Blazing sun. No shadows. No mercy. Golden Emir Ezan carves through the desert dust, precision on sand, intensity etched in every stride. Sweat evaporating before it dares to linger. This is where pressure becomes power.

Post-drill, he does not collapse. Barefoot on golden stone, steam rising from trained skin. The oasis doesn’t soothe him, it obeys. Every sip from his flask, every breath… is dominating.