The sound of heavy panting filled the dusty alley as the blond boy sprinted through the Khaf. Loose gravel skidded beneath his boots as he slid to a stop in front of a makeshift stall, its warped shelves cluttered with humming, mismatched crystals. Their light flickered unevenly, some brightening, others dimming, as if unsure how loudly they were allowed to exist.
"Sorry, I'm late, sir. Got your shipment."
Xander held out a carefully wrapped bundle. The boss, a man with a permanent squint and a nose that had been broken more than once, took it without looking up. His voice, like everyone else's, reached Xander slightly muffled, as though it had traveled through thick cloth before arriving.
"Staying late in school again, kid?"
"Well… yeah. Selah said she had something new to show me," Xander said, perhaps too honestly.
"Whatever." The boss shoved a folded stack of bills into his hand. "Here."
Fifteen pounds. The notes felt warm, not just from the man's palm, but from something quieter. For a moment, the ever-present buzz of the Khaf softened at the edges, like static lowering when someone adjusted a dial just right. Xander exhaled without realizing he'd been holding his breath.
A small, private joy.
Outside, the sky had deepened from amber to a bruised purple. With the fading light, Xander's good mood followed. He hated the dark. In shadow, the Khaf's SoulWaves felt less like noise and more like unseen hands — brushing, tugging, never quite touching.
He turned toward his sector, then stopped.
The smell hit him first.
Caramelizing date syrup. Roasted grain. Warm oil and spice.
Sun-Bread.
The scent drifted from the open front of Nile's Warmth, its old sign humming faintly above the door. His mother's favorite restaurant. The decision was automatic.
As Xander stepped inside, the lively synth-harp music playing overhead dipped and bent. The melody sagged a half-step, stretched thin, then righted itself as if embarrassed. A few regulars glanced up, then looked away. No one commented. It was just Xander.
His eyes went to the menu scrawled along the wall — as they always did — sliding past the elaborate dishes to the top-left corner.
Classic Sun-Bread.
"Hey! It's Xander!"
The voice boomed from behind the counter. Amun, the head chef, leaned forward, his broad face splitting into a grin as flour-dusted hands waved him over.
Xander smiled back, already fishing the fifteen pounds from his pocket.
"Are you kidding me?" Amun said, waving him off. "Put that away. It's been forever. Sit. The usual's coming."
Xander hesitated. The bills were tight in his fist. He wanted to pay. Needed to pay. He hated being the ghost people fed out of nostalgia and guilt.
But the smell was too strong. The memory is sharper still.
"…Thanks, Amun."
He slipped the money back into his pocket and took a seat.
Thirteen Years Earlier
"Don't you recognize Mr. Amun? It's been so long, Xander."
Naila's voice floated over the music, warm and bright. Xander blinked, frowning slightly as he adjusted his head. The restaurant felt louder back then. Fuller.
"We were just here last week, Mom," he said, confused.
She laughed softly and ruffled his hair. "Still. Say hello properly."
The door chimed as someone entered, and the air filled with the heat and scent of spices.
"Here you go, y'all!"
Amun's voice rang out as he hurried across the floor, a plate held high like an offering. Sun-Bread, fresh and steaming, glowed faintly in the low light.
Naila's smile widened.
Xander watched the steam curl upward, slow and steady, and felt something inside him settle — even then.
>Xander finished the last bite slowly. The Sun-Bread was still warm, the sweetness grounding him in a way little else could. For a moment, the Khaf felt almost distant — the static softened, the pressure easing at the edges.
The music overhead behaved itself now, steady and polite.
"Take care, kid," Amun called from behind the counter.
"You too," Xander said.
Outside, the night had fully settled. Lanterns flickered unevenly, their glow stretching too far in some places and not far enough in others. The Khaf breathed around him — broken, noisy, alive.
Xander pulled his jacket tighter and started home.
Halfway down the block, the shouting started.
Sharp voices echoed through the narrow streets, followed by the clatter of metal and glass. A SoulWave flared nearby — too fast, too bright, the kind that burned itself out if no one stepped in.
Xander slowed.
At the mouth of an alley, two figures faced off. One was young, hands shaking as unstable light crawled up his arms. The other wore partial Medjay markings — not a Knight, not yet. An enforcer learning what authority felt like.
"Stand down," the enforcer barked. "This area's under watch."
The young man swallowed and pushed anyway.
The Wave surged—
and stalled.
The light stretched thin, pulled longer than it should have been, as if time itself hesitated. The enforcer frowned, shifting his stance to compensate. Just a fraction too late.
His baton struck air.
The Wave collapsed with a dull pop, leaving smoke and confusion in its wake.
"I— it worked before—" the young man stammered, staring at his hands.
The enforcer felt it then. The resistance. The way the alley seemed heavier, every movement arriving half a beat late. His eyes snapped to Xander.
"You," he said. "What did you do?"
Xander hadn't meant to get that close. He met the man's gaze anyway, calm, almost apologetic.
"You should leave," he said quietly. "It's late."
For a long moment, the enforcer looked like he might force it. Push harder. Prove something.
Instead, he grabbed the younger man's arm and pulled him back.
"Come on," he muttered. "This place isn't worth it."
They retreated, unsettled but unharmed, their footsteps fading into the maze of the Khaf.
Xander waited until the buzzing returned to its usual pitch.
His hands shook, just a little.
That lasted longer than it should have.
He turned away and continued home.
As he walked, people shifted without realizing why. Raised voices softened. A brewing argument was resolved before it could escalate into violence. Somewhere nearby, a Wave sputtered and died before it could grow teeth.
Xander didn't linger.
The Khaf didn't ask him to fix it.
It simply let him pass.
He thought, briefly, of white stone halls and instruments that wouldn't stop shaking. Of a gate closing behind him, firm but not unkind.
You'll be safer where you won't disrupt anyone.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and kept walking.
Above, the stars were faint, half-hidden by haze. Xander glanced up anyway, matching his steps to the city's pulse, letting the rhythm settle around him.
Tomorrow would come. Problems would too.
He'd deal with them when they did.
For now, the night was quiet enough.