By the third week in the village, food was starting to run low.
Not because the villagers were stingy. Not because they didn't want to share. But because this village—like all places at the end of the world—never had more than enough for itself.
And now there were thirty-four more mouths to feed.
The math was simple. Brutal.
Hakeem sat with the old man—the village chief who never called himself the village chief but everyone listened to him.
"We can't keep this up," the old man said without an opening. Just a fact. "Our supplies are for the next three months. Maybe four if we're very frugal. But that's for the villagers. Not for..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"Not for us," Hakeem completed it. He wasn't angry. Just acknowledging it.
"I'm not saying you have to leave. I'm just saying—we need a solution."
Hakeem stared out at the desert that stretched on endlessly. "What do you usually do when food runs low?"
"We hunt. But animals are rare in this region. And the ones that are here—wild camels, desert goats, large lizards—they're not close by. It's at least a three-day journey north, where there's still vegetation at the foot of the hills."
"Three days," Hakeem repeated. "Round trip—a week. Maybe more."
"Yes. And it's dangerous. Wild camels aren't tame animals. They can kill a person if they're cornered. Desert goats are fast and wild. And the journey itself—the desert doesn't forgive mistakes."
"But it can be done."
The old man looked at Hakeem with eyes that had seen too much. "It can. But it has to be people who know what they're doing. And there have to be enough of them to bring back a decent haul. One or two animals won't be enough for thirty-four people."
Hakeem was silent—thinking. Calculating. Measuring the risks and the needs.
"How many people do you usually send?"
"Six. Sometimes eight. Any more than that, and there are too many mouths to feed on the journey. Any fewer, and there aren't enough hands to catch and carry the animals."
"And how often?"
"Every three months. Sometimes four."
Hakeem nodded slowly. "I'll take some people. Ten of us. We'll hunt—not just for now, but enough for the coming months. And if we can catch them alive—we'll bring them back to breed."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "To breed?"
"Camels, goats—if we can raise them here, we won't have to hunt so far every time. We'll have a source of meat, milk, and hides. Something sustainable."
"That's... that's a good idea. But no one has ever succeeded. Wild camels are too wild to be tamed."
"Maybe. But we won't know until we try." Hakeem stood up. "Give us three days to prepare. We'll leave on the fourth day."
The old man stared—assessing. Then he nodded.
"Please be careful. The desert doesn't care about bravery or determination. It only cares about who is wise enough to respect it."
"I know," Hakeem said. "We've already learned that the hard way."
Hakeem gathered the people that evening.
"I need ten people. Strong. Who still have the energy for a long journey. Who aren't afraid of wild animals."
Many hands went up—more than ten. Everyone wanted to help. Everyone wanted to prove they were useful.
But Hakeem chose carefully.
Feng—fast, nimble, sharp-eyed.
Amira—strong, resilient, not easily panicked.
Five young men who still had muscle even after the Forge had tried to destroy them.
Two women who knew how to set snares and hunt small animals.
And Torin.
"Me?" Torin was surprised when his name was called. "But I'm not—"
"You know the desert better than us," Hakeem said. "Have you been to this place before?"
"Once. A long time ago. But yes."
"Then you're coming. Not as a prisoner. As a guide. If you want."
Torin was silent—looking at the faces that were waiting for an answer.
Then he nodded. "I want to."
Hakeem turned to Li Yuan—who was sitting in the corner as usual.
"Li Yuan—"
"I won't come," Li Yuan gently interrupted. "My body is still too weak for a journey like that. I would be a burden, not a help."
Hakeem hesitated. "But if someone gets hurt—you can—"
"If someone gets hurt, you'll have to bring them home. Don't wait for me to heal them. I'll be here when you get back."
Hakeem stared—looking for any sign that Li Yuan was hiding something.
But Li Yuan's face was calm. Honest.
"Fine," Hakeem finally said. "Take care of the others while we're gone."
Li Yuan gave a small smile. "I'm just a blind man sitting in a corner. But I'll listen if anyone needs to be heard."
Three days of preparation.
They gathered water—buckets, leather sacks borrowed from the villagers, anything that could carry liquid.
They gathered ropes—to make snares, to tie up animals if they could be caught alive.
They gathered weapons—knives, improvised spears from wood and sharp stones, the sword Hakeem had taken from Yoran.
And they practiced—how to set snares, how to approach without making a sound, how to move as a coordinated group.
It wasn't perfect. But it was enough.
Or at least, it had to be enough.
On the night before they left, Hakeem came to Li Yuan again.
He didn't say anything for a few minutes—he just sat, looking up at the stars that weren't covered by clouds because there were no clouds in the desert.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he finally whispered.
"No one does," Li Yuan said softly. "Everyone who thinks they know—they're just good at pretending."
"What if I fail? What if someone dies because of my decision?"
