In our village, nestled in the heart of the mountains and dunes, there lived a man everyone called the Sage. His reputation was well established, as he mastered the wind with such ease that we, the children, were fascinated at every demonstration. It was a particular evening, as the sun set and the sky was tinged with shades of orange, that the Sage decided to reveal the mysteries of Ruh to us.
Sitting in a circle around him, we listened in silence, captivated by his presence. He gently raised his hands, and a light breeze began to circulate, making the tree leaves shiver and bringing immediate calm.
"Every living being has a soul," he began, his voice resonating with infinite wisdom. "And in this soul resides a vital force called Ruh. This force is the very essence of life, a flow of energy that keeps us all alive."
He paused, allowing the whisper of the wind to envelop his words. "Some of us have the ability to manipulate this force, to shape it according to our will. This is how one discovers their affinity with an element. For some, it's water, fluid and adaptive. For others, fire, burning and destructive. Wind, elusive and free, and earth, solid and protective. However, mastery of the elements is not always linked to Ruh."
The Sage made a sweeping gesture, and the breeze transformed into a more powerful gust, lifting swirls of dust around us. "The true nature of Ruh is much deeper. It reflects the user's deepest desire. Each person has a unique ability, a manifestation of their inner essence."
The Sage stopped, a mysterious smile on his lips. "My own ability, for example, is to feel the vibrations of the earth. This has allowed me to detect earthquakes before they occur and to find underground water sources. This gift has nothing to do with my mastery of the wind, but it was born from my deep desire to ensure the safety and prosperity of our village."
The children around him were captivated, their eyes bright with curiosity and admiration. "With time, and a deep understanding of oneself, this force can manifest through unique skills, far beyond simple manipulation of the elements. But remember, this power must be used wisely and responsibly. Such a force in the wrong hands can cause immeasurable havoc."
The Sage's words resonated with me long after he finished speaking. I did not have the ability to manipulate Ruh, and this reality weighed on my shoulders like a shadow. However, his lesson encouraged me to seek other paths, other passions. Even if I could not master Ruh, I could understand the world in a different way, with insatiable curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.
My beauty, which many praised as exceptional, quickly became a source of jealousy and rejection. The other children saw me as a different being, too different, too perfect in their eyes. This difference, instead of elevating me, isolated me. I was not just the child with angelic features; I was the one who unwittingly attracted the admiration of adults and the hostility of peers.
Among these children was Adil, the mayor's son. Born under the spotlight his title demanded, he was constantly praised for his actions, even if they were not always impressive. Adil used his status to expand his circle of friends, though it would be more accurate to call them his "henchmen." He was always surrounded by a group of loyal friends, each with their own personality: Samir, the strongest and bravest among them, and Sofia, the smartest and most cunning.
Adil knew how to manipulate others to isolate me. He encouraged the other children to avoid me, to leave me alone. It was a subtle but effective form of manipulation that eventually left me alone and isolated among others. Every day, going to the park, I secretly hoped to finally be able to play with the other children without being rejected. But Adil always found a way to set me apart, to remind the others of my difference.
During school recess, I saw the other children playing together, their laughter filling the air. I approached timidly, hoping to be invited to join them, but as soon as Adil saw me, he cast a look and a whisper sufficient to disperse the other children, urging them to move away from me. The pain of these constant rejections was an invisible but very real wound.
Rumors circulated among the children, fueled by Adil. "Zayn thinks he's better than us because of his appearance," he would say. "He thinks he can eclipse us all. Don't listen to him, he's not like us." These cruel words echoed in the minds of the children, turning into weapons against me.
One day, during a village festival, a talent contest was organized. Each child had to showcase what they could do. I had worked hard on reciting a poem, hoping it would help me earn the respect and friendship of my peers. Adil, however, had other plans. He encouraged the other children to boo and laugh at me during my performance. As I recited my poem, their mocking laughter interrupted me, turning my attempt to shine into a public humiliation.
However, I refused to cry. I finished my recitation pretending it was a joke with my peers, so as not to worry my family in the audience, although the weight of humiliation weighed heavily on my shoulders.
