Rice Before Wife

Three days had passed since the ruin.

The desert had stretched on like a blank scroll — quiet, windless, and dry enough to chew air. The boys had fallen into a rhythm. Walk. Rest. Joke. Walk again.

But sometimes, when Kanan stood still, he could hear something underneath the silence. A low hum. Like the earth had learned to whisper and forgot how to stop.

Nilo, on the other hand, had added something new to his daily habits.

"Alright," he declared, dropping his bag dramatically. "Time for my sacred squat."

He slid into the wide-legged, low stance from the wall carvings. Arms stretched out, chin tilted. Dust swirled faintly beneath him.

"Udu," he announced to the beetle in his pouch, "watch and learn. This is how real warriors ground their glutes."

Kanan smirked. He didn't say anything. But he noticed: every time Nilo struck the pose, the wind shifted just a little. Barely noticeable. Like the desert was clearing its throat.

That afternoon, the path changed.

They came upon a gulch carved into the stone — not deep, but strange in shape. A perfect arc, smoothed over like it had been melted. At its center was a flat patch of cracked earth, surrounded by thorny brush.

"This looks suspiciously circle-shaped," Nilo said. "Which means it's either sacred or cursed."

They stepped into the circle.

The wind died.

Kanan stopped walking. His fingers instinctively brushed the Vilakku-stone.

Then — the ground trembled.

Just once. A single pulse, like a deep breath exhaled from under the surface.

They both froze.

"…Did you feel that?" Nilo whispered.

"Yeah."

They turned slowly.

The air around them had changed. The dust no longer drifted randomly — it was moving in patterns. Spirals. Circles. Small eddies forming in the cracks between stones.

Nilo shifted his stance. As a joke — or maybe just habit — he slid into his squat pose again.

And the dust cleared a clean ring around him.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just a slow, deliberate draw of air, circling him like a ripple.

"Oh no," Nilo said, not moving. "It's happening again."

Kanan stepped forward, watching carefully. The Vilakku-stone in his pouch pulsed, just once — not a light, but a warmth. A nudge.

He crouched low beside Nilo and mirrored the pose from memory — the first one they'd seen in the ruin.

Nothing.

Then everything.

The wind picked up around them, but it wasn't chaotic. Itcircled them. Spiraled. It caught the sand and moved it into deliberate, dancing loops. The center of the circle cleared, leaving only stone beneath their feet.

The spiral stopped — not because it faded, but because it had completed something.

The boys stood there, dumbfounded.

"What just happened?" Nilo asked. "Did we summon a sand spirit? Is this desert yoga? Are we the desert now?"

Kanan's eyes were wide, but focused. "I think… the land is reacting."

"Reacting to me," Nilo said proudly. "Which means we're in so much trouble."

They stayed a little longer, testing things — movement, stillness, even humming. Nothing responded quite the same again.

But the memory of the spiral lingered. So did the warmth in Kanan's pouch.

As they walked on, Nilo leaned toward him.

"You think that was Oorja?"

"Maybe."

"You think Udu has it?"

Kanan raised an eyebrow.

"Think about it," Nilo continued. "What if he's secretly a powerful beetle monk, and all this time he's been waiting for us to awaken his ancient desert powers?"

Kanan didn't reply.

But a light breeze tugged at his cloak, just slightly.

As if the desert had heard the joke - and decided to play along.

[To Be Continued...]