"Then you'll learn that leadership is about carrying that burden. The burden of knowing every decision could be the last one for someone."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not supposed to be comforting. If it were comforting, it would mean you had stopped caring. And the day you stop caring is the day you stop being worthy of leading."
Hakeem was silent for a long time.
Then he asked—his voice was different now, more careful:
"Li Yuan... who are you really?"
Li Yuan smiled in the dark. "Someone who has lived long enough to know that that question has no satisfying answer."
"You're not just an 'ordinary' blind man."
"No one is just 'ordinary'. Every person is a world. I just... have had more time to explore the world inside myself."
Hakeem stared—trying to read a face that never showed more than it wanted to show.
"One day, I'll know your true story."
"Maybe. Or maybe the true story isn't as important as the story we choose to live every day."
Hakeem gave a small laugh—tired but warm.
"You and your riddles."
"Riddles are the way the world speaks. I'm just a poor translator."
"Poor?" Hakeem stood up. "I've never met a better translator."
He walked back—leaving Li Yuan alone with the stars and the wind.
And Li Yuan sat—listening.
He listened to Wenjing capture the intent of the ten people who were leaving tomorrow:
I'm scared but I won't show it.
I have to succeed. For the others.
I don't know what we'll find but I can't turn back now.
He listened to the twenty-three people who would stay:
I hope they come back safe.
I hope they bring back enough food.
I hope I'm useful enough not to be left behind.
And he listened to his own voice—from within Zhenjing—where the Understanding of the Body was whispering:
Bodies that hunt. Bodies that cooperate to survive. Bodies that face wild animals—not for sport, but for food.
This is another lesson I can't see directly. But I can hear it. I can understand it from their intent, from their fear, from their courage.
Still dust. Still so small.
But every speck of dust is a world.
Dawn came with a red color—as if the desert was on fire from within.
Ten people stood at the edge of the village water on their backs, weapons in their hands, determination on their faces.
Hakeem was in front a sword at his belt, his eyes looking north where the wild animals waited.
"We're going to hunt. Not to die. If something is too dangerous we retreat. Understand?"
Everyone nodded.
"We're not heroes. We're just people who need to eat. Don't forget that."
They began to walk slowly at first, saving their energy for the long journey.
Li Yuan stood at the edge of the village listening to the footsteps that slowly disappeared.
He listened to Yara beside him whispering:
"Do you think they'll be okay?"
"I think they'll face what they have to face. And they'll decide in every moment whether they will give up or continue. Just like we all do every day."
"That's not a comforting answer."
"No. But it's an honest answer."
Yara was silent. Then she touched Li Yuan's arm lightly, like touching something fragile.
"Thank you. For staying here. For... for listening to us."
Li Yuan didn't answer with words.
He just gave a small nod—an acknowledgment that needed no explanation.
And they stood watching until the ten people became a small dot on the horizon.
Then they disappeared completely swallowed by a desert that didn't care about courage or fear or hope.
The desert only cared about one thing:
Who was strong enough to survive.
And who wasn't.
The first day of the journey was about remembering how to walk without stopping.
The ten people moved in a loose formation Torin in front as the guide, Hakeem in the back making sure no one was left behind.
They walked until the sun was too high. They stopped in the shadow of a large rock. They drank a little very little. They continued when the heat had lessened a little.
There was no conversation. Just breaths and footsteps and the sound of the wind carrying sand.
On the first night, they camped in a hollow in the ground a small protection from the night wind which turned out to be cold after the day's heat.
Feng looked up at the stars. "How much farther?"
"Two days," Torin said. "Maybe three if we're slow."
"And when we get there?"
"We'll look for tracks. Camel droppings, goat footprints. We'll follow them until we find a herd."
"Then?"
"Then we hunt. Or we die trying." Torin gave a small, dark laugh. "But it's better to hunt first before dying."
Some of them laughed a tired but real laugh.
They slept in shifts two people on watch while eight rested.
Hakeem took the first watch he sat with the sword in his lap, his eyes scanning the darkness.
Amira sat next to him a spear in her hand.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked softly.
"No. But we don't have another choice."
"We could eat less. Survive on what the village gives us."
"For how long? A month? Two? Then what? We starve slowly while hoping something changes?"
"No. But" Amira stopped. She looked into the darkness. "I'm just afraid we'll lose someone else. We've already lost too many."
"I know." Hakeem looked at the sword in his hand the sword that killed Yoran, that opened the door to freedom. "But being afraid of losing cannot stop us from living. We have to keep moving. Or we die standing still."
Amira nodded slowly.
They sat in silence listening to the wind, listening to the breathing of the eight people who were sleeping, listening to the desert that was never truly silent.
And somewhere very far away a wild camel ran under the moon.
It didn't know that ten humans were coming to hunt it.
It didn't know that this encounter would determine whether thirty-four people in a nameless village would survive or not.
It didn't know.
It didn't care.
Because the desert and all that lived in it only cared about one thing:
Surviving.
Today.
Tomorrow could wait.