A/N:
Please check trigger warnings under 'preface' before proceeding with this chapter, thank you. 

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DILRUBA AND KIAH LAY ON THE LINEN SHEET that they had gotten from the kindly merchant they had come across in their journey thus far.

The man had wrapped up the perfume bottle he had given to them, in the lengths of the linen sheet purposefully. And Dilruba hadn't realized it at the time, only now being grateful that he had aided with their inventory, now that she had used the sheet to spread it out as a gentle barrier between her and Kiah's bodies and the sandy ground underneath them.

The sun had fully set now, and a full moon hung in the sky—having boldly dethroned the fire ball. The sands around Dilruba, as well as the ruins of the tombs—crooked, eroded and uneven walls with images of lions carved meticulously upon them—were awash in the glazed light of the moon while everything else had long cascaded into a hazy semi darkness, the moonlight choosing only to highlight some of its favorite parts upon the scene.

Kiah's golden tassels glowed subtly, her fabric body shimmering in the moonlight as a result of the golden threads she was detailed with upon her canvas of deep purple.

She was laying beside Dilruba, and both of them had made this brief recluse inside the tomb of Mundir Zumurrud Dadan. The nineteen year old Dadan's tomb had been mesmerizing to find, though its state was no different than the tombs of the other Dadans. But Mundir's tomb had two towering standing walls that were the least crooked and eroded, both joined at a perfect corner and offering a safe space to disappear from sight if there was someone watching the Lion Tombs from afar. A perfect corner to hide behind, where even the moonlight could not reach.

The lions etched on the walls were a work that was messily done, as though whoever had ventured upon the task, had not wanted to do his best—had not wanted the tomb to stand out.

Dilruba had not spread out the linen sheet inside the hidden corner of the tomb, choosing to make the sanctuary right in the middle of the chamber, where Mundir Dadan's body might've been laid for years before it was either moved or became victim to the elements. Her purpose was not to hide, though she was afraid of the kind of travelers—human or otherwise—who might come across hers and Kiah's forms laying on the linen sheet. But her purpose was to catch the moonlight, for there was energy in the moon and how would she transfer it from the sky if she couldn't see the ones who wanted it?

Fatima aapa had told her that when Dilruba had been a little girl with no roof over her head.

"We are the privileged ones, my nightingale," The woman had scoffed when Dilruba's emerald eyes had followed a stout woman holding the hand of a little boy around Dilruba's age, both of them disappearing into a warmly lit house on the street as the door closed shut behind them.

"The moon cannot see them," Fatima aapa had continued. "How can she, when they hide inside their abodes like that? She can see us. She is full of energy and blessings, and her light can only bestow those things upon the people she can see."

At the time Dilruba had thought that the words were a mere falsehood—a consolation meant for the foolish heart of a child. But then, Dilruba had slept underneath the light of the moon in her years of being homeless, and she had woken up each day with her belief in herself tightening and strengthening, until the governor of Hegra had spotted her and she had been swept right off those streets and brought into privilege.

Dilruba had continued sleeping under the moon. In her flat in Hegra, the moon shone right through the open window, and she and Ahya had pushed up Dilruba's bed right underneath.

Whether Fatima aapa had uttered a falsehood or not, the moon had blessed Dilruba. She had given her energy every night, and even if to believe such a thing was delusion, Dilruba would still believe in it.

Kiah had nodded excitedly when the Hegran girl had explained the analogy to her—leaving out the part about being homeless and on the streets—the fact that had initially initiated the conversation, for she did not want to hurt Kiah's innocent temperament more than she already had. And Allah, Dilruba was certain she hadn't met or seen any other who deserved to be hurt less than Kiah deserved, for surely there wasn't another even close to being as innocent and full of life as her.

So it was now, that both Dilruba and Kiah lay under the moonlit night, with the divine glow shining upon them as they rested in the chamber of the tomb of Mundir Zumurrud Ddadn, the nineteen year old Dadan's innocent soul peeking down upon them from somewhere above in something akin to curiosity, perhaps, if he was even watching.

