Amer remained silent for a few moments, looking at the ground then at the sky, as if searching for an escape. Then he sighed deeply, as if his chest carried a secret he didn't want to share.
He whispered softly, but with the weight of words that one speaks when they have nothing left but themselves in the night:
"You won't need the story of a man... He will spend his last night."
In that moment, a cold breeze swept through, making Zahra shiver. She tried to hug herself to resist the cold, but what she felt was more than just physical coldness.
When the cold faded and the air calmed, silence returned, but Zahra continued to shiver a little. Amer noticed this and asked her quietly:
"Do you still feel cold?"
Zahra smiled lightly and said sarcastically:
"Maybe that wind brought a curse and struck me with it."
Amer laughed, and their laughter intertwined for a moment. But soon, the seriousness returned. Amer began to remove his shirt and said:
"Here, it will help you."
Zahra's face turned red with embarrassment, and she quickly responded:
"No, no, I can't accept that."
She looked into his calm eyes, and he said gently:
"Trust me, I don't mean anything bad."
Zahra insisted sincerely:
"I trust you, but... I don't want you to suffer from the cold for something trivial."
He replied calmly, devoid of emotion:
"It's fine, I'm used to pain."
Zahra understood, but she refrained from continuing, as it wasn't the right time to explore the depths of his closed-off personality.
Amer lifted his shirt and offered it to her without hesitation, watching her reaction carefully.
Zahra continued to refuse, as if trying to hold on to what little pride she had left. But in the end, she responded with pain and took the clothes from him, grateful.
Amer looked at her quietly and asked softly:
"Do you feel warm now?"
Before she could answer, her body shook from a sudden cold, as if the freezing air had returned to invade her.
Her eyes met his, and a strange silence fell between them. Then Zahra said sarcastically:
"It seems the curse is strong, and I need more than just clothes."
Then the silence began to pull them closer, as if the gravity between them was stronger than their will. Zahra moved closer to him, as if she had found the safety she had been missing.
Amer embraced her tightly, fearing she might disappear. Zahra, comforted in his chest, felt a strange warmth fill her, while Amer was in a state of shock, his mind confused but his heart attached to her.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if time had stopped around them, and as if their entire world had disappeared between their breaths.
Zahra, beginning to find her warmth again, felt a deep fatigue overwhelm her, and whispered softly:
"Your embrace, Amer, is the warmth I've never known..."
She smiled faintly before sinking into the world of dreams.
Amer, stunned, whispered to himself:
"What's happening to me? How can an embrace like this shake me so? What is this warmth creeping into my cells? It feels as if it's not just holding my body, but touching my essence, awakening something deep within me that I didn't even know existed."
But the question remained suspended in silence, unanswered... Perhaps the answer was the silence itself, this slow surrender that led them to stillness.
Neither of them wanted to pull away. Neither dared.
In the depths of their being, they realized that the morning might never come, and if death arrived, it would take them both together, with no distinction between them.
They closed their eyes together, as if sinking into a calm sea after a long storm.
Finally, Amer surrendered to that strange feeling that had no name, closing his eyes, surrounded by warmth that wasn't just heat, but another life blossoming between his arms.
Amer woke up, but his body betrayed him. He tried to rise, but pain overwhelmed him like a wild storm, so he gripped his head, pressing hard, as if that could dispel the burning agony within. He whispered bitterly:
"If my fate is annihilation, why isn't I allowed to say goodbye to this world in peace?"
He forced himself to stand, pushing his body to rise even though the ground seemed to reject his steps. Heavy minutes passed, and finally, he stood, swaying, struggling to stay upright.
And when he turned to his companions... his breath froze.
No movement. No breath. It was as if life had abandoned them forever.
His voice trembled as he whispered:
"No... don't deceive me, eyes... it can't be...!"
But before despair could collapse onto his chest, a faint voice pierced the stillness—Zahra, whispering, pleading:
"Water..."
And in that moment, his heart began to beat once again.
Amer surged forward with whatever strength remained in his body, but his legs betrayed him. His body twisted, and he fell onto the sand.
He didn't give up. He crawled like a bee that had lost its wings, until he finally reached her.
