First impressions lasted.

After Raja Faisal's exercise, the pecking order in ring four was established. Esen and Sal were at the front, laying traps to sabotage each other's moments to shine. Then came Layla, Jhayla, and Isha, who had both fallen prey to the ultimate trap—becoming Esen's arm candy—in the first two weeks of their training. The girls weren't necessarily better or faster than Musharin and Cid, but everyone close to Esen shone as bright as a jade stone. Last came she and Narek. Sci's strategy was not to get noticed, but just like the royal guard escorting her away to see the Alafin, there was always something happening that put her in the spotlight. A Naqib asking her to help with a demonstration or picking her to give the answer to a difficult question, and then there was Esen with his constant sneers.

And Narek...

Narek with the bad humour that made her laugh nonetheless. Narek with the  small freckle above his lip and the gap between his front teeth. Narek. Nice to look at, and always there. From the moment she popped through the gates of the base to the second she disappeared behind the beaded curtains of her home. 

This morning, prior to leaving on their first mockup mission in the desert, he was even waiting outside her house. Her morning mood—that neither two cups of brew nor Nana's excellent breakfast had been able to cure—faded as fast as the rising sun.

But to call him her arm candy was an exaggeration.

She wasn't that shallow. She didn't love him.

Of course, there had been that dream, a few nights ago, when he had leaned in to kiss her, and her entire body had tingled. He tasted of cinnamon and hot summer nights on the roof.

But that had been the Goddess of Lust tempting her. Not love.

He was half-lying in the sand, his arms crossed and humming a tune. His gaze shifted from Esen and Sal pointing at different parts of the map in Musharin's hands back to her.

Her cheeks grew hot, and she turned her head towards the clear blue sky, smiling.

No, she liked Narek—that was different.

He was a friend; that was all he was.

Musharin held up his hands as Sal snatched it towards her. She blew a strand of black hair from her face, snapping, "Go and lick Layla, Jhayla, or Isha some more, Esen. We need to head to Crooked Thumb. One of the witnesses spoke of a strange thumb ritual. It was a clear hint—Crooked Thumb!"

"They're not going to let us march for nearly half a day," Esen said sharply. "Remember the gang of the Croc? The members voluntarily feed their thumb to a caged crocodile. They found their hideout and all the treasure they had stolen in a cave right beneath Misery Hill. The cave still exists. We need to go there."

"We need to come to an agreement," Sal said the obvious. "Misery Hill and Crooked Thumb are five hours from each other. If we go to the wrong point, we might as well head back to Alburkhan and call ourselves the Jondi Losers."

"If you wanna leave, I'm not gonna stop you, loser," Esen said loud enough for the rest of the ring to hear it.

Sal put her hand on her hip. "Why do you always wanna be right?"

"Because I am."

"No, you're not. We have to go to Crooked Thumb."

"Misery Hill," Esen insisted.

Then vote, Sci thought as Crooked Thumb and Misery Hill flew back and forth. It was simple. There was nine of them and two roads to take. She lied down in the sand on her backpack, her spear by her side. It would take a while for anyone else to come up with that idea. She might as well take Cid's example and eat the sweet sugared apricots for lunch.

By the time she had popped the last apricot into her mouth, ring four wasn't closer to any decision. 

At least the bickering had stopped. Sal was studying the map again, along with the parchments the Naqibs had given them this morning. They had interrogated a number of Parrots across Alburkhan before heading into the desert. They had found a first glass diamond stuffed between the rocks, and a second a mile further in an abandoned fennec den. Since then, they had been stuck.

"You know what I've always wondered," Musharin said.

Not really.

It didn't stop the tubby boy from talking. "Since farts are gas, lamps burn because of gas, would it be possible to light a fart on fire?"

Cid and Narek both burst into laughter. Esen's three arm candies pretended to get sick. 

Sal's eyes were like shooting daggers. "Farts, really, Mush?"

"I thought I'd lighten the mood."

"No, lighten your fart," Esen corrected him, grinning.

Sci shook her head. "Some guy Indra knows tried it—held a candle near his... hole—it went horribly wrong. He walked like a cripple for a week, couldn't sit for a moon."

