In a place known to no one, deep within the vast desert during a fierce sandstorm, the sand struck his body with the force of needles. He pulled his black horse, advancing with steady steps, knowing that death would be the inevitable result if he succumbed to exhaustion and fatigue. He continued taking one step after another, believing that in one of these steps, the darkness would clear, the storm would subside, and the sands would fall again to where they belong. His hope was great, and retreat was not in his nature. His eyes could only see a few centimeters ahead of his feet, but fortunately, the storm stopped suddenly.
He halted atop a small hill, gazing at the dunes that had changed shape. He had passed through here last month, and their form was not as it was now. It is the desert—the graveyard of passersby and the nightmare of merchants, nomads, and caravans.
Asid was considered one of the most famous and sought-after leaders of caravans from distant lands. Merchants paid vast sums of money to win his favor and convince him to lead the caravan to safety. In past years, many caravans were lost in the heart of the desert; many people went and were unable to return, but Asid was the only one whose every caravan he led succeeded in crossing to safety.
He sat atop the hill and began drawing the path—mapping it not on paper, but within his own soul. He could tell which dunes would change and where they would go, until he was nicknamed "Father of the Desert."
He stood and looked at the sky, gathered a little sand, and let it fall. He said to his horse, "O Gharab (Raven), do you know that you must hurry? The next storm will be stronger and longer than the ones before. Let us go." He mounted his horse and set off. The horse pierced through the sands at great speed. "Hurry, hurry, Gharab! The desert is your home and mine, but it may collapse upon us. Move!"
The horse galloped until he reached the green oasis where he used to rest from his fatigue and feed his horse. The oasis was inhabited by his father, an old sheikh, and his sister, Samar. Asid would pass by them every four months, staying for a night or two depending on the circumstances.
The sheikh was placing some palm branches in the corner of the house in preparation for the cold of the chilly nights, until Samar said to him, "Father, I think a rider is coming. It seems from his horse that it is my brother, Asid."
The sheikh dropped the branches from his hand and said, "It is Gharab, no doubt about it. Go, my daughter, prepare the food; your brother must be hungry."
As the horse drew near, the sheikh confirmed that his son Asid had returned from his journey. He embraced him and asked, "How was your journey, my son? Did you encounter problems this time? You are much later than usual."
Asid replied, "O father, the sands move faster than humans and horses, and the caravan was slow. In the past, we used to encounter one or two storms; now we face four or five, each stronger and longer than the last."
Asid asked his father about his sister Samar and her well-being in the oasis—how she spent her days in the heart of the desert.
The sheikh said, "You know, my son, I told her that this place is not for her. I prepared her to travel to her uncle's house in the village, but she refused to leave the oasis."
Asid fell silent for a moment and said, "I do not think she would leave you after losing our mother in that accident. She cannot go and leave you here alone; it is impossible. I will not be able to ask her to do something she does not want, Father. Please, do not force me to do that."
Samar came out of the house, joy evident on her face, and her hands gesturing as she said, "Finally, the Ship of the Desert has arrived and decided to anchor at the port of the Green Oasis!"
Asid laughed loudly, the joy in his eyes as clear as the sun. He spread his arms and said, "O sister, I have missed you, you who raised me when I was young." He added, "No matter how long the ship is gone, it has no harbor but the port of the Green Oasis."
These were unique moments in Asid's mind, beyond comparison. Were it not for circumstances, he would never have thought of leaving the oasis or going out into the desert and being absent from his father and sister for long months.
In every journey, a feeling haunted him that he might not return, and that his fate would be like those who preceded him on this path—a path that devours in moments the strongest men, those who were icons of strength, courage, and bravery on battlefields. But the desert changes its skin, and as they say, "the jar does not survive every time." Asid knew all of this with certainty, but what could he do? This was what he excelled at; this was his family heritage. His great-grandfather led caravans and was very famous in the past for his wisdom and strength. He always took shortcuts and arrived before other caravans, so tribes flocked to him to lead their convoys. But once, he went out with a caravan and never returned.
This was why the sheikh always told Asid: "My son, the desert is much stronger than us. No matter how much we learn about it and how much we feel capable of crossing it safely, it is unpredictable. It can turn upside down in seconds. Therefore, I always advise you to be wary of challenging the desert; you will fail in the end. Man, my son, gets tired, sleeps, and falls ill, but the desert does not tire, does not fall ill, and does not sleep. If it grows fierce and shows its fangs, there is no way out. So be careful; do not be dragged along by the greed of caravan owners. They only wish to gain time because time for them equals money, but for you, time equals your survival."
To Asid, his father was like an encyclopedia that taught him, instructed him, and corrected his mistakes. He accumulated his father's experiences and advice; this was his provision and his compass for escaping the darkest pressures and the most merciless conditions. Asid and his father sat at one table for food. Samar was bringing food from the kitchen to the table when she turned to the right and saw three horses running toward the oasis. She said, "Father, strangers are coming. They are in uniform; they look like knights."
Asid and his father went out to the door of the house as the three knights approached until they stopped in front of the door. The middle knight removed the veil from his face and said, "Welcome, O Sheikh. We are knights from the palace looking for your son, Asid. Would you tell us how to find him?"
The sheikh felt some anxiety and hesitation, but he said in a calm voice, "My son is known to me; he is not a man of trouble. What do you want from him?"
The man dismounted his horse and said calmly, "O Sheikh, your son is wanted at the palace for a mission. His reputation has spread far in the capital, and the King wants him to lead a caravan." He added, "This mission is one in which all the people who lead caravans have failed."
The sheikh realized the matter was not ordinary; there was something hidden. The palace had skilled people to lead caravans, but there was something unclear. Aside, however, realized it and knew that no one could lead a caravan to the "Distant Lands," yet he desired to experience this journey.
Asid said with a voice full of confidence, "Where will this caravan go?"
"This caravan will go next week to the Distant Lands."
The sheikh felt a sting in his chest and said, "No, my son will not go with you. Leave this place! Who is the madman who thinks of such a thing?"
Asid held his father's hand and said, "Father, you know they are not here to ask us or request our permission; they are here for execution. Let me go; we will not refuse a request from the capital."
The sheikh's eyes teared up. Samar sat on the ground. Her brother, whom she saw every four months, would now be gone for years—and perhaps might never return. Not because he was weak, but because those lands were truly far. On the journey, he would have many enemies: nature is the kindest of them, and bandits are the most dangerous.
Would you like me to continue the story or perhaps help you develop the next chapter involving the King's mission?