He found Zahra sitting, her pale face telling the story of her suffering, her half-closed eyes clinging to the last threads of consciousness. She whispered in a trembling voice between life and death:
"Water... thirsty..."
A heavy silence settled, as if time had stopped, and then she mumbled, as if searching for him in the shadows of her fading memory:
"Where's Amer?"
Amer looked at her, before wrenching himself out of the shock that almost swallowed him. He struggled to sit up and rested her head on his lap, then whispered in a voice that carried all his emotions:
"I'm here, Zahra... I'm here."
At that moment, her strength completely failed her, and even whispering became impossible.
As for Amer, panic engulfed him like a wild storm. His heart raced, his gaze darting in every direction like a drowning man searching for a lifeline. His breath quickened, and his thoughts collided:
"Think... think! Water! That's all she needs! But how? And where? Damn it! There's nothing here... except death!"
Then, suddenly, everything froze. His vision blurred, his turmoil faded, replaced by a chilling stillness. A mask of inhuman coldness formed on his face, before he whispered, like a cold wind passing through the ruins of a dead city:
"How long will you keep chasing the illusion of heroism? You think you'll save her? You? Oh, the irony of fate..."
"You spent your life deluding yourself into thinking you could make a difference, while the truth was always right in front of you, and you closed your eyes to it. You cannot save anyone. You never could... and you never will."
"How many of your loved ones have you lost? How many dreams have you buried while helpless? You are nothing but a shadow clinging to the illusion of power, while death alone is the absolute truth... Accept it, for this is... the end."
In that moment, the last glimmer of hope faded from his eyes. His face paled, as though life had expelled him before he could even draw his last breath.
He did not fear death, but welcomed it as a truth not worth resisting.
"Goodbye, Amer..."
Zahra whispered, her voice barely audible, as if surrendering to the void.
But as though fate had suddenly gone mad, Amer trembled violently. He raised his shaking hand before his eyes, as if his will alone could challenge the laws of the universe. Then, with a voice that shook the very air, as though declaring war on destiny, he said:
"If there is no water... then I will create it myself!"
It wasn't just words, but a certainty made flesh. Without hesitation, without fear, he lunged at his arm like a beast sacrificing itself. He grasped his flesh until the blood burst forth, then hurried, wasting no moment, to force its drops onto Zahra's withered lips.
It was not a sacrifice, but a loud defiance, a scream into existence:
"I will not allow you to take her... even if I pay the price with my own blood!"
He knew that what he did wouldn't bring life back, but helplessness was not an option. He could not stand by as she was ripped away as though she had never been anything at all.
But his body was as fragile as his fate. He staggered, his vision fading, and everything vanished with it. A coldness gripped him, as if death was creeping through his veins.
In the final moment, he glimpsed four massive figures advancing silently.
Were they real? Or mere hallucinations from the slow death? For a moment, he thought the angel of death had come with its soldiers to claim a soul that no longer had a place in this world...
Instead of fear, Amer smiled, a faint laugh that carried more despair than mockery, then whispered, barely audible, fading with his last breath:
"Is this it? Has it finally come? The end... Well, alright, I'm ready."
He closed his fogged eyes, surrendering to a fate he no longer had the strength to resist.
Then they appeared.
Four of them, like phantoms sprung from the heart of legends, treading the vast sea of sand beneath them, unaffected by the storms, unbroken by the scorching desert sun.
Their armor was pieces of night, polished, crafted with mysterious lines like hidden serpents, and forgotten runes adorned the edges, like incantations etched to bear the weight of war.
On their shoulders, massive metal plates gleamed like the wings of bronze eagles, their arms covered in articulated armor, etched with geometric patterns that spoke of the craftsmanship of a blacksmith who knew no error.
Their helmets, as if they were the heads of knights emerging from the darkness, with metal meshes completely concealing their faces, revealing only a faint gleam from the cracks, as if behind them smoldered a slow-burning ember... or an empty void.
On their cloaks hung heavy, sun-baked fabrics, rippling in the wind like free flames, curling around the armor at times before snapping angrily.
Their belts were dark leather, tightened with ancient golden buckles, each bearing a different seal—a symbol of warriors from forgotten eras, or the names of fighters consumed by battle.