Dilruba Badawi was fully conscious of the fact that this time could've been spent traveling, following the route from the tahararat min alkhatiya's map so that they were closer to the borders of Hegra each passing moment. But as much as the mere notion of that felt like a loss, the time being spent resting in a tomb did not feel wasted. In fact, it felt.. rejuvenating somehow, but maybe that was just the moonlight shining upon Dilruba's form. Regardless, she could tell that not only her own body, Kiah's too needed this moment of silent moonlit peace, with the story of the Dadans swirling in the forefront of both the girls' minds as they drifted beyond the realm of sleep, touched by happenings that were not their own but somehow felt close to home.

Dilruba did not know how long she had slept, when a sudden sound awoke her from her slumber. The sky was still dark, and the moon was still where she had left her, gracing the same position in the sky and its silver rays still just as brilliantly serene as they had been before. Except, the atmosphere had been touched by something foreign. Dilruba could feel the disturbance in her bones, and felt it prickle upon her skin. It wasn't just the sound she had heard—a distinct shuffle of heavy bound and booted feet trying to scrape their way upon the thick sand somewhere nearby—but it was a slight warning in the moonlight too, as though the moon had been trying to warn her and she had only just risen to the realization.

Her panicked emerald eyes—blinking through the sleep—surveyed the scene of the tombs all around her, trying to find the source of the sound she had heard. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she was certain that somebody else was here—a human presence and not a wraith like the tahararat min alkhatiya had warned her against. For jinns, wraiths and ifrits walked the desert sands too, yes, and though they took human forms to lure in other humans, everybody knew that they did not make human sounds. They could speak the human tongue, yes, but footsteps? Coughs? Laughs? Sneezes? No, those were sounds they could not make. That was how you told those beings apart from humans. That was how you kept yourself at a distance and if you still came face to face, you ignored them like you would ignore the stray rocks buried in the sands underneath your feet.

So indeed, at present, this was a human form intruding upon Dilruba and Kiah's moment of peace, and her heart rattled terrifyingly in her chest, for were not humans more dangerous than any jinn, ifrit or wraith could be?

"Kiah," Dilruba whispered, nudging the being gently, though her voice and hands shook with urgency and panic. "Kiah, wake up."

Dilruba's eyes saw no one and nothing except the towering walls of the tombs casting shadows, and it was then that she felt the dismay of not having taken refuge underneath such a shadow—in the corner of Mundir's tomb where the two walls met and provided perfect lookout and shelter. But it had been the Hegran girl's want for the moonlight that had kept her away from such a spot and had induced her to seek out the open spot and risk both herself and Kiah's forms being spotted.

And spotted they were, for whomsoever who traipsed about at present, surely they had seen both Dilruba and Kiah.

Kiah fluttered up, curiosity marring her movements, but Dilruba's instincts were faster and fueled by the panic suffocating in her chest. She held onto Kiah's tassel—her hand—and pulled her back down flat against the linen sheet they had both been resting upon, making Kiah appear as though she was less than what she was—a mere carpet that a traveler could've brought along as emergency bedding.

"Stay still, Kiah, please," Dilruba spoke under her breath, her instruction placed right in between a prayer that she muttered, the act being done as both to seek divine protection from Allah, and to deter the intruder from making it seem that she was merely praying and not talking to someone.

"Don't make your presence known," The Hegran girl spoke again, and Kiah finally understood what was happening, her tassels going limp alongside her body as she lay there, still highly alert for Dilruba could sense the energy from the being seeping into the air above them.

Another shuffle was heard then, closer this time, followed by another sound of feet against sand in a different direction. Dilruba kept still, her heartbeat intensifying as she realized that there were more intruders than just one, and they had all rounded up on her, hiding their forms behind the standing ruins of the Lion Tombs.

