Saharabi: Awaken the Veil

Rousing

I awoke to murmurs drifting from the shurfa. It sounded like Adil, his voice mingling with another—probably Siya's. Silently, I slipped from the bed and padded toward the soft voices.

"Is Siya out there with you, Adil?" I called out.

"Yes, I am," Siya answered before Adil could.

Stepping into the cool night air, I approached them. The shurfa was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting delicate dancing shadows. The air carried the scent of blooming flowers.

"What are you two doing out here?" I asked.

"Adil was just trying to recall the vision you supposedly gave him," Siya explained, his eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

I knew the story well. Since childhood, Adil had obsessed over a vision I allegedly showed him when we were infants—a vision that led everyone to assume I was Nazarra.

"I wasn't the one conjuring visions from the womb," I said, irritation tinged my voice. I didn't want the attention on me, not at that moment. With my thoughts as heavy as lead, I couldn't stand hearing about that vision again. Having denied any such abilities for so long, I now found myself doubting whether the vision truly had nothing to do with me.

Adil remained silent, his gaze thoughtful, perhaps understanding the weight of my words—or at least, I hoped he did. Discussing his fetal experiences embarrassed him; his mother had a habit of boasting to anyone who'd listen about how special her son was, how gifted. Makena's pride in Adil was boundless, and while Siya and I also admired him, we knew our high expectations sometimes felt like a burden to him. Despite the pressures, we loved him deeply; we believed in his strength and relied on his powers.

Siya was the opposite of Adil, seemingly unaffected by any pressures placed upon him. He lived life like Nafeesa, staying true to himself no matter what others—usually his parents—expected. Perhaps it was also because he rarely acknowledged his own strength, opting instead for compassion. As a Qadim, he was viewed as mighty, a common perception for members of his kind of Mubarik. Unlike the Shifaa, who primarily required endurance, the Qadim needed strength, endurance, agility, and more. Their transformations seemed seamless, yet the physical toll was immense, often restructuring their skin and bones, leaving scars.

But Siya was exceptional. From a young age, he adapted to many forms so swiftly that he experienced little pain when shifting. His innate sensitivity allowed him to perfectly attune with the creatures he emulated, a key to successful shifting. His prowess grew as he began to acquire familiars—often choosing those unexpected for a Qadim, but he didn't care. These creatures taught him their ways, and he wholeheartedly embraced their lessons, earning their mutual acceptance. Even Sefu, who sometimes struggled if he didn't shift for extended periods, marvelled at Siya's ability. Siya could abstain from shifting for months with no ill effects.

He trained at my home alongside my siblings and Adil, learning from Sefu and soon surpassing him.

"Isn't that your familiar, Nia?" Siya's question snapped me out of my reverie.

I turned, spotting Safina. Nafeesa had suggested the name, and it had quickly endeared itself to me.

"You know I have no familiars, Siya." Safina wasn't a familiar; she was more of a friend—a constant presence who became our companion, coming and going as she pleased, yet always lingering casually.

"All this while, Adil and the others might have been mistaken. You're really just like me," he remarked, his tone light, as he sprang from the edge of the shurfa to embrace me. Siya's hugs were warm and comforting. Towering over me like a gentle giant, he engulfed me in his affection, a feeling I cherished.