jamil smiled, a pale and eerie expression under the harsh sun. He pulled a shard of obsidian from his waist, flashed it in the sunlight, and then tossed it into the air.

The shard spun as it fell, landing in a seemingly solid dune with no sound, sinking in as if swallowed by the earth. Omar’s pupils contracted; he finally realized what was happening. “You’re gambling with your lives! If we lure their main force instead of just scouts, we’re done for.

The Rashid Clan has an unshakable status in the Riyadh Chamber of Commerce. Messing with them means messing with the financial bloodstream of the entire Gulf.”

Sara cut in coldly, her voice like ice chips hitting the ground. “Screw the bloodstream. The Sara family doesn’t run up debts. If they dare use a dry well to imprison innocents, we’ll make them taste the quagmire. Jamil, I’m with you. Omar, don’t hold us back unless you want to put your neck in someone else’s blade.”

Omar was silent for a moment, then pulled a pair of sunglasses from his bag and put them on, hiding the fire in his eyes. He looked at Sara, then at Jamil, and finally let out a dismissive snort. “Inshallah, then we gamble. But if we fail, the first one thrown into the quicksand is you, Jamil.

I’ll personally tear off that shoddy outfit of yours to pad the camel’s ass.” He turned and walked toward the vehicle, his movements brisk and cold. Nur cautiously approached Jamil, lowering his voice. “Habibi, that stone... can it really predict the terrain? It feels like it’s bleeding.”

Jamil gripped the obsidian and felt a sharp pain, as if something was eroding his nerves. “It’s a trade. I borrow its eyes, pay with my blood. The cost gets higher every time I use it. Remember, Nur, there are only two kinds of people here: those who stay alive, and those who turn to stone. And right now, I’m turning into stone.”

A scout vehicle rattled along the edge of the oasis, kicking up a cloud of dust. Omar’s hands were steady on the wheel, but he wasn’t as calm as he looked; his radar screen was flickering, showing abnormal fluctuations in the terrain ahead. He stared at the display and sneered. “That lunatic Jamil actually calculated this correctly.

The dunes ahead are soft; that’s his ‘invitation’ for us.” He jerked the steering wheel, sending the vehicle skidding toward the left onto a band of solid rock, trying to bypass the mud swamp. But just as he was about to emerge from the shade, a black falcon dove from the treetops, shattering his side mirror with precise force.

Glass shattered. In the instinctive blink that followed, the ground beneath them suddenly collapsed. The wheels sank into the soft mud, the vehicle tilting violently as the engine gave a pained growl before dying.

Omar tumbled out of the driver’s seat, covered in black mud, his once-pristine white robe instantly ruined. He struggled to crawl out of the car; the surrounding guards got out one by one, but the wheels were stuck halfway down, the chassis wedged in a complex gully, leaving them unable to advance or retreat.

In the distance, Jamil’s silhouette emerged from the green shade, the heated obsidian in his hand, his eyes calm as an ancient well. He didn’t celebrate; instead, he looked weak, a trickle of blood seeping from his nostril.

Sara held her silver needles, walking at the front of the group. Her gaze swept over the trapped vehicle, and she sneered coldly. “Omar, it seems your luck wasn’t enough to save you from the mud. Are those people tied to the well doing okay? Did they hear the sound of your wheels sinking?”

Omar wiped the muddy water from his face, staring at Sara with a raspy voice. “Sara, you can repay that debt to me double now. As for those traitors, Sheikh Rashid will handle them. You can’t save them, and you can’t save your father.”

Nur rushed forward and cut the ropes binding Sara. It turned out that when they had infiltrated the camp, Sara had been briefly captured and was now leaning weakly against a tree. As he bandaged her, he kept a wary eye on Omar’s direction. “Miss, are you alright? Mr. Jamil was right. Omar is cunning, but he really got his butt kicked this time.

That quagmire is alive; it sucks people in.” Sara sat up straight, her face pale but her eyes still sharp as an eagle. She looked at Jamil, free of enmity for the first time. “Jamil, you knew this all along. From the start, you were using Omar’s arrogance to draw him into the trap. This isn’t survival, it’s revenge. You’re declaring war on the Rashid Clan, aren’t you?”

Jamil wiped the blood from his nose and spoke softly. “No, I’m just fulfilling a contract. The obsidian told me that only when a powerful force falls into a valley can the ancient balance be restored. Omar, you are Sheikh Rashid’s grandson. Your father buried something here, and now it has woken up.”

Omar clawed his way out of the swamp, every step heavy. He walked to the front of the car, removing the mud-caked sunglasses to reveal his icy, deep eyes. In that moment, his anger vanished, replaced by a chilling scrutiny. He looked at Jamil, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You mentioned my grandfather.

Yes, ten years ago, he disappeared while searching for the underground water vein of this well. The Chamber said he was dead, but I know he was left there. Is the stone in your hand a keepsake he left for me, or a death curse?”

A shiver ran through Jamil; the obsidian in his sleeve vibrated violently, as if screaming. He realized Omar wasn’t just an enemy; he was another key holder in this history.

“The contract is two-way,” Jamil said, his voice low. “I gain the ability to perceive terrain, and the price is my lifespan. And you, Omar, you inherited the Rashid Clan’s honor, but also the bond with that ancient entity. Does Sheikh Rashid purge traitors to hide a secret, or to wake them?

If your grandfather is still alive, he wouldn’t allow his guards to kill indiscriminately here. Omar, how much longer will you be blind to this?”

Omar was silent for a long time, the air around them seeming to freeze. Finally, he sneered, pulled a gold badge from his breast pocket, and tossed it to Jamil. “This is the token for the market trading time. In three days, at the Spice Fair in Beirut, I’ll come see you personally. Either bring your stone, or bring your life.

Remember, there are no secrets in the desert, only truths waiting to be revealed.” He turned and walked toward the surviving vehicles, his back lonely and resolute, leaving Jamil alone in the oasis’s shade, clutching the burning obsidian, feeling a growing void deep in his chest.