In the middle of the vast and arid desert is a modest settlement. The people who live here have adapted to the harsh conditions of the area long ago: incredible heat during the day and extreme cold at night. Amid these contradictions lived a little boy named Zephyr Al-Khali.

From an early age, Zephyr has been known for getting into trouble. He would run away from goats, or fight with cats, and sometimes he would come to the neighbourhood covered in mud and happy. One day he wandered to the outskirts of the village in search of adventure... His attempt to catch up with the agile lizard was unsuccessful and he fell onto the hot sand.

"Ouch!" said Zephyr in indignation as he picked up the intricate wand in his hands. "Who left this here?"

He was holding a flute. Shabby and old, but elegantly engraved, it was awe-inspiring. Zephyr was intrigued.

"Was it simply discarded?"

The boy hesitated and then decided to take this 'artefact', as he called it in his mind, for himself. It was something that the merchants used to carry around with them. Including those who passed through their village. Although the villagers were craftsmen, making a flute required not only carpentry skills, but also some knowledge of sound formation. Unfortunately, there was no such person in the village.

The Al-Khali house was quiet. Zephyr's older sister spent all her time studying, and her parents worked hard, returning in the evening. At night, the family gathered around the hearth and went into bed together, waiting out the cold.

"For now you lie here, thingy," he said, and with these words he used all the strength in his young body to open the doors of the pantry, and threw the flute in.