Under the ageless watch of stars, the celestial court assembles. Here, the gods stand sentinel: Bariq, the stormbringer; Lumiya, the tender shaper of life; Orash, the silent herald of what's to come; and Mireth, guardian of eternity's sands. The Risha, spirits of the veiled realms, form a circle around me—not in fellowship, but as quiet witnesses to my reckoning.

“State your name, realm, and transgression,” demands a voice, echoing through the ages.

“Naima,” escapes my lips, a tremulous whisper. “Of the Anhari realm, a desert Risha.” The next words catch in my throat. The confession of my crime hangs unspoken in the air, a defiance of laws as vast as the universe.

The charge against me is grave. Not only did I breach the human realm without sanction, defying decrees as old as time, but I intervened directly.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Yet, how can I not?

For ages, I've borne witness to the heart-wrenching ritual of fathers burying their daughters in the dunes, a silent observer to the mothers' agony and fathers' bitter relief. Powerless, I've escorted the souls of countless desert daughters to our realm.

But then came a moment of defiance—a grave that would not be stilled. Unearthing the bundle, I found a child marked by Risha essence. My shock gave way to curiosity; her struggle for life bound me to her. She was one of our own, at least partially so - leaving her was beyond contemplation.

"I named her Tarina al-Jann,” I confess to the gods, “Spirit of the Desert." And softly, I bitterly acknowledge, “Had I known her true nature…her potential…”

The silence that follows is heavy, laden with unspoken judgments. “I would have killed her with my own hands.”