The desert softened again by twilight.
The cursed ground faded behind them as they journeyed farther south. Malik moved with quiet determination, his hand steady on Layla's shoulder when her knees wavered, his gaze fixed on something beyond the horizon that only he could see. The shard she carried now hung from a cord around her neck, glowing faintly against her chest, a constant whisper of warmth and power.
It was strange, how comforting it had become already.
By the time the moon rose, they reached another oasis.
This one was smaller than the hidden chamber of the jinn, but no less breathtaking. Shallow pools of water glimmered among reeds, and pale flowers bloomed under the moonlight. The air here smelled sweet and clean, and a faint mist curled lazily across the sand.
Malik stopped at the edge of the water and exhaled, as though releasing a burden.
"This is a safe place," he murmured. "For now. Even his servants cannot touch us here."
Layla knelt by the water and cupped her hands, drinking deeply. The cool liquid revived her at once. She looked up to find Malik watching her, a faint smile on his lips.
"You're stronger than I thought," he said softly.
She flushed, lowering her gaze. "You said that before."
"Because it keeps being true."
That made her smile faintly.
He sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. His golden eyes glimmered in the moonlight as he looked out over the quiet oasis.
"I was afraid you'd turn back," he said suddenly.
Layla glanced at him, surprised.
"You don't seem like someone who's afraid of much," she said.
He gave a short laugh … not bitter, but a little sad.
"I've learned to hide it," he admitted. "But when I saw you in the dunes that night… when I realized you were the one who could wake the shards… I thought: she'll never come this far. She'll never risk this much."
Layla swallowed.
"And yet," he added, turning his head toward her, "here you are."
Their eyes met.
Her chest felt tight in a way she didn't entirely understand.
"I couldn't just stay in Qamar," she murmured. "Not when I could hear the desert calling me. Not when I could see…" She stopped herself.
But Malik tilted his head slightly. "See what?"
She hesitated. Then, very softly:
"You."
For a moment, his expression didn't change. But then his gaze softened, and he looked away toward the water, his lips curving faintly into something that might have been a smile.
"I wondered," he murmured, almost to himself.
They sat in silence for a while, the night warm and still around them. Somewhere among the reeds, a soft chiming sound rose … faint but lovely, as though tiny bells were swaying on invisible strings.
"What's that?" Layla whispered.
Malik listened for a moment before answering. "The whispers," he said. "This oasis remembers. If you're quiet… it will tell you its secrets."
She tilted her head, listening.
The chiming grew louder, and now it almost sounded like words. Soft and musical, but words all the same.
She hears us… she hears us… the Dreamer has come…
Layla gasped, glancing at Malik.
He only nodded. "You hear them too. Good."
"What are they saying?"
"That you're welcome here. That you belong."
Her heart fluttered strangely at his words.
She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the water. "I don't understand any of this," she admitted. "Why me? Why not someone stronger, or braver?"
Malik leaned back, resting one arm lazily on his bent knee.
"Because you listen," he said simply.
The whispers grew softer then, fading into the hum of the wind and the gentle ripple of the water.
Layla sighed and lay back on the soft sand, staring up at the stars overhead. They felt closer here, brighter somehow.
Malik lay beside her, hands folded behind his head.
After a while, she asked: "What's it like? Where you come from?"
He was quiet a long time before answering.
"Like this," he said finally. "But more. The sands stretch on forever. The winds glow like fire. The waters… sing. And everyone there remembers who they are. No one forgets."
Layla smiled faintly. "It sounds beautiful."
"It was," he said softly. "Before the Sultan fell."
Something in his tone made her turn her head toward him. He was still gazing up at the sky, but his expression was distant, lonely.
"You miss it," she said.
He didn't deny it.
She reached out, hesitated … then let her fingers brush his hand where it rested in the sand.
He didn't pull away.
And though neither of them said anything more, she could feel it … a quiet thread of warmth between them, stronger than before.
Perhaps it was the oasis. Perhaps it was the whispers.
Or perhaps it was just them.
When at last she drifted to sleep, she dreamed of a sky full of stars, and golden eyes watching her with something like hope.
At dawn, Malik shook her gently awake.
"We have to go," he said, his voice low.
Layla blinked up at him. "Already?"
"The longer we stay, the easier it is for his servants to find us," Malik said. But his expression softened when he saw her disappointment.
"Don't worry," he added. "The oasis will be here when you need it. Always."
She rose, brushing sand from her clothes.
The shard still glowed faintly at her neck, and when Malik glanced at it, his gaze lingered for just a moment longer than before.
"Come, Dreamer," he said at last. "The next step waits."
And with the morning light breaking over the dunes, they left the Oasis of Whispers behind … but not the quiet, fragile thing that had bloomed between them under the stars.
That, Layla knew, she would carry with her.
Always.