Baba Omar - the wanderer, the keeper of half-truths and hidden knowledge - paused at the edge of a moonlit hollow. There, half-buried in the sand, lay a simple bronze ring etched with patterns older than any kingdom. A faint green light pulsed within its gem, like the last ember of a dying fire... or the first spark of a waking dream.
He did not touch it. Not yet.
Instead, he raised his old wooden staff, tracing a circle above the ring as though addressing an unseen presence.
"It begins again," he murmured.
The wind shifted, carrying with it a whisper so soft it could have been imagined - or remembered.
"Time is a river... and rivers return."
Baba Omar's eyes narrowed. "He will come for you. The boy born of two dawns. The heart split between duty and destiny."
The ring pulsed brighter, recognising the name not yet spoken - Mohammed Dehhbbi, the Prince who would one day walk unknowingly toward this hollow, drawn by a dream he did not understand.
Baba Omar exhaled, equal parts sorrow and hope.
"May your path be guided," he whispered to the night. "For shadows are already stirring."
He lowered his staff. The dune-shadows lengthened unnaturally, curling like smoke around the ring - not in threat, but in anticipation.
For fate had awakened.
And the desert, ancient and patient, prepared to test the boy who would become more than a prince.
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