The desert wind had been Nashr's only true companion for the past three months, caressing his darkening skin and tangling his wild maroon hair, which now fell past his shoulders. As a wanderer, he no longer carried the burden of a crown, only accompanied by a worn-out cloak and a horse.

His journey was aimless, guided by the wind. By day, he was a hunter tracking the trail of rabbits or desert lizards to sate his hunger. By night, he was a nameless astronomer charting the stars, searching for constellations he had once shown her.

Nashr stopped at remote oases, trading his small catch for water and dates. There, he listened more than he spoke, absorbing the hardships of fellow travelers he never touched from behind palace walls. Sometimes, he would simply sit on a desert rock and gaze toward the horizon.

He was still trying to understand the meaning of freedom his beloved had once dreamed of. This freedom... it felt hollow, yet it opened his eyes in the most painful ways.

He helped a trade route that had been hindered by miscommunication between tribes, offering practical advice born from a leader's experience.

Grateful for his help, a kind-eyed merchant from the west smiling warmly, offered him a chance to sail away, to work beyond the continent, to find a new life in some distant land.

Nashr only murmured that he would think about it.

In a small village, before a newly carved statue of the Snake Goddess—a tribute that felt both strange and painful—a minstrel with a lute in hand was surrounded by curious villagers. He sang a ballad of the "Holy Snake Queen and the Sun King," a tale that had begun to spread like wildfire across the dry grasslands.

A bitter laugh caught in Nashr's throat. He knew that parts of the story were fabricated, exaggerated, or even deliberately changed. The epic love story, the infinite sacrifice, and the queen's fate—it was all the romance the people needed to make peace with her absence.

Only a few people knew the true story. And he was one of them, a silent witness, and the main actor.

He winced, watching his life's journey turned into a ballad to entertain a crowd. They didn't know the price that was paid for that story. They didn't see how fate had toyed with him, giving him everything only to snatch it all away. Still, he kept listening. Every verse, every note, pierced his heart like a cold needle, yet he did not move.

He closed his eyes, taking a long breath. The scent of agarwood that was once his identity had mixed with the smell of sweat and desert dust.

Memories surfaced. A flash of shimmering larimar eyes. A bright laugh that could melt the desert cold. The touch of a hand that brought the dead desert back to life.

Memories of his queen. His love.

After the song ended, Nashr sought solitude. He sat on a large rock at the edge of the village, his long hair unbound, dancing in the desert wind.

He tied some of it back into a low ponytail. Above his ear, a small, clumsy braid was tucked into the tie—the very same kind of braid a young Entya used to make, playfully weaving his hair with dry grass.

His eyes held an infinite longing, a yearning that had become an inseparable part of him.

He hummed a solemn song, a melody of the steppes, as his gaze drifted far to the eastern horizon.

All this time, he had wandered not to escape, but to find closure. To find answers to all the questions never spoken.

To accept reality.

To let go.

Perhaps he would take the merchant's offer. A new life beyond the continent, far from the haunting memories.

But before that, there was one last place he had to visit. A place that was the beginning and the end of everything.

He packed his meager belongings, tying them to the back of his horse's saddle. He put his cloak and scarf back on, the latter serving as a mask to protect his face from the dust and his identity from prying eyes. With one heavy breath, he spurred his horse eastward, disappearing into the distance.