Dilruba was sitting up on the linen sheet, her weight resting on her thigh and her hands on the sheet upon the ground, supporting herself and grounding herself in equal measure as she tried to breathe. She dipped her head to the ground, before lifting it up with renewed energy. Whatever this was, she would have to face it. There was no escape except the relief of faith, and should she not latch onto that if nothing else?

"Who is there?" She called out then, trying to keep her voice steady and firm. "I am an unarmed traveler seeking solace in a tomb, who is it that intrudes upon the offered solace and creeps inside a tomb? Do you not know that it is a curse to enter such a place in the dark hours of the night?"

She lifted a hand and carefully placed it at Kiah's side, gently caressing Kiah's side with her thumb to reassure the creature, feeling the soft thread work of her thick fabric body underneath the whorls of her thumb.

"A curse?" A male voice scoffed then, and four figures appeared into view one after the other. Four men dressed in billowing white trousers, vests and turbans, began approaching the chamber of Mundir's tomb where Dilruba was with Kiah on the ground, their steps daunting and their faces dark with grins and smirks marring their expressions accompanied by vicious eyes.

"Who is a woman lying alone in a goddamned tomb, to tell me what will get me cursed?" The leading man uttered with a harsh guffaw—his body stout and his neck thick as his stomach jolted with the force of his scoff.

Dilruba watched them approach, their forms now bathed in moonlight so she could decipher them all properly. They didn't look like travelers, they looked like a typical band of thieves on the road with the intention to only steal from merchants and loot expensive goods carried between borders. Two of them, the stout leader and a thinner man at the right, had the branding of thieves upon their necks—a mark given to thieves and looters that were captured and released, before their right arm was cut clean at their elbows. Consequently, both the stout leader and the thinner man were missing their right arms, and in the arm's place, were sporting closed stumps.

The other two of their group were unhurt and unmarked, all their limbs intact as though they had never been caught.

Here was the difference, Dilruba supposed, between thieves and gangsters in Ancient Arabia. Mere clumsy thieves and bandits were like these men, living life between getting caught and escaping, before they were caught and they escaped again. Then there were Burhan and his men, traipsing so boldly amongst nobility, thieving entire palaces and cities and murdering innocents in the flash of an eye during a royal wedding celebration, but never once being branded or losing a limb to the authorities. No authority existed in front of Burhan Abdelhamid and his men, and they were thieves, bandits, killers, swordsmen and usurpers, all in one.

So immersed was Dilruba in her scrutiny and comparisons that she was slow to catch the look of cruel interest sparking in the men's eyes as they neared her and stopped, looking at her with flashing eyes fixated on her form on the ground. Their initial blatant amusement at having come across her had sobered into something more sinister now, and the mere glimpse of that vicious predatory look in their eyes chilled Dilruba to her core.

She recognized looks like these, for Allah knows she had gotten them before. But never had she received them with such untethered ferocity. Never had she felt this helpless in face of such looks before. Even back in Agrabah, when the palace had been taken over by Burhan's men—those men had been vicious and cruel with her, yes, but they had only meant to do her and her friends physical harm regardless of her being a woman or the tahararat min alkhatiya being a man or Kiah being a magic carpet.

Dilruba preferred that over this. She preferred being harmed independent of the fact that she was a woman and she looked the way that she did, in front of men such as these.

"What do we have here?" The stout leader uttered then, his beady eyes blinking his interest.

"A damsel in.. distress?" A second man—one of the two unmarked ones—suggested with a raised brow, his black long chest length hair braided over his square shoulder, and his equally long beard braided up front.

"She looks like distress hasn't touched her," The third man—the other unmarked one—grinned, displaying the cavities of all of his missing teeth, only a few remaining yellow molars could be glimpsed at the back. "Yet."

"Well then," The last man raised a hand to the back of his neck, his thin left arm bony and the stump of his missing right arm moving slightly. "Call me distress any day, boys."

The men all laughed, before the stout leader raised a hand to silence them all, his eyes fixed on Dilruba with a look that perhaps a bounty hunter gave to his most sought for find, or perhaps the kind of look a simple thief would give upon stumbling across a cave full treasures—like the Cave of Wonders.

