The sands of the Zephyr Court gleamed gold under the setting sun, casting long shadows over the vast expanse of desert. Palm trees swayed in the wind, their leaves rustling like the softest whispers, secrets carried from far across the dunes. The wind here was alive, a living entity that spoke in a language as ancient as the stars.

Perched on a high balcony of the Al'Dura Palace, a small figure stood, her delicate hands gripping the stone railing. Her wide amber eyes reflected the brilliance of the sunset, filled with the curiosity only the very young possess.

Amira bint Reyan was just five years old, her dark hair fluttering gently in the wind, a stark contrast against the light blue dress she wore. Her father had always dressed her in the finest silks, though she often protested, preferring to roam barefoot and free through the palace gardens.

Today, however, the wind had called her to the balcony. She could feel it, the gentle tug in her chest, the pull of something unseen, something only she and a few others could feel. Her people had always said the wind chose its speakers, and though she was young, Amira knew she was one of them. The wind spoke to her in the softest of whispers, the Zephirian words curling around her like a lullaby.

“Amira’tan…”

Her name, spoken in the language of the desert. The wind liked to call her like that, a gentle hum, as if it were always beckoning her toward something greater. She didn’t fully understand it yet, but she liked the sound of it. The wind was her friend.

“Amira, habibti,” a soft voice called from behind her, pulling her from her thoughts.

She turned to see her mother, Kamilah, standing in the doorway with a gentle smile. Kamilah’s presence was like the desert at twilight, soft yet strong, always watching over her family with quiet grace. Her long dark hair, streaked with gold ornaments, cascaded over her shoulders. Dressed in an emerald robe that shimmered like the oasis waters, she looked every bit the queen of the Zephyr Court.

Kamilah walked toward her daughter, her steps light, as though the winds themselves carried her. She knelt beside Amira and placed a hand on her daughter’s head. “What are you doing out here, little one?” she asked gently, her voice soft like the breeze.

“The wind is talking, Mama,” Amira said, her small hand grasping her mother's.

Kamilah smiled warmly. She, too, had always felt the wind’s pull, though not as strongly as Reyan or Amira. Still, she understood the bond her daughter was forming with the elements around her. “And what does it say, my love?”

Before Amira could answer, they both turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. Reyan al Zephir, tall and regal, entered the terrace. His amber eyes, much like his daughter’s, softened as they rested on his family. He was dressed in white robes embroidered with intricate gold patterns, his commanding presence tempered only by the warmth he exuded when he looked at his wife and daughter.

“Baba!” Amira’s face lit up as she ran toward him, her tiny feet pattering across the stone floor.

Reyan knelt down, catching her in his arms and lifting her up effortlessly. “What are you doing out here, little one?” he asked, his voice as soft as the wind that always seemed to follow him. “The night winds are coming.”

“I was listening,” Amira whispered, her small hand gripping the front of his robe. “The wind is talking.”

Reyan’s smile softened, a mixture of pride and something deeper flickering in his eyes. He had always known Amira was special, even when she was just a baby. The winds had chosen her, just as they had chosen him when he was young. But her connection was stronger, deeper.

“And what does the wind say, my little desert flower?” he asked, his voice full of gentle encouragement.

Amira scrunched up her face in concentration, as if trying to decipher the hidden messages woven into the breeze. “It’s whispering about... about something big. Something coming.”

Reyan’s expression grew thoughtful, though he didn’t let his concern show. The winds had been restless lately, their messages unclear, fragmented. He had felt it too, the stirring of something in the air, though what it was, he couldn’t yet say.

“We’ll listen together, then,” he said after a moment, carrying her back to the balcony’s edge. Kamilah joined them, her hand resting lightly on Reyan’s arm, a silent support. “Tell me if you hear anything else, habibti.”

Amira nodded, her small hands resting on his shoulders as they both gazed out into the desert. Kamilah stood beside them, her heart full as she watched her daughter and husband bond over their shared connection to the winds. The wind swirled around them, playful and soft, tugging at Reyan’s robes and Amira’s hair like an old friend.

They stood like that for a while, father, mother, and daughter, listening to the whispers of the desert. Reyan felt the familiar pull in his chest, the same one Amira had described. The wind was always talking, but its language wasn’t always easy to understand.

“You know,” Reyan said after a long pause, “when I was your age, the wind used to talk to me too.”

Amira’s eyes widened in awe. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed with a smile. Kamilah nodded, her hand resting gently on Reyan’s shoulder, as though to encourage him to share the story. “It would tell me stories of the old days, of when the first winds were born and how they shaped our world.”

“Can you tell me one of the stories, Baba?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Reyan chuckled softly. “I suppose I can, though I’m not as good a storyteller as the wind.” He shifted her in his arms so she could sit more comfortably on his hip. “Long ago, before the first palaces were built, before the first oasis was discovered, the wind was wild. It roamed the world freely, without shape or form. But one day, the winds found the desert, and they fell in love with its beauty. The sands, the dunes, the endless horizon—it was unlike anything the winds had ever seen.”

Amira’s eyes were wide with fascination, hanging on every word. Kamilah, too, listened quietly, her eyes twinkling with affection as Reyan told their daughter the story she’d heard many times before.

“So the winds decided to stay. But they didn’t just want to watch the desert—they wanted to be a part of it. So, they took form, becoming the first Zephirian people, the Children of the Wind. And from them, our court was born.”

Amira’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O,’ her imagination running wild with images of winds turning into people, shaping the world around them.

“Do you think the wind will ever turn me into a desert person too?” she asked, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

Reyan chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Kamilah leaned in, kissing Amira’s cheek. “You’re already a part of the desert, my little flower. The wind is in your blood.”

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the dunes, the wind shifted again, a cool breeze replacing the warmth of the day. Amira shivered slightly, instinctively pressing closer to her father.

“Come, it’s time to go inside,” Reyan said gently. “The night winds can be harsh.”

“But I like the wind,” Amira protested softly, though she didn’t resist as he carried her toward the palace doors, Kamilah following close behind.

“I know,” Reyan said with a smile. “But even the wind needs to rest sometimes.”

Later that night, after Amira had fallen asleep in her grand canopy bed, Reyan sat by the window in his private chambers, his thoughts heavy. Kamilah was beside him, her presence always a comfort, her fingers gently trailing along his arm as they sat in silence.

“The wind has been restless lately,” Reyan murmured, his eyes on the night sky.

Kamilah nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. “Amira feels it too.”

Reyan sighed softly, glancing at the small figure of their daughter, tucked beneath layers of silk blankets. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. And yet, he knew that the world would not always be kind to her. The winds may have chosen her, but that also meant she would bear the weight of their power.

“We’ll protect her,” Kamilah said softly, as if reading his thoughts.

Reyan looked at his wife, his expression softening. “We will,” he agreed.

The wind rustled the curtains, a soft whisper filling the room.

“Change is coming, Reyan.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the wind’s message settle in his chest. He had always known this day would come, but knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“Let it come,” he whispered to the night. “I’ll be ready.”

But deep down, he wasn’t sure if anyone—least of all his young daughter—truly could be.