Amer groaned as he opened his eyes. Though his muscles felt oddly loose, exhaustion lingered deep in his bones, weighing him down. He found himself lying on a modest yet clean mattress in a small room. The faint scent of sheep’s wool filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of clay. Rugs, woven with intricate patterns, carpeted the floor. A single window let in soft, golden sunlight that danced across the simple interior. The room was sparse: his bag and the clothes he’d carried from the Strip were tucked in a corner. Nearby, a clay pot of water and a small plate of dates sat waiting.

Amer sat up slowly, his thoughts racing. Was he a prisoner? Had someone locked him in here? Wariness gripped him as he approached the door. A tentative push revealed it was unlocked. Carefully, he peeked outside and saw the rest of a humble home. He froze in the doorway, his mind swirling with unease and questions. After a moment, he pulled the door shut and stepped back, unsure of how to proceed.

He racked his mind for what little he knew about the desert people who lived throughout this region's deserts. His grandfather’s tales of the Ismaili deret tribes floated to the surface. Among them was a tradition that felt like a lifeline: a guest would be treated with honour, fed, and housed for three days without being questioned or turned away, they would protect the guest as if he was their dearest kin. He prayed this was still true. He hoped that the times did not erode these traditions.

A knock startled him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called, his voice hoarse.

The man who entered was immediately recognizable—the camel rider who had saved him. Dressed simply, his face was sun-weathered but kind. The man smiled broadly.

“Welcome, my Ismaili brother,” he said warmly, his voice carrying a rich cadence that Amer instinctively trusted. “You are my guest. Please, have some food and water. Let me know if you need anything. I don’t have much, but what I have is yours.”

Amer blinked, stunned by the man’s generosity. “I… thank you,” he managed to say.

The man continued, “You can leave whenever you wish, or stay as long as you need. Consider this house your own. If you are able, I’ll prepare some coffee for us to share. Also…” His voice softened as he gestured to the corner of the room. “I couldn’t find proper bandages or medical supplies, but I brought clean cloth and water so you can tend to your wounds—or take a bath if you prefer.”

Emotion welled in Amer’s chest, unexpected and overwhelming. After all he had endured—fear, and isolation, the death of everyone he lived with over the past year and a half—the kindness shown to him was almost too much to bear. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he said, “God bless you. You saved my life. I’ll be forever grateful, but I don’t want to burden you. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

The man frowned for the first time, and his voice had a hint of anger “Do you mean to insult me?” “You are my guest. You could never be a burden. In the old days, I would have slaughtered my camel to make a feast in your honour. But…” He hesitated, his expression softening. “Forgive me. My camel is all I own besides this house. If I lost it, my family would go hungry. Still, I would not shame my tribe’s name by turning away a guest or being a poor host.”

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Amer felt his throat tighten. He could only thank the man repeatedly, the words spilling out like a mantra.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked.

“I am Antar of the Earthen tribe,” the man replied, smiling again. He did not ask Amer for his name or give any hint of curiosity.

Amer hesitated not sure what to do, but he decided to at least give his name to his savour. “I am Amer Mortaji,” he said cautiously, revealing only his name. Nonetheless, despite how grateful he was, he did not want to say anything about his background.

Antar seemed to sense his reticence and tactfully changed the subject. “Come,” he said. “If you wish to, take a bath. I’ll prepare some coffee, and by the time we are done with our coffee, lunch will be ready.”

Amer followed Antar out of the room, taking in the modest yet well-kept house. The walls, though weathered, bore the marks of careful maintenance. The air carried the faint scent of burned wood and smoke, just as he always imagined a desert person's house to smell.

The bath was a luxury Amer had almost forgotten. Hot water cascaded over him, washing away not just the dirt but the weight of two years of Hardship. Over the past two years, he only cleaned himself either in the sea or using the rainwater of the Strip, if neither were reachable or available, he would use a damp cloth he’d to clean himself. He wanted to take a long shower like he used to before the accursed war started, yet, mindful of Antar’s resources, he used the water sparingly.

Dried and dressed in the fresh clothes left for him, Amer returned to his room he looked at himslef in the refleiction of the window, these were Antar's clothing, and now he looked like one of the desert people. As he was observing himself, Antar knocked softly before entering with a basket. “Place your old clothes here. My family will wash them,” he said. “The coffee is ready.”

They sat together, sipping the dark, aromatic brew. Antar spoke freely, sharing stories of the desert, the changing climate, and the history of his tribe. His words painted vivid pictures of a world Amer had only glimpsed from a distance and heard about in olden stories. However, through the conversation, not once did Antar pry into Amer’s past or ask intrusive questions. For this, Amer was once more extremely grateful.

A young boy soon appeared, carrying a tray of food which was too heavy for him. It seems his mother or sister must handed it to him near the door. With a proud smile, he mimicked his father’s posture and said, “Welcome, our guest. Please eat.” Amer smiled warmly at the boy, feeling the sincerity behind his words. As the boy placed the meal on the ground between his father and Amer, he left the room. Antar signalled to Amer to ear first, as the tradition of the desert tribes when eating with their guests.

For Amer, the meal was simple but unforgettable. It was the first fresh, home-cooked food Amer had eaten in over a year. The flavours, humble as they were, filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in ages.

After the meal, Amer excused himself, citing the need to rest. Antar nodded graciously.

Back in his room, Amer closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to the orbs. He found himself back in the strange, otherworldly space. The lifeless orbs surrounded him, but a few seemed to draw closer. Tentatively, he reached out to one, and it was absorbed into him. A flood of knowledge followed—details about camels, desert navigation, and the customs of the desert people.

The pain, though present, was manageable this time. He realized the orbs were giving him the information and knowledge he needed most in any situation. In the desert, he gained this knowledge, and when he was wounded he got first aid knowledge. Encouraged, he reached for another, hoping it would hold the key to the challenges ahead.