Dilruba tore her eyes away from the stout man's, glancing over where she had tied her camel, and dismayed to find that there were three more camels tied right beside her Bactrian camel, her only means of escape surrounded and sieged.

"Worried about your ride, damsel?" The leader mused then, stepping close and crouching to face Dilruba at eye level, for she hadn't budged from the ground, fearing that were she to leave Kiah's side, the being would move and expose herself.

"No," Dilruba managed then, raising her eyes to meet the stout man's black ones.

Burhan had black eyes too, but how come his were the most entrancing eyes she had ever seen in her life? How come she felt as though she could do anything to gaze into her savior's black eyes every hour of every day? How come these black eyes—the ones belonging to this leader of thieves—were the ugliest ones she could ever look upon? How was the color black so.. subjective?

"I'm still worried about you and your men being cursed," The Hegran girl spoke, her emerald eyes blinking into the man's with as much indifference that she could muster. "You are on your last arm, should you not be careful?"

The man raised his left—last—arm and his hand came in hard contact with Dilruba's cheek, whipping her off her balance as she cried out and was tossed to the side, her ears ringing painfully and going deaf while her face erupted in a blinding pain.

Kiah stirred, but even amongst the shock and pain, Dilruba managed to touch her hand to Kiah's body again in consolation, making the creature go still again.

Then, before Dilruba could compose herself and look into the face of the man again, she felt a hand leap forwards to grab her neck, and she was forcefully yanked to face the stout man. Her eyes saw his oily, dark, acne marked face right in front of her as he seethed in her face, the stench of his rancid breath fully upon her face as his hand tightened its hold on her neck.

"I could do things with this last arm that will have you crying out and begging me to stop, you bitch," He spat the words, as Dilruba struggled to breathe, clasping at his hold with her fingers and trying to get his grip to loosen.

His grip did not loosen. He stayed looking at her, his eyes diffusing from anger to amusement as he considered something in his mind, his gaze flashing something vile that Dilruba did not want to decipher.

She tried to keep her eyes away from where Kiah lay, hoping against hope that her friend was staying still and would not expose herself in front of these brutes.

The Hegran girl's ability to hope was dwindling, for her suffocation was now gaining its way with her—enslaving her senses entirely and rendering her incapable of thinking and struggling for anyone else but her. It was then—before she almost gave in her fight to survive—that the stout man pushed her aside, his hold on her neck being used as a means to control her and steer her aside as though she was but a lamb for slaughter being tossed aside.

Dilruba Badawi felt a rush of cold upon her neck when she was freed with the man's clammy hold, the force of her breathing coming in next as she rasped and struggled to allot a rhythm to her breaths and ease her pounding heart. But the brief moment of respite was short lived.

"Grab her," The stout leader of thieves ordered, his voice gruff as his eyes surveyed the linen sheet Dilruba had been laying upon—Kiah's presence being looked at as a mere addition to the bedding arrangement—and the sack of her remaining jewelry and food that she had been using as a makeshift pillow for her head. He grabbed the sack and started looking inside it, grabbing the jewelry in fistfuls and taking out all the remaining food next.

"We shall all have turns with her after we have had some grub," The man finished, flashing a yellow toothed smile at his men, showing them the jewelry and the food—both gripped in one chaotic fistful on his last arm.

"What's the occasion?" The thin man amongst the gang uttered grinning, a rhetorical question, as the other two men muttered affirmations of heady delight and rubbed their hands together.

It appeared then that the leader of men had no tolerance or understanding of sarcasm or rhetorical questions.

"It is your whore mother's birthday, that's the occasion," The stout leader spat, amusement wiped clean off his face.

"We are already fucking getting nowhere with the loot and your good for nothing hide yaps nonsense like no fucking tomorrow. We need to head towards Agrabah, you hear me? That city's the ripest to find some good loot right now, what with the Sultan cast out. And your yapping has us further away from Agrabah and closer to Al Diwan. I swear to you, if I find myself any further from Agrabah and on Burhan Abelhamid's lands, I will cut off your dick and feed it to you."

