A long time had passed as Midas got used to life in the fort, using his time to master the once foreign language, practicing his speech and writing skills with Alma.
Atop the walls, the rugged stick of an old broom in his hand, the boy was busy scraping the floor of a wide walkway with the straw that was bundled up onto the long handle, cleaning the floor the thickly robed guards walked on. Today was a special day. Midas was urgent to finish his daily tasks, finally being able to walk towards the ruins that were dotted around the broad walls of the ruin. The land surrounding the ruin was quite similar to what the boy woke up to after he got here: barren sandland, marked with dunes, lining up in the distance.
He sometimes drifted off, looking towards the scattered huts made out of rugged cloth and dried wooden stems, warped to form a tent-like shape. Sledges were held besides these tinier buildings, lining up to be used by the guards who wanted to leave the fort. The fort overshadowed half-burried ancient-looking ruins, their blocky layout barely visible, as they emerge from the sand that piles up against the old stone bricks, moved by the howling winds that softly blast against Midas body, as he freezes in place to admire the view he so long had longed for. Alma was sure that whatever once stood here must have been some sort of town, even though he too doesn't know any specifics.
The dust and sand softly kicked up as it got brushed aside with the broom, the passing guards greeting him, raising their hands for a short while, before facing their front again. Midas had a relatively good relationship with most of the guards, most of them seemingly knowing that the foreign boy had ties to Alma; they respected him for working to keep the fort clean. Sometimes, even greeting him with "Na'av sarbahrm," roughly translating to "The sun greets you," a phrase used to wish someone a good day, as it was used by the guards to greet each other when passing by. From what the boy was able to figure out, the sun played an important role in the culture of these people.
Upon asking Alma, he had told him that those who decide to follow the teaching of the sun priests are forbidden to touch the sun with their bare skin, giving reason to why they wore thick cloth around their sholders, sporting hoods, and iron masks, their many holes giving them enough free space to look through the metal. Midas was the only one who hadn't worn a mantle, as the decision to follow the local faith is made upon birth by one's parents or older siblings, something that cannot be reverted freely. Midas wasn't able to join their faith since he arrived in the prison with burn marks covering him, a sign of irreparable damage to those who pray to the sun.
The time the boy cleared his mind, he was already done cleaning the last of the pathways; his hair was growing long, and his upper torso and slim arms were covered in the same thick bandage that covered Alma and his guards as well. The boy had to get used to it, since moving his arms with thickly packed cloth wrapped around him was harder than he had imagined at first. He kept his leather shorts, pairing them with old, slightly damaged leather boots; holes were hammered into the leather to help the air escape, keeping the inside of the shoe as cool as possible.
He passed the place he first met Jihid, the old man he used to fear, as his way of talking was much louder and much more expressive than Alma's way of speaking. With time, Midas and Jihid made unstable peace with each other. As the old man's health declined, the boy tried his best to take care of him. Bringing him food or water, helping him to get out of bed if he needed fresh air—that way a slim bond formed between them as Midas got used to his crude personality. He felt good about himself being able to help Alma out with these minor tasks, gifting him new freedom while making the time he stayed in the fort much more exciting, as he met new people and saw new places inside and outside the walls.
He entered Alma's office, putting the broom to the side, leaning it against the wall. Without stopping, he sat down onto the stool in front of the bearded man's seat. Instinctively opening his dictionary, an old book filled with words and phrases, followed by short descriptions of their meaning. Midas would write up any word or phrase he wouldn't get the exact meaning of; sometimes even just reading a word description would suffice in learning it, as the boy's vocabulary was enough to process the text he was reading. With time, he and Alma had worked out this way of teaching himself the language, a skill the boy needed if he truly wanted to leave, a wish that quickly became optional for now as he relized how much knowledge he lacked.
Just jumping out of the fort would be stupid to say the least; even if he got his fingers onto a sledge and somehow knew how to direct it, finding somewhere to stay would prove difficult, as he lacked knowledge about the lands beyond the sand. As Midas' fingers got painted by the ink he used to scribble with, filling the paper with words he hadn't seen before, the tought of where the rugged altas could've been darted around his head. The first day he had met Alma, he had used the same book to tell him about the other forts, which were dotted around the desert. Midas already tried to search through the stacks of books to both of his sides, which only left a mess behind, as the boy couldn't find the book anywhere.
Alma too was unsure of the location of the book, not able to remember where exactly he had left it, which was unfortunate, as Midas could've made good use out of it as the many detailed maps would help him on his journey to find a new place to rest, away from the barren dune he was surrounded by. The boy used the time in which Alma was busy running the fort to collect and refine his skill to write and speak, learning the correct way of pronouncing the handful of characters the language had to offer. His writing became more fluent with every stroke he put on the rough paper, the tip of the feather lightly scratching against the rough fibers of the sheet, leaving behind a slim trail of ink.
The sun had already reached its peak as Alma arrived. "Na'av sarbahrm," he spoke, slightly grinning as he closed the door, leaning to the paper as he watched the boy check his writing. "Na'av sarbahrm, Alma. If you could tell me, What exactly is the meaning of that word?" Midas laid his finger onto the first word he had written down, looking up to Alma, his eyes slightly narrowing as he read his word, one of his hands stroking his beard. "Ah, Tokoth.. the word is used to describe one's place to live, their house." Alma made sure to give the boy some sort of context behind the words he translated, running through the list of words the boy wrote down on the paper.
After a while, Alma sat down onto his chair, sighing slightly, as one of his hands rested on the wooden table. His sight locked onto one of the rooms corners as he stopped to think for a while. "Midas, could you go see Jihid for me..? I have some paperwork to do before I am able to bring you with me." His brows pointed slightly; he spoke to the boy, watching him nod softly as he turned around to head to the old man's room. Midas closed the door slightly, climbing up the staircase, walking by the spot he first got to see the prisoners, then opening one of the dorm rooms on the other side of the walkway.
The tray with dried meat and fruits, as well as a brew of herbs and water, was placed on the table next to the elevated sleeping rug Jihid rested on. "Hm? So is Alma too busy to visit his uncle now, or why do I get to always see the face of a prisoner when I hunger?" The man frowned slightly as he set eyes on the boy. Midas, not taking his word to heart, crouched down to talk to him. "You always use words I don't fully understand. Alma is quite busy; you're right with that." Midas watches him stuff a piece of meat in his mouth as the man looks at him, pausing his reply to fill up his cup. "Do you feel worse than yesterday?" Midas reluctantly asked, looking slightly worried.
"You, keep your worry to yourself—how do you think I feel, hm? Stuck here.. having a prisoner look after me like some animal, someone I don't even know..!" He turned away to look out of the circular window, facing away from him. "Alright. If you wish too, I will now leave you to yourself. Midas bows sligthly as he leaves the old man, turning away from him. Not able to make any real eye contact with him.
"Are you ready to head out?"
"Yeah."