As for their swords, they were extensions of their bodies—broad, black, inscribed with veins like pulsing sap, a code only those granted the key could decipher. Their grips were leather-wrapped, sculpted with images of twisting dragons around spears, and eagles spreading their wings, fastened to pommels like stone, seemingly never to be left behind, even after time's end.
They walked on the sand as if they didn't belong to this world. There was no hesitation in their steps, no whisper between them, just a silent advance, shadows blending with the horizon, and an ambiguous promise that the storm... had not yet begun.
In the blink of an eye, the space between them disappeared, and Amer found himself face to face with four knights, their size approaching the legends of giants. One of them advanced, lowering until his face was close to his.
His eyes glinted with an unearthly coldness, then he raised his finger and gently placed it on Amer's forehead. As soon as it touched him, a green halo erupted from him, consuming the darkness like an unknown magic.
A wave of awareness swept over Amer, as though his soul was pulled from the abyss of oblivion. He regained feeling in his limbs, as if life was being forced back into him. But what tore him from the void more than anything was the harsh voice that rang out before him, laden with threat and suspicion:
"What are you doing within the borders of our kingdom, human?"
The knight's voice held no trace of curiosity or mercy—only an unyielding, cold finality.
But Amer, barely regaining consciousness, had no luxury of time to think. He refused to let the shock sink in, and didn't even try to comprehend the situation. He screamed madly, pleading as if he was throwing his pride and soul onto the altar of hope:
"Water...! I'll give my life for it! My comrades and this girl are on the brink of death, please!"
But what happened next was a nightmare beyond imagination.
The knight rose slowly, as if Amer's pleas were nothing but a passing breeze. Suddenly, a brutal kick tore through the air, striking his face like a thunderclap. He didn't even realize what happened before he was thrown like a shattered doll, his face slamming into the burning sand.
Blood spilled from his forehead, his jaw shattered under the blow. Desert dust clung to his wounds, mixing with his blood in a scene of utter brutality.
Without a hint of concern, the soldier grabbed him by the neck, lifting his body as if he were weightless. A healing light emanated from his hand, forcibly bringing Amer back to consciousness, ripping through the fog of the unconsciousness that nearly consumed him.
As soon as Amer regained his senses, the knight's cold voice pierced the fog around him, dripping pure contempt:
"One kick was enough to knock you down? What weakness is this?"
It wasn't a question, but an insult, a look from a being who found weakness more repulsive than pitiful.
But Amer didn't care for the mockery. He wasn't in a position to do so. He could barely speak, muttering in a torn plea:
"Water... just one drop... Take my life, do whatever you want, but save them..."
But mercy was not an option; it was a delusion that only hardened his resolve. The soldier tightened his grip around Amer's neck, and his breath began to choke between fingers of iron, crushing his throat mercilessly.
The soldier's voice rose, no longer mocking—but commanding, as sharp as a sword:
"Answer as my words require, nothing more. I didn't ask what you need. I asked: What are you doing within the boundaries of our kingdom, human?"
With terrified eyes and a hoarse, broken voice, Amer screamed desperately, as though he were exhaling his last breaths:
"I... I don't know...! We found ourselves here... without warning... We didn't know there was a kingdom... in this desert!"
Amer's gaze met the soldier's, his cold eyes betraying no emotion, even as Amer's voice trembled and his pleading eyes begged.
Then, without warning, the soldier released his grip on the sword he had driven into the sand, as if the weapon had lost its meaning. He turned towards Amer's comrades, a heavy silence hanging in the air, before whispering:
"Three are dead... and the rest are still alive."
The words pierced Amer, tossing him between grief and shock. Should he mourn those who had fallen? Or those still suffering in the darkness of this life?
The three knights moved, each lifting a body, then throwing them high into the air. At the same moment, the knight holding Amer raised his hand, clenched his fingers, and tongues of flame erupted, devouring the bodies before they could touch the ground.
Amer's face froze, not with anger, but with a deadly coldness, void of any feeling. He stared deeply at the soldier before whispering in a voice as cold as death:
"Who gave you permission to do that?"