The old chief leaned heavily on a staff carved from sun-bleached wood, its base half-buried in the shifting sand. His breaths were shallow, but his eyes remained sharp, even under the weight of exhaustion and age.
Helios stood before him with quiet patience, hands at his sides, his posture neither threatening nor submissive. Behind them, Jafar paced like a coiled serpent, whispering to his guards and radiating thinly veiled impatience.
"You know where the scarab is?" Helios asked gently.
The chief hesitated. His eyes drifted toward the others — the huddled families, the frightened children. Then he looked back at Helios, measuring something in his face.
"Yes," the old man finally said. "But you must answer me this: do you swear the safety of my people? Will you protect them from... the one you travel with?"
Helios nodded. "On my name, I swear it."
Behind them, Jafar scoffed under his breath.
The chief raised a weary finger, pointing toward the distant dunes, where the sand rippled like waves under the setting sun. "There is a cavern—twenty minutes west by foot. Hidden beneath a rock shaped like a horned beetle. You'll need to shift the sands to find the entrance."
Helios listened, nodding slowly. "Is there a guardian? I meant there probably is, isn't there? What are the odds there isn't with my luck?"
"Yes, there is a guardian there," the chief added. "Not a man. Not a normal beast. A thing that is a mix of both. It does not leave the cavern. But it will not let you pass while it breathes."
Helios gave a rare smile. "Thank you. You should return to your people."
The chief tilted his head. "You meant what you said?"
"I always do."
Before Jafar could utter a word, the ground glowed beneath the feet of every nomad.
Dozens of dark corridors opened silently beneath them—controlled, vertical spirals that yawned like black petals. The wind howled through them.
"What are you doing?!" Jafar snapped.
Helios said nothing. He merely extended a hand, guiding the dark energy into place.
One by one, the nomads dropped into the corridors, not falling, but drifting — as if gravity bent around them gently. The old man looked at Helios one last time before he too vanished, his eyes full of quiet understanding.
Then — silence.
The dunes were empty again.
Only Helios, Jafar, and the guards remained.
The air was suddenly much heavier.
Jafar's staff slammed into the sand.
"You let them go?"
Helios tilted his head. "They were not important to the mission. Anyways, let's hurry up."
"You fool!" Jafar shouted. "What if he lied? What if this 'guardian' is a trick? We could be chasing shadows—"
"He wasn't lying."
Helios' voice was calm. Certain.
Jafar stepped closer, his voice low and sharp. "You base this on what? A look? A feeling?"
"A choice," Helios replied. "To trust a man who asked for nothing, but protection for his people without concern for himself. That's a rare request."
Jafar's lip curled. "You waste power on sentiment."
Helios turned, beginning to walk towards the direction the chief had indicated. "I waste power on promises. And unlike you, I don't make the mistake of believing every show of mercy weakens me. Now stop wasting my time."
Jafar stared at him, speechless for a moment, then gestured sharply to his guards.
"Prepare the provisions," he barked. "We march."
They moved quickly across the dunes, the guards carrying crates and water skins, weapons slung over their shoulders.
The sun continued to set, the heat was gone, now replaced with a biting cold that was intensifying with each step.
Despite shaking as the cold traveled through the bodies, none of the guards complained.
Helios walked slightly ahead, every so often glancing up at the rising moon's position and adjusting their path. He could feel the faint pulse of enchantment ahead — the guardian's magic warded the area like a warning heartbeat beneath the sand.
Jafar kept pace but said little. Every step was laced with bitterness. His plan had been upended. The people he wanted to interrogate were gone. The porter he wanted to use had died from opening the map once. Worst of all was that Helios, the boy, had shown power that he could not contend with easily. If he were to kill the bo,y a timed surprise attack would be necessary.
Now, he followed a path given to him freely, by a man he had threatened and harmed.
It rankled him. What if this was a trap, and this might be how he dies?
And it showed.
"You think yourself noble," Jafar finally said, his voice dry with heat and venom. "But you'll see. Trust is the fastest way to die in the desert."
Helios didn't stop walking.
"I'm still alive despite trusting others," he replied. "And so are they. Which is more than you can say for most people who meet you."
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a large dune shaped unnaturally — the center of it rose in a curling arc, curved like a horned beetle's back.
Helios raised his hand and closed his eyes.
He casting a spell that even Jafar didn't recognize.
The wind stopped as a protective bubble of wind surrounded them.
Then — whoosh.
The sand beneath the arc of the dune split open, revealing a spiral staircase carved from obsidian and basalt, descending into blackness.
Cold air rose from the passage.
The guards shivered.
Jafar stepped forward, his staff glowing with red light. "So. It wasn't a lie after all."
Helios said nothing.
He only stared down into the dark and whispered, almost to himself:
"Now… let's see what you're hiding."