Amer stared at the orbs scattered before him, their soft glow pulsating like faint desert stars. One orb stood out—a darker hue than the others. As his fingers grazed its smooth surface, a torrent of knowledge rushed into his mind. This orb belonged to a smuggler who had traversed the treacherous borders between the Strip and the distant country of Pyramids.

The knowledge was practical: hidden routes through dunes and ravines, hideouts carved into the earth like secret sanctuaries, and countless tricks to evade patrols. There were techniques to fool trackers, survival strategies for arid wastelands, and even codes used by smugglers to communicate without words. While invaluable for the journey ahead, the knowledge lacked personal context. There were no names or faces—only the raw, disembodied expertise of someone whose life had been defined by the risks of moving unseen through hostile lands.

Yet even with this newfound knowledge, Amer faced a grim reality. He had no resources beyond the scraps he scavenged and the few items he had stolen along the way. He possessed no identity documents, and his very existence was both a legal impossibility in the country of Pyramids and a cultural taboo elsewhere. He was a man who should have died—an anomaly in every sense. Questions plagued him: Where would he find food? How could he navigate without being discovered?

Amer shook his head to clear his thoughts. His mental exhaustion was growing, but he decided to absorb more orbs before resting. Each one he touched delivered fragments of life—wisdom from the desert nomads, smugglers, and wanderers of the Strip. But with each integration, Amer began to feel a shift within himself, an unsettling identity crisis. The accumulated knowledge and experiences seemed to overshadow his own. He no longer felt like an engineer; instead, he felt like a smuggler, a desert tracker, a stranger to himself.

This realization troubled him deeply, and he stopped.

Looking back at the orbs, Amer tried to sift through the jumbled information now lodged in his mind. Some of it felt redundant or even inaccurate. He focused on discarding what seemed unreliable, and as he did so, a strange phenomenon occurred. The orb in his possession began to emit a thin wisp of smoke, dissipating into the air like the remnants of a fire long extinguished. The knowledge he rejected faded away, leaving him with only the most credible insights.

Despite the mental clarity this process brought, it was not without cost. Hours had passed, and Amer’s mind throbbed with fatigue. He checked his reflection in a small cracked mirror on the wall. The dark circles under his eyes were now deeper, his face etched with weariness. Still, he couldn’t neglect his host’s hospitality.

Amer opened the door, and before he could step out, Antar was already there, concern evident on his weathered face.

“Are you okay?” Antar asked, his tone a mix of worry and curiosity. “You look more tired than when you went to rest.”

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Amer smiled apologetically. “I’m fine. Just mentally drained. My body feels much better, though. Thank you for asking.”

Antar studied him for a moment before nodding. “Good. Dinner is ready. Will you join me?”

Although Amer had little appetite, he knew he needed the sustenance. Together, they sat in the same modest room where they had shared lunch earlier. The food was simple yet hearty, a mix of grains and roasted desert herbs. As they ate, Amer broke the silence.

“Would it be alright if I stepped outside for some fresh air after dinner?”

Antar’s face brightened. “Of course! Come, I’ll show you the yard.”

The yard was a humble enclosure, bordered by a weathered wooden fence. A single camel stood tethered to a post, its massive frame casting long shadows under the moonlight. Amer noted signs of the yard’s previous use—empty troughs and old pens suggested it once housed goats or sheep. Remembering Antar’s earlier remark about the camel being all he had left, Amer chose his words carefully, not wanting to touch a nerve.

They began to chat casually about the desert, the hardships of life, and eventually, the camel. At the mention of the animal, Antar’s expression briefly darkened, though he quickly masked it.

“What’s her name?” Amer asked, his tone warm and curious.

Antar hesitated before replying. “Her name is Qahra. She’s of a noble lineage, but she’s been in poor health recently.”

As if a dam had burst, Antar continued, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “I traded away my sheep and goats to borrow a stud camel from another tribe, hoping to breed her. It was supposed to be an investment, a way to recover what I’d lost. But no luck. If Qahra had become pregnant, her milk and offspring would have sustained me. Instead, I’m left with nothing but bad fortune.”

Antar’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his struggles etched into his features. Amer, however, felt a spark of hope. He might finally have a way to repay the man who had saved him.

“May I take a closer look at her?” Amer asked.

Antar’s eyes widened. “You know camels?”

“Let’s just say I’ve picked up a few things recently.”

With Antar’s blessing, Amer approached Qahra, his newfound knowledge guiding his every move. He examined her hump, teeth, legs, tail, and even her genitalia, searching for clues to her condition. Finally, a conclusion formed in his mind: her infertility was likely tied to her feeding habits.

“What have you been feeding her?” Amer asked.

Antar gestured toward a pile of dried plants in the corner of the yard. “Mostly that. And whatever she grazes on in the desert.”

Amer walked over to the pile and noticed a bird’s nest tucked into the shed’s rafters above it. Something about the nest’s composition caught his eye.

“Can you bring that nest down for me?” he asked.

Antar climbed onto a stool and retrieved the nest. As he inspected it, his face turned red with anger, though he held his tongue. The nest was woven with strands of a notorious desert herb known as the Progeny Killer—a plant that rendered camels infertile if ingested.

“This explains everything,” Amer said. “The bird must have dropped bits of the herb into her feed. But don’t worry—she hasn’t eaten enough to cause permanent harm. Just make sure to keep her food clean from now on.”

Antar looked relieved, though his gratitude was tinged with guilt. “I should have been more careful. Thank you for figuring this out.”

Amer smiled. “We’re not done yet. For the next few days, feed her mature thorn herbs and the fruits of the Tree of Patience. They should help cleanse her system. She’ll be good to go within a week.”

Antar’s gratitude was palpable, but as he thought ahead, his expression darkened again. “Even if she recovers, I don’t have the means to borrow a male camel again. Without that, all this effort will be for nothing.”

Amer placed a reassuring hand on Antar’s shoulder. “Then let’s solve that problem tomorrow. Take me to the camel market, and I’ll help you find a stud for Qahra.”

Antar was stunned. “You’ve already done so much. I can’t ask for more.”

“You didn’t ask,” Amer replied with a grin. “Consider it repayment for saving my life. And besides, this means I’ll have to stay one more day, eating your food and enjoying your hospitality. Let’s call it even after this.”

Antar laughed, his earlier despair lifting. “Alright, you win. Come with me to the market tomorrow !”

The two men shared a hearty laugh before heading back inside, their spirits buoyed by the promise of a brighter tomorrow.