He stopped at the crest of a tall dune. The wind howled. His visor caught the reflection of a single figure approaching through the golden haze.

Ezan.

Ghazi cut the engine and stood, sweat tracing a path down his neck. “You shouldn’t have come all this way,” he called out.

Ezan didn’t slow. “And you shouldn’t have run.”

“I didn’t run,” Ghazi said, voice low. “I needed space.”

Ezan stepped closer until they faced each other, sand swirling between their boots. “Space won’t give you what you’re searching for. You don’t need distance. You need direction.”

Ghazi looked down, fists tight. “The team lost the last match. I lost focus. I can’t follow if I keep failing.”

Ezan’s tone softened. “You don’t follow because you’re perfect, Ghazi. You follow because you believe. And belief is what keeps the team alive.”

The wind pressed against them, carrying the faint sound of the dunes shifting. Ghazi lifted his head. There was fire in Ezan’s eyes—steady, calm, eternal.

“You still trust me?” Ghazi asked quietly.

“I’ve never stopped,” Ezan replied. “You are part of my legacy. The team needs that strength.”

Ghazi swallowed hard, voice barely above the wind. “If you tell me to go, I’ll go. If you tell me to stay, I’ll stay. Wherever you walk, I’ll follow.”

Ezan reached out, resting a hand on Ghazi’s shoulder. “Then ride back with me. The field waits. The team fights as one.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Ghazi nodded, resolve tightening his chest. “Where you lead, I follow. Always.”

He climbed back onto his motorbike, the engine roaring to life like a heartbeat reborn. As he turned toward the fading sun, he glanced once at Ezan—leader, guide, anchor.

Loyalty didn’t need words. It needed a direction.

And Ghazi had found his again.

Recruiters:

The desert stretched endless before me, alive, shifting, unforgiving. I had come here alone to train, to burn away the noise, to feel the engine roar against the silence of the dunes. Golden heat licked across my skin, the world reduced to light, sand, and rhythm. Until I saw him.

Ghazi.

He stood where the dunes crested like waves of flame, his black Chav-Utility set gleaming in the sun. The matte bike beside him looked like something built from faith and defiance, matte-black, gold hubs burning like small suns. I’d heard he’d gone off alone, chasing design, chasing purpose. I didn’t expect he’d find both in the desert.

I stopped the MX, let the engine idle, and felt the air still. For a long breath, we didn’t speak. The wind carried gold dust between us like a veil.

“You waited,” I said.

He looked at me, unblinking. “I said I would.”

He was still proud. Still loyal. Still mine in spirit, even if he’d tried to become something else.

I dismounted and walked forward until my boots met his shadow. “You’ve built your own path,” I told him. “But now I need you back. The team needs you. The race is coming.”

Ghazi’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “And if I say yes?”

“Then you ride beside me again,” I said. “Not behind. Beside.”

He blinked once, eyes gold as the sun itself. “You think I left to be free of you?” His lips curved slightly. “I left to be worthy of you.”

The wind rose, hot, loud, endless. I put my hand on his shoulder. The leather burned warm beneath my glove. “Then come back,” I said. “The Golden Gulch waits.”

He nodded once, quiet, absolute. Two shadows turned toward the horizon, the black and the gold. Not rivals. Not opposites. Two halves of the same command.

Beneath the same sun.

@ghazi-gold-23