The dark corridor whispered open near the latticework vent above the Rani's chamber.
Helios did not step through.
Instead, he watched from just beyond the veil of shadow, the dim shimr of the corridor distorting the view like heat over sand.
Inside, Alira sat cross-legged beside a low vanity.
Rani Soraya knelt behind her, a fine-bristled brush in her hand, gently working through the strands of Alira's long dark hair. Her movents were patient, smooth, unhurried — despite the disapproving glances from the handmaidens who stood nearby, whispering behind their hands.
"She shouldn't be doing that herself—"
"She's the Rani—"
"That girl's a stray, not a guest—"
Soraya said nothing to them.
She simply smiled, then, in a practiced motion, passed the brush to Alira and shifted to sit in front of her.
"Now," Soraya said warmly, "watch how I do it, and you copy ."
Alira stared for a mont, then clumsily raised the brush.
She mirrored Soraya's motion.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't even very efficient.
But it was focused.
Helios' eyes narrowed.
She was… trying.
Soraya laughed gently, brushing her own hair beside Alira's efforts. "You remind of Jasmine. When she was younger, I used to do her hair every day. Until one day my husband said, 'If you do everything, my dear, what purpose will the handmaidens have?'" She sighed. "I agreed. Reluctantly."
Alira's expression didn't change—but she was still brushing.
Helios stepped back into the corridor.
He didn't smile.
But he didn't frown, either. He had to hurry before this girl developed more of a sense of self.
Nightfall.
Helios stood beneath a half-moon sky, the scent of sand and starlight swirling on the cold desert breeze.
He t Jafar at the eastern gate of Agrabah, where the last lights of the city faded into the rolling black of the dunes. A single cart stood nearby, flanked by three guards and a porter — a thin man with patchworked robes and hollow eyes.
Jafar stood with arms crossed, staff planted in the sand.
"You're late," he said.
Helios shrugged. "Ti moves differently when you're important."
Jafar sneered but said nothing else.
The small caravan began their journey into the Sea of Shifting Dunes — an endless expanse of golden waves and biting winds. Their provisions cart rattled as it crested the first dune. No animals pulled it — only the silent porter, who bore the burden without complaint.
Hours passed.
The moon drifted above like a silent sentinel. Shadows lengthened.
Jafar spoke, his voice casual. "My scouts tracked stories of these nomads saying that they tend to be near a certain ruin—a tower long abandoned. The locals say spirits haunt it. However, the exact location of the tower still eludes so we'll use the map."
"Of course they do," Helios murmured. "Everything worth finding is always buried under a spell or curse."
They continued for so ti until the air ahead shimred strangely.
The horizon twisted.
Shapes erged—nacing silhouettes of mounted warriors with drawn blades, eyes glowing red.
The guards halted. "Ambush!"
"No," Helios said.
He stepped forward, raising one hand. His fingers glowed faintly with a dull silver-blue light.
Then—
Pulse.
The mirage shattered like glass.
The warriors dissolved into dust and wind.
The desert was empty.
Helios lowered his hand.
Jafar's eyes narrowed, feigning surprise. "Impressive reflexes."
"You were testing ," Helios said calmly.
"I don't know what you an."
Helios didn't reply. He just walked forward.
Behind him, Jafar's lips twitched. "Perhaps I should have brought more n."
But he shook the thought away. "I have magic. And patience."
Later, as they crossed a dried-up riverbed of cracked salt and bone-white sand. Jafar ordered the porter to check the map and the porter knelt beside the cart.
He opened the scroll case — the magical map Jafar had tried to give Helios.
The mont it was unsealed, red glyphs flickered across its surface. The map unfurled itself, glowing lines tracing the dunes, until a golden point of light burned on a location near the cursed tower ruins.
The porter gasped softly.
His skin paled. His eyes glazed.
He said nothing. rely rolled the map back up and returned it to the cart.
An hour later—he collapsed mid-step.
No scream.
Just silence.
His body struck the sand, lifeless.
The guards turned in alarm.
"What happened?"
Jafar stepped forward, crouching beside the corpse. He touched the man's forehead.
"Dead," he announced, with a perfectly tid note of confusion.
Helios crouched beside him, brushing sand off the porter's wrist.
"No sign of struggle. The map was cursed."
He glanced up at Jafar.
"Good thing we didn't open it right?"
Jafar gave him a look. "Indeed."
Dawn crested the horizon like a crown of fire as the caravan approached the tattered remains of an old nomadic camp. Weathered tents flapped in the wind. Banners lay torn and buried beneath the dunes.
Dozens of weary nomads remained. Most were old. So barely more than children. All were thin, sun-worn, and fearful.
"Secure them," Jafar ordered.
The guards moved fast, tearing through tents, flipping over baskets, scattering scrolls and relics. Nomads shouted. Won scread. A child clung to an elder's robe as soldiers bound wrists and shoved people into the center of the camp.
Helios said nothing.
An old man, wrapped in blue silk and gold threadbare rings, stepped forward despite the guards.
He was the chief.
His back was bent, but his voice was steel.
"What is the aning of this?! This is sacred land—"
CRACK.
A red beam struck the man's chest, driving him to his knees. He grunted in pain, gasping for breath.
Jafar lowered his staff.
"Where is the scarab?"
The nomads murmured. So cried out. None answered.
Jafar raised his staff again.
Then—
A hand turned the staff gently aside.
Helios.
He walked past the stunned guards and kneeled beside the old man.
"I apologize for my foolish colleague," he said softly. "He believes fear and power are the keys that fits every lock."
He helped the elder sit upright and conjured a soft green Cure glow that eased the pain from his chest.
The old man looked into his eyes and asked, quietly: "Who are you?"
Helios smiled, but the edges of it were tired.
"Soone who asks... instead of demands. Let's talk. I'm sure we can co to an understanding."
Behind him, Jafar's jaw clenched.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
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