"Shame," Esen scoffed. "I thought you were going to say your brother tried it while farting in your direction. Would explain the scar on your face... Or was that your mother?"

"The coals," Sci muttered. "I fell into coals."

Narek got up and marched up to Esen, his knuckles white from holding onto his spear too tightly. Narek was half a head taller, but her old friend was broader, more muscled. "You've been bullying her since day one. What in the Gods' names is your problem with her?"

Esen sniffed. "You don't wanna know."

"In fact, I do." Narek's face was less than an inch from Esen's.

"No, you don't," Sci said. "Drop it, Narek. It's not worth anything."

"How can you defend him?" Narek shouted at her. "He treats you horribly."

"Because... maybe... there was a time when I was awful to him," she said. She scampered up, ready to change the subject back to their mission. "I also think Esen is right in this case. We should go to Misery Hill—our prisoner will be there. If you don't agree, stand by Sal."

The three girls moved towards Sal—an unexpected surprise—but it would be typically Esen to hurt each of his arm candies. Cid was heading towards Sal as well, until Musharin reminded him that Crooked Thumb was four times as far. 

Four-four. The only one left to decide was Narek.

He scratched the part of his cheek not covered by his shawl. "You're protecting your own bully, Sci."

"And that's my choice. Just as you are free to choose Sal's idea or Esen's," she said.

Narek tilted his head from side to side, pursing his lip. "You're an enigma. There's something about you... I'm sorry... I cannot follow you there."

He joined Sal's side.

"Crooked Thumb, it is," Sci said, sighing. It was the wrong direction, but one couldn't dispute the power of votes. 

The Narek-shaped shadow she had grown so accustomed to in the last couple of weeks disappeared. He was at the front with Sal now. Throwing his head back as he joked, offering her to take her goatskin from her pack. Sal with the strange diamond in her nose that glistened in the sun. Stupid Sal who was turning ring four into the Jondi losers.

Indra would never let her hear the end of it.

Esen circled around the three girls like a vulture, chit-chatting, getting them to explain what he had done wrong. Six eyes rolled. 

He retreated to the back like a limping jackal.

"Do you know what's up with them?" he asked Sci.

"Let me guess." Sci didn't have to think. "You told them each they were the woman of your life. You promised them each of the Seven Heavens, then flapped to the next?"

"Every girl I kiss should know I share my love. There's just too much of it—I cannot stick to one."

"It's because of you foreigners think the Scorian army is a bagnio."

"Hot, a lot of sweat, many beautiful girls—maybe the foreigners are right." He let out a snigger. "Let them talk, Sci. We have the best army. The northerners are jealous there are only sausages to keep warm at night. War or peacetime, Scorians live!"

"Things are changing," Sci said. "The Rajas getting changed again... Raja Kader is the new head. Faisal left Alburkhan—nobody knows where he is."

"Yet you are still here," Esen whispered.

"I didn't do anything," Sci hissed.

"That's not what I hear."

"They can't prove it, and I'm not going to give them evidence. I just wanna be a regular jondi, then graduate."

"So then... regular jondi... how do you propose we plan on attacking the Naqibs once we get to Crooked Thumb?"

Sci shrugged. "There won't be anyone at Crooked Thumb. We should have gone to Misery Hill."

"I know, but imagine Sal's right."

"Easy," Sci said. "Bull attack... all but one storm towards the Naqibs. They don't want to actually hurt us—this is training—so we go full force, lure them away from the cave. Then the last one frees the prisoner."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Esen said. "Shame we're heading the wrong way."

"Yeah, we could—"

Her thought was interrupted by a low rumble in the distance. 

Sci looked up to the sky... as blue as when they had left the city. Not a cloud in the sky.

Then the sound came again. Faint but persistent, threatening.

"Did you hear that?" she asked Esen.

"Hear what?"

The ground vibrated beneath her feet. The air around her shifted in odour, muskier, more earth-like.

She halted to scan the horizons. Hills flanked her left and right; a wide plain ahead. A hundred feet between her and the nearest rock.

"Sci—what is it?" Esen asked.

She froze as a dark red cloud appeared on the horizon. "Sandstorm!" she yelled, pointing north. "Cover your face... run! We have to find shelter."