"Now go tie the bitch somewhere while we eat, or I won't even let your arse watch the rest of us fuck her, got it?"

The one armed, branded, and thin thief swallowed thickly and sprang to action, nodding as he leapt for Dilruba's elbow with his single arm before she even had a moment to digest Burhan's name upon the tongue of these brutes. 

She shook her head, desperation making her unable to use her words and fear making her eyes sting. She pushed herself away, shaking her head and dragging her body across the sands, her emerald eyes appealing to the thin thief—pleading and begging in hopes that he would take mercy. But there was no mercy in submissive people like him—for their lives revolved around people who cowered them with their own lack of mercy.

"Get aside you fucking idiot," The braided man uttered, pushing the thin one aside and launching himself at Dilruba, grabbing her body with both arms and raising her to fling her over his shoulder, undertaking the task of dealing with her himself. 

She cried out and struggled, before her eyes found the linen sheet she had been lying upon. Kiah was up, her body twisted as she had turned to watch Dilruba. The Hegran girl could not decipher the emotions in her friend, for Kiah was expressive and at present was not moving, only staring at Dilruba in perhaps.. shock or dismay?

None of the men were looking at the creature at present, all of them distracted.

Dilruba's heart hammered in fear for Kiah, and she stopped struggling for her own fate and shook her head slowly to Kiah, hoping against hope that her friend understood what she meant.

"Please," The Hegran girl mouthed. "Please, stay."

If the men ignored and maintained that Kiah—though a beautiful work of embroidery, and unbeknownst to them, possibly the last surviving treasure from the Cave of Wonders in Jerash—and the sheet, were nothing significant, then maybe they would move on and leave Kiah be. Kiah would remain unharmed, untouched, even if Dilruba would no longer be any of those things.

The braided man grabbed Dilruba's waist again and brought her down harshly from his shoulder, putting her down as she was made to sit on the hard sand, when they reached a giant stone beside a wall of a further tomb—possibly a remnant of another wall long since fallen. Kiah was still visible in Mundir's tomb as she slowly but surely laid back down upon the sheet again—like an ancient pharaoh slowly settling back down in his burial chamber, deciding to curse the robbers of his tomb instead of pouncing upon them—much to Dilruba's relief.

So invested had Dilruba been in her anxiety that none of the men see Kiah, that she was abruptly brought back to her own reality when the braided man carrying her—his dark muddy skin wet with his perspiration, his stench of sweat and rank body odor, the whites of his eyes soiled with yellow, his face covered completely in thick dirty hair aside from his significantly neater beard braid and back braid—gripped the hair at the nape of Dilruba's neck and pulled her face to his.

She gasped, the sudden feel of the man's wet mouth at her jaw making her cry out as she struggled to push him away, her body shrinking in its disgust and horror of him.

The man kept his hold in her hair tight and brutal, forcing her face to stay still as he ran his wet and hot mouth at her jaw, his tongue darting out to lick her skin as he laughed at her struggle.

"You smell so good," He groaned then, his fingers splaying to gather more of her hair as he yanked at her face again, bringing it so close to his that she could taste his reeking breath upon her lips.

"And you look so good too," The man uttered then, his yellow stained black eyes scanning her face as though he was a Sultan going through his harem, deciding upon his pick for the night.

Except, in this case, there was only one pick. There was only Dilruba Badawi of Hegra, and the men she was faced with were no Sultans, and it was foolish to expect the decorum from them that a Sultan might indeed bestow upon their concubine.

"I would rather have you first, the grub can wait," The braided man grinned then, and Dilruba tried her hardest not to shut her eyes and show the fear on her face.

"Now, be a good whore for me," He grabbed at the front of her cloak—of Burhan's cloak—and ripped the tyings, leaving on display Dilruba's attire, the very pretty orange blouse and trouser set that Burhan's man Ahud had gotten for her from the marketplace in the city of Thāj.

