Not every danger can be seen… some wait patiently for the foot to step upon them.
This time, the road was different.
An open plain flat land stretching to the horizon, scattered with distant palm trees, spaced apart like hastily placed sentries.
The sand was soft beneath their feet, and the air was light, carrying the dry scent of the desert a smell that promised nothing… yet reassured no one.
They moved in silence.
Najjar walked at the front, his shoulders set like a man accustomed to being the first shield.
Behind him came Aram, his head slightly lowered, walking the part of a servant as they had agreed yet his eyes worked without rest.
To the right, Nabalian read the earth the way a man reads an open book.
To the left, Solan kept his gaze fixed on the crowns of the palms, as though waiting for something to fall from the sky.
The ease of the land was deceptive.
Near midday, Solan stopped.
The stop was not sudden in motion, but in stillness.
His foot hovered above the ground, suspended over a cluster of small intertwined branches. At first glance they looked natural… yet they were arranged with too much order, bound with a firmness no wind could achieve.
Before he shifted his weight, Aram's voice rose calm, lethal:
"Don't move."
Solan froze in place.
He did not ask. He did not turn.
In the mountains, one learns that a voice without tremor is not to be questioned.
Then the sound came from above.
A man's shout, from the crown of a tall palm:
"If you move your foot a single inch… you'll burn alive!"
They lifted their heads at once.
A thin man, long-limbed, sat among the palm fronds as though he were part of them. His eyes were sharp, gleaming with a hunter's intelligence, and in his hands was a long rope that dangled toward the ground.
He leapt from the palm with astonishing lightness, as if the air itself carried him. He landed on the sand without a sound and stepped toward Solan, pointing at the branches beneath his foot.
"A fire trap… an ignition charge.
Press any further, and it would've exploded under you."
Solan's eyes widened. He instinctively tried to pull his foot back.
The man said sharply, though without anger:
"I didn't say move yet."
He crouched, picked up a small stone, tied it to the end of the rope, then carefully tossed it onto the branches. He stepped back and pulled
The ground erupted.
A sudden burst of flame shot up from beneath the sand brief, violent, roaring like a small beast awakened in fury. The others recoiled instinctively.
Nabalian stared in disbelief.
"This isn't ordinary fire…"
The man smiled with quiet confidence.
"Mountain oil and tree resin.
Crude, yes… but deadly."
Najjar stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The man brushed ash from his hands and said:
"Karem. Hunter… and trap-maker.
I've lived here alone for years.
I shouted because I don't like strangers dying before I know who they are."
When Najjar told him they were heading toward Saba, Karem tilted his head, smiling.
"The road to Saba is long… and dangerous.
The trap you nearly stepped on is only one of dozens."
His gaze lingered on Aram.
The look of a man who sees more than what is spoken.
Then he said:
"I'll travel with you
if you know how to walk without angering fire."
And so, they became five.
After days of travel, a small village appeared in the heart of the plain.
Houses of mud and reed, narrow paths, children running like the wind.
It looked safe… too safe.
That evening, Aram felt that something was wrong.
The balance had shifted.
The packs felt lighter.
Nabalian was the first to speak:
"My quiver… it's gone."
Then Solan, searching his gear:
"My climbing rope
I had it this morning."
Aram scanned the surroundings. His eyes stopped on a young girl standing at the edge of the crowd.
Her eyes were bright, her movements light, watching them without fear.
That night… she emerged from the shadows.
She tossed the quiver and the rope at their feet and said, with courage far beyond her years:
"Take them… and take me with you."
They stared.
Najjar asked:
"Why?"
She answered without hesitation:
"You're different.
And I know this man "
she pointed at Aram
" is no servant."
The air tightened.
Karem laughed softly.
"You steal from us… and want to join us?"
She replied calmly:
"My name is Seham.
Yes, I steal what I want.
But this time, I want to leave.
And I have something that matters to you."
Her voice dropped.
"There's a man watching you.
Since morning.
He's not from this village."
Aram needed only one glance at Najjar.
Staying was a mistake.
Three days later, they left.
Five men… and a girl.
Najjar at the front.
Aram behind him.
Nabalian reading the ground.
Solan reading the rocks.
Karem reading the sky.
And Seham…
Reading them all.
As they drew closer to the borders of Saba,
the journey was no longer a march.
It was the beginning of an army
born from shadows.