Realizing what I lacked, I developed an obsession with making friends at all costs, not realizing that it's when obsession takes the form of desire, it makes us more vulnerable than usual. Adil, seeing an opportunity, took advantage of this to approach me with a fake friendly smile.
"Zayn," he said one day, after the other children had dispersed. "I see you really want to be part of the group. Maybe we can find a way for the others to accept you."
I was ready to believe that even Adil could accept me, even if it meant turning a blind eye to his past actions. I accepted his offer without suspicion, convinced it was my chance to finally break through the wall of isolation.
The next day, Adil invited me to play with him and his friends. My heart was pounding with joy and hope. For the first time, I felt accepted. They proposed playing hide and seek in the forest, an exciting and dangerous idea that both scared and enticed me. I knew the forest was forbidden, but the euphoria of the moment pushed me to accept, fearing to seem like a spoilsport if I refused.
We ran through the trees, our laughter echoing between the trunks, leaves crunching under our feet. Adil, with his usual charisma, led the group to a clearing I didn't know. Samir and Sofia were with us, each showing signs of nervousness. Sofia cast furtive glances around her, while Samir bit his lips, visibly uncomfortable.
"Should we really go this far?" asked Sofia, her voice trembling. "We might get in trouble."
"Don't worry, it'll be fine," Adil replied confidently. "It's just a game. Let's make it fun."
Sofia nodded, although her expression remained anxious. Samir stayed silent, but his nervous gestures spoke for him. Adil pointed to a tree for Sofia. "You count to a hundred, okay?"
Reluctantly, Sofia complied, turning her back, her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Adil, Samir, and I continued our race through the forest. The dense vegetation began to thin out, and soon, we emerged into a barren expanse. The contrast was striking: the lush green of the forest gave way to a sea of golden sand.
In the middle of this desolate expanse stood an old stone well, a solitary relic of a bygone era.
"Zayn, you should hide here," said Adil, pointing to the well. "No one will think to look for you there."
I looked at the well, a shiver of fear running down my spine. But I desperately wanted to prove my worth, to show that I was worthy of being their friend. I nodded, and with Adil and Samir's help, I climbed down into the bucket attached to the rope.
The bucket creaked as it descended, darkness enveloping me bit by bit. Down in the darkness of the well, I heard Adil and Samir snicker.
"He's so naive," murmured Samir, his voice betraying a nervousness he couldn't hide.
"Yeah, he really believes we're going to come back for him," Adil laughed.
My heart clenched hearing their words. I had been deceived. The well was cold and damp, and every sound, every drop of water that fell, amplified my fear. Yet, I refused to cry. I had to find a way to get out of there.
The hours turned into a freezing night. I shivered, hunger and thirst beginning to gnaw at me. I drank the cold, stagnant water from the well to survive, praying that someone, anyone, would find me. I screamed for help, hoping my voice would carry beyond the well's walls. "Help! Someone! Come get me!" But my calls were lost in the darkness, echoing against the walls without ever finding a sympathetic ear.
Days passed in slow agony. I ate nothing, subsisting only on the cold water of the well. Each day that passed, I felt weaker and weaker, my body and mind sinking into desperate torpor. My limbs no longer responded, my thoughts became confused, and hunger turned into a dull, constant pain.
Each night, the cold bit into my skin, waking me from terrifying nightmares where I saw myself dying alone in the well. The oppressive silence was only broken by the distant cries of nocturnal animals.
After two weeks, I was reduced to a living skeleton. My stomach, empty for too long, screamed in pain with every breath. My
vision blurred, and each movement required a superhuman effort. I was on the verge of slipping into permanent unconsciousness.
During these days of torment, my thoughts constantly turned to my family. I saw the smiling face of my mother, her gentle and comforting hands. My father, with his quiet strength and protective gaze. And above all, my little sister, whose crystal-clear laughter I missed terribly. I wondered what they were doing, if they were worried about me, if they were looking for me. This thought broke my heart, but it also gave me the strength to hold on, one more day, one more hour.
It is said that one only understands the value of what they have when it's lost. At that moment, as my life began to fade, I realized that I didn't need friends, just to be with my family, with those who loved me.
As my struggle for survival slowly diminished, a mysterious little creature appeared.