The attire—though duller and sand stained now—was still a luxurious thing for a female traveler to wear, and the bearded man's eyes widened slightly. He yanked the entirety of the cloak away from her form, tossing the black material to a side on the sand, his eyes inspecting Dilruba's form as her gleaming dark hair spilled down at her shoulder.

Dilruba Badawi knew she could fight. She had a knife strapped to her thigh underneath the orange shimmering trousers she wore. She knew she could take down at least one of these four men. But what would taking down only one do for her? There were three more, and her camel was surrounded. She could not leave without Kiah—lying still and waiting right in the middle of Mundir Zumurrud Dadan's tomb. And even if she managed to grab Kiah and mount her camel, how far would she be able to go with three men—one dead—right on her heels atop their own skinnier, and possibly faster, camels?

The realization of it all was dimming her motivation to fight. Attacking only one of these men would only cause her the loss of her strength, whilst the rest of them would be as strong as they were before, and ready to follow her and Kiah and cower them.

In the desert, Dilruba had heard tales of women being captured by thieves and looters whilst their male companions were killed. Some women bided their time until they were brought to places they could escape from, and then they made their escapes. Dilruba knew she needed to do the same if there was any good chance for both her and Kiah, except, biding her time sounded—at present—like the most terrifying things she would ever do.

"Holy shit," The bearded man uttered then, shock dissipating from his face as he turned to look over his shoulder at his compatriots, all three of which were busy stuffing food down their throats in a far distance, sitting beside a wall of Mundir's tomb, three yards from where Kiah lay.

The bearded man then looked at Dilruba again, grabbing her hair tightly, a discretion in his eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" He spat under his breath then. "Are you nobility? Or a fucking noble's concubine?"

Dilruba did not answer, her head beginning to pound treacherously by the forceful grips upon the roots of her hair.

"Answer me, bitch," He uttered then, anger making his hairy face uglier. "Answer me or I will fuck the answer right out of you."

"I—," Dilruba started, her heart beating mercilessly in her chest.

What could she say? That she was a noble? Or indeed a noble's concubine? No. If she informed these men of a lie such as these ones, they would think of her as more than just a temporary enjoyment. They would think of her as valuable, and they would not let her go.

"I'm a court dancer," Dilruba managed then, her eyes stinging as she stated the truth. "I'm a poetess and a dancer."

Her emerald eyes searched the man's yellowed black eyes desperately, pleading her case through her gaze and hoping that he would realize just how insignificant she was as compared to even a nobleman's concubine, and would leave her alone.

But the man only blinked, before a slow grin gripped her face as he eyes flashed at her.

"Well, can't say that is a fucking loss now can I?" He muttered, exhaling through his nose as he quickly grabbed the rope he had been dragging along and started to tie Dilruba's wrists together.

She did not fight, and submitted to the bindings, repeating to herself a mantra of patience, while her heart trembled furiously in her chest as what was to come.

After he had tied her hands together, the man took the longer end of the rope dangling from her wrists and gathered it to bind it around the large rock beside her body, grunting as he looped the rope around the heavy stone several times before finishing off with several tight knots. As a result, Dilruba's bound wrists were pulled to the stone, and she was resting her bound wrists atop the stone as though her hands were but an offering for the chopper's block, and she was but a thief about to lose them.

She could not move her wrists an inch, for they were bound tightly together and with the large stone, and the sharp edges of the rock dug into the skin of her elbow—the sheer sleeves of her orange blouse were an insignificant barrier.

Before Dilruba could predict what else would come for her next, the bearded man was groping at her, his large dirty hands roaming her body as he took hold of her legs and yanked at them, making her slide into a laying position. As her wrists were bound tight against the top of the stone, Dilruba cried out in pain, her hands being held up at an unnatural angle against the heavy, unshifting stone, her skin grating against the sharp edges of the boulder as she felt an earlier sharp edge tear the skin at her elbow. She could feel the blood trickling down her arm to her shoulder, but her anxious focus and fear was entirely fixated on the bearded man crawling up to her form and mounting her with both his knees digging into the sand at either side of her body.

