The swing of the wooden sword carved a tune into the air. Saya was practicing her sword swings, going over the curriculum her father had taught. They were in a secluded factory, where her father had been stationed in the past. It gave off the smell of old steel and burning rubber, as the hooks and chains creaked with rust over the ceiling. Since her father’s work was close in proximity to their ancestral residence, Saya could visit him on his break.

“Saya, keep your shoulders in your sockets,” Izdaha Qorchi-Sukhebaatar, Saya’s father, said in Azu as he lit a cigarette. “Shoulders raised forward will damage them in the long run.”

“And with that Buhang tabako, your lungs will be damaged in the long run,” She replied, bringing the stick over her head. Qorchi was sitting atop a cargo box, holding a small container.

“I’ve decided to quit, but I need to get rid of the pack,” He stood up to grab his sword leaning against the side of the cargo. “Tabako aren’t easy to get. So I’m enjoying my last batch before the Azu health officer checks on me.”

A howling gale entered from the high shafts of the building, the chains pretending to be chimes. The breeze tickled Saya’s short hair and Sukhebaatar’s locks of silver hair.

“Dad, have you seen the holograms?” She ignored his answer, “I wanna be like those guys.”

Saya mimicked one, making wide slashes of flashy bladework. Her father ruffled her hair.

“The people in the competitions are making moves out of grandeur. The number of swordsmen who know actually how to use their skills are declining. But I hope that you, will be able to sort out all the fad and become an experienced fighter,” He spoke softly, cigar in one hand and his sword in the other, “But I don’t want you to be dragged into duels and lethal battles. Choose your strifes with people carefully. For when the winds of change blow, some people build walls, and others build windmills.”

Saya tilted her head, “I don’t understand. I want to fight a bunch of people for fun! Just like you do!”

“Hah, when I get a new job in Rümqî, I may have to quit being a swordsman to work in an office,” Qorchi smiled, getting down on one knee to match her height, “While I’m there, stay with Obaa-chan. You can come visit us, but not too much since Obaa can’t move around as much as she used to. Your mother and I can’t do much, but we are working towards a better life by sending you to school.”

“Will you still teach me sword?”

“Of course, dear. But only when I have time. My shift is about to start,” He kissed her on the head and hugged her, as Saya held him tight. “Go now to Obaa. Surely she has made salted lamb for you.”

Saya gathered everything needed for the warm night. The distant moon Qamar bathed the dunes in its plenilune gaze. She was grateful that her father had taught her the priorities of surviving the desert terrain. First, Saya dragged herself along with the unconscious Ashojan up to higher dunes, where the winds could reach them. Then she made sure to fish out sandwood and debris from the sandriver for a fire. It took time, since Saya just plunged her arm into the current in hopes of getting ahold of something. Next, it took her a while, but she finally had enough kindle to conjure fire.

“Alam Apoy.”

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Fire spat out from her hand, igniting the wood. Scared, she stepped back and landed on her backside into the sand. Wiping her sweat, she looked at Ashojan from across the fire. Saya came to realize that she had angered him. She had never met any person who couldn’t use sahar, and the thought of such people never entered her mind. She didn’t know anything about people like him. So Saya wondered what such people were like. Most appliances had to be powered with one’s sahar, and it made it easier to perform otherwise menial tasks.

She tried to imagine what it would be like if she couldn’t use sahar. It must’ve been hard for Ashojan. If Saya couldn’t use sahar, then she wouldn’t be able to jump high into the air, create fire, block attacks, and heal wounds. She wouldn't be able to turn on the fan, activate those new vending machines, or turn on the hologram machine.

Without sahar was nothing. The world itself was created from sahar. Yet there were people who were cursed with nothing. Probably, Saya thought, that she was a spoiled brat.

“Gh…”

Saya turned her head to see Ashojan tossing and turning. Standing up worriedly, she went over to see that he was still asleep, with tears streaming down his face.

“Everyone’s pathetic…” He murmured, “Stay away from me! Don’t take it from me!”

Ashojan violently shook as his back arched, as if he were in pain. Saya quickly took to his side. Was he still sleeping? Was it a nightmare?

“Ashojan, what’s wrong?” She asked, but he never answered her question. Saya looked down to see him scratching himself uncontrollably, causing his arm to grow red. The saharic particles became visible around him and went from white to crimson blue.

“I hate this world... I did what you said, master…”

Saya pinned his arm to the ground, “Um, Ashojan?...” He squinted his watery eyes, face contorted.

“I’m scared, I don’t know what to do…” He repeated sullenly, as Saya held his arms down, “What should I do, Master Izdaha? What should I do, master?...”

Her eyes grew wide. The particles in the air dispelled, Ashojan falling limp. Saya took her hands off him. So he did remember that time, Saya concluded. Those last few words lingered in her mind for the rest of the night, hearing the overture of the clock ticking in her head.

Gurav 3rd. Sunlight warmed the sand, as Saya woke up from a nearly burnt state. There was no time to waste. They had nothing on them, except for the clothes on their backs. Hastily she took Ashojan’s hand, with a certain intention in mind.

“Alam Dülaan,” Her hand expelled frost, transferring ice to him. It took seconds before Ashojan’s eyes opened.

“Hah?!” He came up with a fright. “What the… I was asleep?...”

“I knocked you out since you were attacking me, and uh…” She scratched her head. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“That’s-” He searched his pockets for the knife, only for Saya to pull it out from hers.

“Since we need to survive together I’m confiscating this. I don’t need you assassinating me from behind,” Saya waved it, as his face grew with hatred. “Also… I’m sorry for my words yesterday.”

She lowered her head and bowed. What she said to him was the reason why he was provoked. Just having that in her mind made her feel uncomfortable.

“Don’t apologize, who do you think you are? Don’t feel sorry for a bad person.”

“But what if you did?” Saya looked up, “What if you hurt me with that blade, and killed me?”

“...”

“All of us are going to live. You, me, Suruj, Shunji, and the others, so-”

“You’re supposed to hate me,” Ashojan interrupted, lashing out to himself, “You hate me, right? I loathe normal people, and they loathe me!”

“... I don’t know what you experienced. I have no desire to judge your possibly justified actions. But to me,” She walked up to him and snatched him by his bandana, “Right now I need us to survive!”

Ashojan stepped back as she accidently pulled the cloth that covered his face. It was there that seeing what was behind the bandana was no blessing, or a curse. They stood speechless as the voice of the wind brushed past them.