CHAPTER 2: A NOMAD'S PACT

Chapter 2: A Nomad's Pact

The desert's mornings were deceptive. The soft hues of dawn painted the dunes in shades of gold and lavender, masking the unforgiving heat that would soon blaze down. Aya awoke to the low hum of Idris murmuring to his camel. He didn't notice her at first, busy adjusting the saddle and feeding the beast a handful of dried dates. She watched him for a moment, her thoughts drifting to the stark contrast between his easy movements and her own awkward attempts at surviving the desert. His frame was lean, and his sun-browned skin told the story of someone who had spent his life under Aramun's unrelenting sun.

"You're awake," Idris said without turning, his voice breaking her thoughts.

Aya sat up, brushing sand from her cloak. "Barely. Does the desert ever let anyone rest?"

Idris chuckled, the sound dry and short. "You'll get used to it—or you'll die trying. Either way, the desert doesn't care."

Aya frowned, pulling the map from her satchel. She smoothed the fragile parchment, her fingers tracing the cryptic symbols. "If this is the desert's way of testing me, it's doing a fine job."

Idris slung a water pouch over his shoulder and walked over to where she sat. "Show me that map again."

Aya hesitated, clutching the map protectively. "I thought you said the oasis was cursed."

"I did. But you seem too stubborn to care." Idris squatted beside her, his sharp eyes scanning the parchment. "Besides, if you're leading me into danger, I'd rather know what I'm walking into."

Aya reluctantly handed it over. "Fine. But be careful. It's ancient."

Idris took the map, holding it as if it might crumble in his hands. He studied the symbols, his brows furrowing in thought. "This script—some of it matches the markings I've seen on old stones near my tribe's land. Sacred carvings. We were told they belonged to the First Ones."

"The First Ones?" Aya leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.

"A name passed down in our stories. They were wanderers of the desert, like my ancestors. But unlike us, they disappeared—swallowed by the sands." Idris handed the map back to her. "Whatever you're looking for, it's older than any kingdom in Aramun."

Aya stared at the map, the weight of his words settling over her. The First Ones. Could the Shaded Oasis truly be tied to such an ancient lineage? Her pulse quickened at the thought.

"Do you believe the stories?" she asked.

Idris shrugged. "Belief doesn't matter. The desert is full of stories, but only the strong survive to tell them."

Aya tucked the map away, her resolve hardening. "Then I suppose I'll have to be strong."

Idris gave her a long look, his expression unreadable. Then he stood and gestured toward his camel. "Come. We need to move before the sun turns this place into an oven."

As they traveled deeper into the desert, the landscape shifted. The rolling dunes gave way to jagged ridges and rocky outcroppings, their dark shadows stretching across the sands. The air grew heavier, and the occasional gust of wind carried with it whispers of distant voices.

Aya walked beside Idris' camel, her legs aching from the uneven terrain. Despite the discomfort, she refused to complain. She could feel Idris watching her, as if testing her endurance. By midday, they reached a cluster of stones arranged in a strange, spiraling pattern. Idris dismounted, his movements deliberate.

"What is this place?" Aya asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

"A marker," Idris replied. "My people call it the Spiral of Echoes. It's said that if you stand in the center and listen, you can hear the voices of the past."

Aya stepped closer, her curiosity overcoming her exhaustion. The stones were etched with faint carvings, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of wind and sand. She stood in the center of the spiral, closing her eyes. At first, there was only silence, broken by the occasional gust of wind. But then… faintly, she heard it. A low murmur, like the hum of distant voices just beyond her understanding.

Her eyes snapped open, her heart racing. "I heard something," she whispered.

Idris watched her, his expression unreadable. "The desert has many tricks. Don't let it distract you."

Aya frowned, but she didn't argue. As they continued their journey, she couldn't shake the feeling that the spiral had been more than a trick of the wind.

By nightfall, they reached a narrow canyon that cut through a ridge of jagged stone. Idris signaled for them to stop.

"We'll camp here," he said, dismounting. "The rocks will block the wind."

Aya sank to the ground, her body protesting every movement. She drank sparingly from her water pouch, rationing what little they had. Idris built a small fire, its flames casting flickering shadows on the canyon walls. He handed her a piece of flatbread and dried meat, his gaze lingering on her as she ate.

"You're tougher than you look," he said, breaking