When the wind calls you by name… it does not ask permission.
The caravan halted at a narrow oasis, hemmed in by slender trees whose twisted trunks looked like hands clinging to life at the final moment. The water was scarce but clear, and the air unnaturally still for the desert a stillness that promised comfort more than it ever delivered it. The men pitched their tents and scattered between the shade and a modest fire, but Aram found no rest in the quiet.
When he closed his eyes, he did not sleep…
he returned.
He returned to his ruined village.
Dust rose until it choked the light,
homes whose corners he had memorized were now ash,
and human voices shattered beneath smoke before they could reach him.
He saw Mira her face smeared with dirt stretching her arms toward him, her voice fading as she said:
"Come back to us…"
Each step he took summoned a gray storm that swallowed her whole.
Then he saw his mother on the ground, trying to rise, only for smoke to erase her features until she vanished.
And finally… the voice came.
A small voice, heavier than all the screams before it:
"Father…"
A child he had never seen before.
His eyes were Aram's eyes.
His features were Mira's.
Aram reached out
and darkness closed around the child and dragged him away.
He jolted awake, sweat soaking his body, the voice still lodged in his chest. He rose without waking anyone, took Wabar's reins, and moved away from the camp until he reached a high rock overlooking half the desert. He lifted his face to the sky, not seeking an answer, but the possibility of one.
Then a gentle wind stirred, carrying the scent of wet earth though no rain had fallen.
And the voice came… not from a mouth, but from within the wind itself.
He knew it instantly.
Oshan.
He emerged from the shadows like a fracture in the night, his steps slow, three hyenas walking behind him in solemn silence. Strangely, Wabar did not flinch; he watched them with wary calm, as though the horse knew these were no ordinary beasts.
Oshan carried a small glass vial. Inside it, fire and smoke moved like a trapped spirit. Aram rested his hand on his sword, cautious.
"How did you get here?" he asked. "No horse… no camel."
Oshan smiled a smile that showed only half of itself.
"The wind carries whom it wishes. And whoever does not understand the wind does not understand the road."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper:
"Do not fear, Aram. The wind walks with me, the water listens to me, and the sands follow my steps."
He paused, then spoke with the weight of revelation:
"You must complete the journey to the Mountain of Stars… alone."
Aram's heart trembled.
"Why alone?"
Oshan looked at the vial and said:
"There is something waiting for you there. You will not see it with imagination, nor fear, nor with men at your side. Your son was born before his time… and that was the sign."
Aram's chest tightened.
"Are you certain? How do you know? And how is he?"
Without lifting his eyes, Oshan replied:
"His early arrival marks him as unlike others. He refused to remain a prisoner of the womb his fate was faster. Those who watch for the day of his birth are lost now; they were waiting two more months… and your son arrived today. He has bought you time. Go to the Mountain of Stars. The sign has been given: you are the one worthy of what lies there."
Aram asked hoarsely:
"And what is it?"
Oshan did not answer.
He raised the vial slightly, and above them a thin thread of light split the sky, as if the stars had melted and begun to flow through the air.
At that moment, Aram heard his men calling from afar.
"Aram! Where are you?"
"I'm here!" he answered.
When he looked back
There was nothing.
No Oshan.
No hyenas.
No smoke.
As if the wind itself had swallowed him.
Aram returned to the caravan with a face no one recognized. He sat among them and said with final calm:
"I will be gone for two days. I'm going alone to the Mountain of Stars."
Nibalion snapped, "The road is full of ambushes."
Najjar said, "We won't let you go alone."
Orgus raised his hand. He was the only one who understood.
"If Oshan asked this… do not stop him. These are not men; they stand between wind and water. When one of them speaks… it is happening."
Aram looked at Najjar.
"I leave the caravan in your care. Wait for me at the valley we agreed upon."
"I promise," Najjar replied.
Aram took Wabar's reins and cast a long look at his men.
"If I do not return… continue to Saba. You will find the answer there."
And he rode off.
He left the night alone, accompanied only by the sands, heading toward the Mountain of Stars
where a fate awaited him that Oshan had not named,
and not even the wind had fully revealed.
By morning, the caravan continued without its leader.
But his shadow remained with them,
weighing down the air
as if the desert itself knew that this separation
would not be a passing one.