Sahara

The Call of the Desert: Seshkuah

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light across my chambers as I entered, my thoughts weighed down by the coming journey. The palace was quiet, almost eerily so, as if it too was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next. I had promised Emira I would spend the night with her before I left, and tonight, that promise weighed heavier than usual.

When I stepped into the room, she was already there, standing by the window, the light from the moon highlighting the soft curves of her face. Her expression was hard to read—a mixture of sadness, determination, and something else I couldn't quite place. She didn't turn to look at me right away, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the stone windowsill.

"Finrah," she finally whispered, her voice carrying a rawness that unsettled me. She turned slowly, and in her eyes, I saw the depth of her emotions, laid bare in a way she rarely allowed.

I nodded in response, walking toward her. "I'm here."

Without another word, Emira closed the distance between us, her hands reaching out to grasp my tunic. She didn't ask for permission, didn't hesitate. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed me toward the bed with a gentle but determined force. I didn't resist. This had always been how she sought reassurance from me—through touch, through the physical bond we shared.

The room was filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric as she undressed me, her hands moving with an urgency I had seen before. I knew what she wanted from me. What she always wanted. And despite the chaos swirling in my mind about my mission, Chryseis, and the dangers ahead, I couldn't deny her.

We moved together as we always had, our bodies familiar with the rhythm of each other. But tonight, there was a different edge to it—a kind of desperation that lingered beneath the surface, as if Emira was trying to hold on to something she knew was slipping away.

When it was over, we lay in the quiet darkness, our breaths slowly evening out, though the tension between us remained. Emira rested her head on my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns across my skin. But she was not at ease. I could feel it in the way her body trembled slightly, as if she was afraid of what would come next.

"I know you're leaving," she said after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know where you're going."

I stiffened slightly, but I didn't interrupt her.

"My mother told me," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "She told me about the Dune Serpent... about your journey."

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. "Emira—"

"You didn't plan to tell me, did you?" she asked, her tone wavering between hurt and frustration. "You were just going to leave."

"I didn't want to worry you," I said softly, feeling the truth of my words settle between us like a stone. "There's too much at stake right now, and I didn't want—"

"You didn't want what?" she interrupted, pulling back to look at me, her eyes searching mine for answers. "Didn't want me to feel like I'm losing you?"

I sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You're not losing me, Emira."

Her lips trembled into a bitter smile. "Aren't I? You're leaving in three days to find a mythical creature in the middle of the desert, alone. How am I not losing you?"

Her words stung more than I expected, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I had always been able to handle Emira's emotions—her longing, her love, her jealousy—but tonight, it felt like something more, something I wasn't prepared to face.

"You've always been mine, Finrah," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "Ever since we were young, I thought... I thought no one else could ever have you. And now..."