Chapter 1.

In the hushed twilight of a desert evening, a young boy sits cross-legged on the warm, golden sands. The sun's final rays cast long shadows across the rippling dunes as they surrender to the embrace of the horizon. With an air of quiet wonder, the boy closes his eyes, attuning his senses to the subtle dance of the sand. 

A gentle breeze sweeps through the arid expanse, carrying with it the soft murmur of shifting grains. The sands beneath the boy's small, bare feet seem to come alive, each granule whispering secrets of the desert's ancient stories. As he listens, the rhythmic, soothing cadence of the sand dance unfolds—a delicate symphony orchestrated by the unseen hand of the wind. The boy's face is illuminated by the fading sunlight, revealing an expression of pure fascination. His tousled black hair, kissed by the desert winds, frames a pair of wide, rich emerald, curious eyes that reflect the hues of the settling sun.

The subtle movements on his lips trace the contours of a silent dialogue, an unspoken conversation with an enchanting performance taking place in front of him.

The sand, like a mesmerizing partner, responds to the unseen melodies of the wind, creating a dance that transcends himself. It is a dance weaving the tales of forgotten civilizations and whispering the secrets of the ever-shifting landscape–a dance that only those attuned to the language of the desert can truly understand.

Before the boy could reach out and talk to the desert the voice of his father interrupted.

"Dimas!" The lean build of his father called out as he brought his hand down from his mouth. Approaching in gentle movements Dimas's father knelt beside him.

"Listening again?"The father asked kindly as he smiled and his weathered skin crinkled beneath the strain. 

Dimas, a boy no older than 12 years crouched beside his father. Resting his head on his hands he turned to respond.

"Yeah, Dad," Dimas replied, his young voice a soft echo in the vastness of the desert. "I like to listen, Its stories are like whispers carried by the wind."

His father, with a knowing glint in his eyes, nodded appreciatively. Together, father and son shared a moment of silent understanding, surrounded by the ancient secrets woven into the fabric of the desert.

His father's gaze lingered on Dimas, a mix of paternal pride and affection. "Our ancestors believed that the sands held the memories of those who walked before us. Each grain is a repository of tales untold. It's a gift to listen to, you know?"

"I can tell, if anybody could listen they wouldn't be as good." His answer raised a soft chuckle from his father. 

"Yes, yes, the stories would indeed be duller. Dimas, to be a part of this dance that transcends time is a special right only a few know. And we happen to make up the few." The father ceasing his speech to his son, made sure to hide the solemn look in his eyes from the young boy. 

As the light of the day dipped below the horizon, casting an ethereal glow upon the desert. Finding that last note to leave he continued, "But remember, my precious boy, our connection to the land is a balance. We listen, learn, and respect the desert, but we are also its stewards. Our duty is to protect and preserve the delicate harmony of this ever-shifting world."

Dimas nodded solemnly, absorbing the wisdom of the generations before him and escaping from his father's lips once more. 

"Like how you and Adrian are."

With a nod of confirmation at his question he asked for Dimas to bring out his palm. Doing so Dimas waited in anticipation at what was about to occur. Feeling the air around him turn unnaturally he watched his father close his eyes in focus as sand grains floated up in streams landing on his palm in a whirlwind of dance. As the dance was coming to an end, the leftover grains of sand spread out giving a clear view of what was left in its wake. 

The golden shape of a rodent, the Desert Marauder's real size is that of a massive rodent, dwarfing most other desert-dwelling creatures. Reaching sizes comparable to a large dog, these muscular and imposing rodents were keen to cause trouble all over the desert.

"Aw, man!" Dimas cried, "Not another Sand Marauder!" Frowning at the figure in front of him he looked at his father who had perspiration evident on his face. 

"What? I thought you liked the Sand Marauders." He asked with a questioning gaze.

Still frowning, Dimas replied in a childish tone, "Yeah, but recently that's all you've made for me. I want another Sandshade Scorpion!" 

Sighing, his father found no words and shook his head, "Kids these days, I thought you were all supposed to be grateful for your father, the one parent that looks after all four of you." 

