The sun rose like molten gold over the endless dunes of the Kharim Desert, casting long, trembling shadows over the scattered encampments of the desert tribes. Each clan lived in isolation, wary of strangers, their loyalties as shifting as the sand beneath their feet. Yet today, a lone figure stood atop the highest dune, his silhouette sharp against the blazing horizon—a young general with eyes like smoldering embers, whose name was whispered with reverence and fear: Idris al-Sahra.
Idris had not always been a general. He had once been a boy of laughter and sandcastles, dreaming of trade and the distant cities beyond the desert. But the desert had visions of its own, and one night, under a sky swollen with stars, Idris dreamed of fire and blood. In the vision, a merchant-warlord named Talek al-Hajar marched across the dunes with...
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