The faint scent in the air grew stronger with each step, until it no longer teased the edge of their senses but guided them forward, warm and earthy, like wet soil steeped in herbs.
Over the rise of a low dune, they found him.
The old man they had saved days earlier sat cross-legged in the sand, a battered kettle perched above a small fire of dried roots. Steam curled from its spout, dancing into the pale morning sky. His eyes, half closed, flicked open the moment they approached.
"Ah," he said, his voice like gravel carried by wind. "So it was you I smelled."
Nilo blinked. "Smelled? We don't stink, do we?"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "Not you, boy. The leaves. They call when they're ready." He lifted the kettle, pouring a stream of golden liquid into three small clay cups laid out before him as though he had been expecting them.
The girl stepped closer, and the old man's expression shifted. His back straightened, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he bowed his head.
"Ahh… so it is true," he murmured, his tone carrying a respect Kanan and Nilo could not place. "You have embarked upon your journey. And with these helpful young men beside you."
Kanan frowned, glancing between them. "You two know each other?"
The girl said nothing, only lowered her gaze.
The old man gestured for them to sit. "Come. Share the tea. It will warm the body, and perhaps, the spirit too."
They settled onto the sand. Nilo slurped his first sip and immediately coughed, fanning his mouth. "Hot! Hot!"
The old man's eyes twinkled. "Patience, young one. Even tea demands respect."
Kanan let the liquid rest on his tongue. It was unlike anything he had tasted, earthy, yes, but also alive, as though threads of warmth spread through his chest with every swallow.
He set the cup down. "Old man… yesterday, she said something. About Oorja. Do you know what that is?"
The old man's smile thinned. For a long moment, he stared into the steam rising from his own cup.
"Oorja," he said at last, the word heavy. "It is the breath beneath breath. The flame behind flame. Once, it was the gift of all people. But now, it is shackled. Hidden. Twisted into chains by those who fear what it can awaken."
Nilo tilted his head. "Chains? But… if it's real, why don't people just… take it back?"
The old man's eyes met his. "Because most do not even know they are bound."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the desert heat. Kanan clenched his fists in the sand, the words scratching at something raw inside him.
The girl lifted her cup, sipping quietly, her face unreadable.
The old man's gaze lingered on her once more before drifting back to the boys. "In time, perhaps, you will understand more. But for now… drink. Rest. The east is long, and the road does not forgive those who rush it."
[To Be Continued...]