As his father got up and dusted his pants off Dimas faked a wound to the heart, "Why, you. Playing the single-parent card again." Finally falling into the sand in a dramatic gesture he waited for a beat and opened his eyes to peer at his father's expression.

There was no expression, he was already walking back into their desert cave, their home! Mouth agape at the lack of empathy from his father he got up in a start and ran after the old man. 

Soon both father and son disappeared into the shade of the desert cave where giggles and laughter attempted to escape but were quickly drowned out by the wind. 

_____

Nestled within the undulating curves of the arid landscape, the desert cave stands as a testament to the generations of Asechi who lived and died intimately intertwined with the vast expanse of the golden sands. 

The entrance, sculpted by centuries of wind and time, reveals a natural archway adorned with weathered textures that seem to tell tales of countless sunrises and sunsets. The soft glow of the settling sun baths the entrance hall with a warm amber glow, casting elongated shadows that danced on the surroundings.

Upon entering, the cave reveals a spacious and surprisingly cool interior. Smooth, undulating walls bear the marks of generations, with streaks of mineral deposits creating intricate patterns that resemble ancient cave paintings. 

The air inside is tinged with a subtle earthy aroma, accompanied by the spice-filled smell of whatever his younger sister had cooking in the pot. 

On the ceiling of their cave lay many small natural skylights that filled the cave with a golden glow in the dawn and dusk. The familiar ambiance of the cave gives those who live within it a comforting feeling of safety. In the corners, small alcoves house simply yet cherished artifacts left over by their ancestors—pottery, woven textiles, tools, and the occasional weapon, which his father kept well out of reach from the younger ones. These items carried the heavy weight of their family's history and his father never let him and the other siblings forget it. 

Passing by the many artifacts stored around he came upon one intimate alcove, the many desert flowers surrounding it gave off an essence of departure which always lingered no matter how he looked at it. A soft pain filled his heart. 

'Mother.' Dimas thought with a soreness in his chest. His mother had perished in the birth of his youngest sister, Kaira. Although never meeting their mother Kaira resembled her to a painful degree, sometimes he would find the others looking at her with tears in their eyes. Especially father, but he made sure to hide it from her. 

At the heart of the alcove, a simple yet profound altar unfolds. A small, weathered shelf carved into the stone cradles their deceased mother's blanket. The fabric, once vibrant with colors that mirrored the desert sunset, now carries the soft patina of age. It is carefully folded, with each crease a testament to the tender care with which it has been preserved. A delicate handwoven pattern was beautiful and Dimas had always thought so. Kaira had tried to replicate it but was unable to no matter the time she put into it. 

Sighing, he continued and left the alcove behind. He would always be able to see it anyway. 

Continuing into the main cave opening, the floors were all covered in tapestry and rugs that masked the sandstone beneath it. In the center of the area lay multiple cushions arranged in a circle, inviting those living within to share stories, laughter, and moments of quiet reflection. 

Though they never had any visitors this place was still key to their family dynamic as it allowed them to grow closer. Throughout the cave, small niches were placed holding small flames which the second oldest brother, Darwin, went around, sparking them all with a torch at the sight of the dusk.

"Hi, Darwin." Dimas acknowledged as he entered the living area. Receiving a nod in response he continued. Darwin stood not many inches above Dimas and was perhaps around 2-3 years older, but he was not a huge fan of words and referred to stay in silent sensibility only responding when he thought he needed to. 

Heading over to the cooking area, the smell of herbs and spices became more clearer and profound as he advanced. Their cooking area was quite simple and housed all the necessities to cook. Spices, herbs, utensils, pots, pans, and meat were stored in a different area where the air was cool to not let it rot and waste. 

Approaching the kitchen area, he was greeted by his younger sister, Kaira.

"Dimas! Come here and help me!" her high-pitched voice squealed. Kaira was 4 years younger than Dimas and loved to cook. Her delicate sandy hair was held in a bun, preventing it from falling into the stew she was preparing. She waved him over hurriedly and he approached with a sigh and a faint smile of amusement.