"No, please," Dilruba uttered then, terror paralyzing her. "Please, let me go."

"Ah, come now," The man grinned, fiddling with the band of his trousers as he undid a single lousy button, making his trouser loosen and drop to his thighs as his entire pubic region—marred with a distasteful haze of thick reeking hair—came abruptly into view.

Dilruba shut her eyes and turned her away, tears leaking out of her eyes as she thrashed her legs and tried desperately to be free, but the man was already on top of her and was weighing her legs down.

He grabbed at her chest, tightly pressing down his hand on her breast through her blouse as his other hand dug inside the elastic of her trousers, coming in contact with the bare and smooth skin between her thighs as he touched her—gripped at her with desperate and clammy fingers.

Dilruba squirmed, crying out in horror at the violation, her body thrashing as she tried to free herself against all her bindings and the weight on top of her, panic and fear blinding her entirely.

The man pulled out his hand, fury raking his ugly facial features at her protests. He leapt forwards and grabbed her hair, yanking her head forwards before slamming it down on the heavy boulder upon which her wrists were tied. Her neck had to be shifted to the right to make the impact, for the heavy rock was to the side. But Dilruba felt the twisting in her neck to be the lesser pain than the one the erupted at her head—blinding her senses and her body became heavier than it had ever felt before.

Her eyes felt as though they had burst in her sockets, and her eardrums had spilled open, her brain leaking out alongside the blood that trickled down her hair upon the sand and down her neck and back.

The pain was so immense that time slowed for it—for her. Time slowed cruelly, so that she could truly feel every second of that hot pain and agony. Her eyes saw everything delayed and slowed. She groaned in her agony, trying to move but feeling every muscle and bone in her weighed down by more than just the body of the man on top of her.

She could see him through hazy painful glimpses. She could see him touching her body, touching himself in the dark area his trousers had abandoned the coverage of. She could see him beginning to lower her own trousers, latching onto them urgently and pulling them down her lower waist. But she felt none of it. It was as though she had lost feeling in her entire body, and everything she was watching was happening to someone else, not her.

Her eyes lifted to the moon, just as her senses began to darken and the pounding in her head became unbearable to fight against.

But it was then that a force was felt by her entire body. She brought her eyes down—her sight blurred by her tears and hazy, her ears deafened to any sounds, everything around her seemingly proceeding in slow motion—only to find the man's body suddenly missing from on top of her.

Kiah was fluttering in the sky above, her presence almost majestic as she lowered herself desperately at Dilruba's torso, wrapping her body around the Hegran girl's as if to cover her—protect her modesty and embrace her in equal measure.

Dilruba closed her eyes briefly, her eyelids feeling heavy as she fought again to retain her consciousness—her sight merely, for nothing else was working in her.

She saw a figure then—two yards from where she lay, tied to the heavy boulder—a darkened, thin, figure entangled with the braided thief who had just been assaulting her.

The thief was being battered, his body on the ground as the thinner dark figure held a stone above the man's face and kept bringing it down harder and harder against the head, crushing the face and skull to bits of bone and flesh.

Dilruba's weak eyes fluttered to the rest of the remaining men—the three of the thieves who had just been stuffing their faces with her food moments ago—and she spotted their forms dressed in dirty white, lying about on the ground, unstirring, as though they had been knocked viciously down.

She turned her eyes to look again at her figure who was saving her, desperation in her heart as she hoped against hope to recognize the face of the person—or perhaps see the someone that she wanted, ached, to see—but it was not a person at all. Or perhaps, that was wrong to say, for he had been one at some point, had he not?

Mundir Zumurrud Dadan was a nineteen year old wraith—his body frail and his form a dark translucent black, through which Dilruba Badawi could see the moon light shine through. His translucent body—figure—was lanky and bent over at his neck, his posture that of an insecure young man trying to make his way into the world but being constantly made to doubt his worth. But his strength had been excessive, had it not? At least after death if not in life.

