Firuz stared at the wooden door as if it was some great adversary. It stood there, cold, distant and unrelenting, barring his way to fulfill his destiny.

All his life he had dreamed to step on the other side of the door. But due to his weak constitution, Arash had always found a way to dissuade him. All he ever managed to do was to walk a few meters down the street. But that was as useful as spitting on the top of your head.

In Harra, every house is the exact replica of another. Lying beside one another in a single file. Short squat squares, illuminated by the dim pastel glow of the rivers in the sky. Staring at the unassuming houses was the most exciting thing he had ever done.

He clenched his fists and gathered courage for his rescue mission. Countless plans shifting in his mind, bringing him closer and closer to the injured man, but then doubt crept in.

"How would I get past the wind. How would I find him?" His determination wavered with time, but whenever he closed his eyes. He could see the man lying on the ground, his right leg twisted at an awkward angle, missing a sizeable chunk of flesh… He remembered every single detail, but the worst part was the man's eyes. The sheer horror in them. He shuddered at the thought and the hero in him once again reasoned with him.

Firuz gritted his teeth in frustration as determination flashed in his eyes. His hands reached for the door latch, but the distance of few feet made his courage falter. It was harder then he imagined. Living all his life inside these walls had made him dependent on them. Tears glistened in his eyes as the coward in him spoke.

"He is going… he will be able to find. Him… No, I Have to go. I can't leave him like that. How can I be a chosen one if I can't do what's right?" He fancied himself as the hero of the ages, drew courage from it. He stared at the door before him, eyes trained on the door latch. The latch was still open. He hadn't closed it.

"If I am supposed to go… the door would open for me. If I am the chosen one. I should be able to open it without touching it." Firuz beckoned towards the door, muttering some gibberish. Hands waving back and forth. "Open… Open… Op"

Suddenly the door burst open… "Ah!" Firuz screamed at the top of his lungs and ran towards his room. His heart vigorously drummed in his chest, all the sense had left his body. "It opened. It opened" A voice screamed at the back of his head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" An angry voice came from the other room. "Scared me to death"

Firuz recognized the voice. He peeked from behind the wall. It was Arash. Confusion riddled his face as he stared at his brother.

"What are you doing? And why isn't the door locked?" Arash glared at him.

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Firuz flushed red with embarrassment as he fumbled for words. "…you startled me." He said weakly.

"What?"

"Why are you back. You didn't go did you?" Firuz stared back at his brother, anger flashed in his eyes. "I knew it. you wouldn't go. I Knew it!"

"I what… I came back for the axe. We have to pay our monthly quota soon. I am going towards the deposits. Might as well try to mine some stones." Arash walked over to his bedroom and returned with a great pickaxe in his hand.

Firuz stared at the monstrosity in his brother's arm. Its handle thicker than his arm, while the head made of black iron, tapering into a mean spike. Countless runes were engraved on the metal head. Runes of strength, Runes of sharpness. It had been passed down from generation to generation, but it never lost its edge.

Firuz couldn't even pick it, let alone swing it. All he ever got to do was to touch the smooth grip of the handle, which had been worn out from countless years of usage. He had once tried to lift it. All he managed to do was turn the color of face red and made some serious grunts.

Arash was different, he had been blessed with a strong physique. At the age of 10, he could lift the monstrosity. At the age of 12, he was hacking away at the mana deposits and bringing back some small stones on lucky days.

Firuz admired his elder brother, but at the same time, he hated him. It became hard for him to look at his brother. Seeing him doing what he can't, had always disheartened him. It was not the first time the sight of his brother had made him feel inept.

"I am going. Lock the door this time… I will check." Arash gave him a look, made sure he understood his words and left. "Close the door. I want to hear the latch click" a muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

Firuz wanted to disobey, wanted to burst out of the door and save the man. But like the pickax, he couldn't pick. He couldn't say the words, he never could.

"I didn't hear the latch! Hurry up or your man might die."

Firuz drowned the voices, steeled his heart and fastened the latch. He stood by the door, tears streaming down his face. He felt helpless and weak.

"I should go… I should go with him" he repeated in his head. But in his heart, he knew the truth and it weighed heavy on him.

He turned around, his eyes trailing at the plaster walls, counting the cracks. He found a new crack, hidden in the corner. He had counted them all. It wasn't there before. His world had always been confined to the limits of these walls and he knew it by heart. Occasionally he was allowed to leave the house when the winds were gentle. But these excursions were a distant memory. Winds were rarely kind in Harra. While his brother resolute in his protection. He broke down in helpless sobs as he stared at his prison.