Sal turned her heads towards her. "What are you talking about?"

"Sci's right," Isha screamed. "Storm! Storm! Storm!"

The giant cloud was rapidly moving closer, bringing forth an unstoppable wall of sand and wind. By the time they had rearranged their shawls, coarse gusts scratched their fingers. Grains of sand swirled around, making it impossible to run.

Sci didn't dare to look back. Her only goal that rock that she could hardly see through her shawl. Everywhere she looked was blurry red. She found a hand—Esen's hand—and clutched to it. Her feet moved with the sheer will to leave.

Behind her, there were screams of people falling. 

One of the girls—she couldn't tell who—got picked up by the wind. Where she landed, Sci could not tell.

"You can save them," Esen said. His voice was barely audible. "Sci, you control the wind. I've seen you do it. If there was ever a time to use your powers. It's now."

He was right, but she couldn't; the consequences too severe. A whirlwind held her in its grasp. Streams of dust flew around her. The mighty wind forced her to her knees.

As she fell, she lost Esen's hand. 

She dug into the sand, not wanting to do this on her own. "Esen!"

"Sci!" His strong grip wrapped around her, his voice a fraction of that strength. "Do something. I'll never make fun of you again. You have to save us... I don't wanna die."

"I can't... I can't," she repeated. "Lie low. Crawl towards that rock. Don't let go!"

"SCIROCCO!"

Narek's voice mingled with the loud call of the wind. She imagined him plunging to the ground, the weight of his backpack too heavy to get up again. A growing itch flowed through her veins.

Yes, she could stand up and send the storm towards the hills. But, she couldn't. She had promised to never use her powers again. A temporary hero, only to die, she and the ones she had saved. Tainted by her magic.

Not with Narek. He didn't deserve such a fate.

"SCI..."

The voice snapped.

She grew deaf to despair. Like a cobra slithering, she crawled towards the dark patch that would shelter her. Shallow breaths. No thought in her head other than survival.

The hundred feet seemed a hundred miles before she touched the ragged surface. She dived behind it, her body shielding Esen's. He was trembling beneath her, crying, screaming for his mother. More resembling the frightened little boy who feared cats than the tall bully who flirted with half of Alburkhan.

"I don't wanna die," he murmured. "I don't wanna die."

"You won't." She caressed the back of his shawl, wishing it were Narek here with her instead of Esen. "Hush. We're safe. Stay low."

None of the other members of ring four made it to the rock. It was just her and Esen huddled against each other while the storm raged on, a layer of sand draping them.

No screams. No yells. No cries.

"They'll be fine," she said to herself. "They're just crouching, waiting for this to be over."

The storm disappeared as it had come. When she least expected it.

The wind stopped blowing. Sand remained where it should be: on the ground. High in the clear, cloudless sky shone the sun. Just as it had before.

Sci and Esen, holding hands, stared at the desolate wasteland. Desert for as far as they could see. Not a soul to be seen.

"Ish? Jhay? Layla?" Esen shouted, his voice hoarse. "Mush? Cid? Sal?"

"Narek!" Sci added.

Esen began running, screaming their names. "Where are you? It's over! Come out!"

He kicked the sand, stumbled, head-first. 

Sci rushed towards him. He was already scrambling up, then sat on his knees and started digging. 

A backpack.

When Sci arrived, he covered the name embroidered on the lid.

"Who is it?" Sci asked. "It's Narek, isn't it?"

That was the only name Esen would keep from her.

"You should have saved him. Why didn't you?" Esen cried. Thick tears filling his amber eyes.

"I couldn't, Esen. You have to understand. I couldn't." She was crying too. 

He lifted his hand. The silver letters spelling out Narek's name were a punch to the stomach. He had died. Suffocated by the millions and millions of grains of sand that had buried him.

Esen grabbed her chin, gently. "I do... I understand it. I just wish it didn't have to be this way. I'm sorry, Sci. I'm so sorry."

"Me too." She sobbed. "Me too, Esen."

When he leaned in, all she could taste was the salt of their tears mingling in her mouth. She kissed him back.

Wishing he was Narek.