His skin was a lighter shade of black, and his eyes were pools of translucent white—an appearance that perhaps all wraiths undertook.

So shocked and stirred was Dilruba amidst her bodily pain and anguished mind, that her eyes followed the wraith as he calmly stepped away from the crumpled and battered body of the thief who had laid his hands on her, and approached the boulder to which she was tied.

Dilruba Badawi felt Mundir's touch on her wrists like it was air—caresses of wind. She did not feel the touch of fingers, and before she could compare the touch to anything else, the ropes had come loose at her wrist.

Dilruba's head, arms and upper body, dropped to the ground—for she was being held up by the rope tied around the boulder, and as soon as her head hit the sandy ground, Dilruba moaned as another sharp thread of pain burst through her senses.

She tried to open her eyes, conscious of the wraith's presence.

Kiah was still wrapped around the Hegran girl's torso, and Dilruba could feel the creature shaking against her skin.

"Mundir Zumurrud Dadan," Dilruba uttered then, her voice pained and barely above a whisper as she tried to lift her head and forced her eyes to stay open, spotting the wraith's presence standing serenely over her, pools of translucent white looking down at her in.. curiosity?

"Do not saddle me with the name of my family even in death, Dilruba Badawi."

His voice was delicate—the sound of a compassionate but firm young man.

"I'm sorry," Dilruba exhaled softly, her voice breaking. "Please, what do you want me to call you? How do you want me to thank you?"

"No," The wraith shook his head. "You can call me Mundir, but you cannot thank me, ukhti-al-aziza."

Ukhti al-aziza. My dear sister. Dilruba heart fluttered slightly at the addressing as she placed her hand on the ground, and forced herself to sit up, biting her lip hard against the merciless pounding of her head and the rushing dizziness threatening to overtake her. With her other hand, she touched and caressed Kiah's back—the creature still shaking as she refused to let Dilruba go.

The Hegran girl raised her face and eyes to look up at the standing wraith again.

"Why?" She asked, tears streaking down her cheeks. "How will I go on without thanking you for helping us?"

The wraith shook his head slowly, before turning briefly away to look in the direction of the ruins of his tomb. The bodies of the thieves lay spattered, their white clothes billowing in the wind, but their presence littering the tombs did not seem to matter to the wraith.

He turned to look at Dilruba again, his translucent pools of white settling into her gaze.

"You cannot thank me because I owed a favor to my Khayyi," Mundir uttered then, his voice thoughtful.

Khayyi, brother and friend. The Hegran girl chilled at the use of the word upon the tongue of a wraith—a young boy who had killed himself by one of the most brutal means anyone ever could, in life. Hearing such a boy use such a sweet term of endearment for someone was.. altering in a way that tugged at Dilruba's heart. 

"Tell Ya Aydi—my big brother, my strength, my friend—that I tried to repay him for his kindness to me, but it will never be enough. I can never fully repay him, I will never be able to. And I am sorry for that."

Dilruba blinked, shutting her eyes tight as she tried to control her tears. She looked up at him again.

"I'm sorry, I don't—," She swallowed thickly, remorse in her heart, as she caressed Kiah's body for comfort and held the being to herself. "All your brothers are long dead, and I don't know if—"

The wraith tilted his head at her, as though surprised slightly.

"My blood brothers are dead, but my Khayyi means more to me than any of them ever did, Dilruba Badawi," The boy spoke, a defense creeping up in his voice. "When you see my big brother, please give him my message."

With that being said, the wraith began turning away, his solitary and translucent form gingerly walking in the direction of his tomb—his retreating figure eerie in the light of the moon.

"Wait, Mundir, please," Dilruba called out. "Tell me the name of your big brother."

The wraith stopped then, his lanky form swaying slightly in the night wind before he turned his head over his shoulder to look at her with the translucent cream pools of his eyes, a look of simmering curiosity and subtle confusion in his gaze at her question. 

"My big brother is called Burhan Abelhamid."