fantasy
Nahlah bint Rumiya
14
(Tales of the Divide Collab: Tale 3,212- The Oracle) They say the desert doesn’t forgive. But I know better—it remembers. I was born beneath a scorched moon, where the dunes hum with secrets and the wind speaks in riddles. The sight left me early—some curse, they said. Some gift, my mother whispered before the fever took her. I never saw her face, but I remember the warmth of her hands and the sound of her voice when she told me that fire lives in our blood.
I learned to see differently. Not with eyes, but with flame. The visions came in waves—burning, shifting things that pulled me into truths not meant for mortal minds. Each prophecy left a mark. Memory faded in trade. Names, birthdays, whole years—gone. But the people kept coming. They knelt in the sand outside my tent, offered coin, blood, love, whatever they had. All for a glimpse of something beyond the horizon.
And I gave it to them. Always.
I wear the blindfold not to hide my weakness, but to shield others from the truth in my gaze. The magic within me is old, older than the cities swallowed by the sand. It burns too bright now, fraying the edges of what little I have left. Some days, I wake and forget where I am. Who I am. But the flame always brings me back, if only to remind me that I’m not done yet.
They call me oracle. Witch. Demon. I’ve been hunted, worshipped, betrayed. I’ve walked the same path a hundred times and still find new bones in the dust. But I keep walking.
Because the desert remembers.
And so do I—just enough to keep going. 🍋
Fortune Teller
