The Stardust Thief

It is not weakness to rely on others for help,

That is the way of all lost things. One does not truly understand a thing’s value until it is gone.

The only difference between a hero and a coward is that one forgets their fear and fights, while the other succumbs to it and flees.

...and it is with you I shall stay until destiny demands we part ways." "You make it sound like it's not your choice to stay or go." "Some things are out of our control. You know that just as well as I. All we can do is make choices based on the cards the fate deals us. But so long as fate allows me to stay with you, I will not leave you Loulie. That is a promise.

Loyal wazir, one cannot know the outcome of a journey if one is not brave enough to take it.

No one knows what the dead want, Loulie. All we can do is honor them in the ways we understand.

But tell me, why were you here in the first place”—he hesitated, realizing he didn’t know her name—“desert flower?” It was the first thing his scrambled mind came up with. He regretted it immediately.

You said before that the dead do not speak." The Resurrectionists's voice brushed gently against her mind. "But how would you know, when you did not have the ability to listen?

Loulie frowned. "Is something wrong, ya sayyid?" The hunter flushed. "Forgive me, merchant. You are younger than I expected." Loulie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew it was not just a matter of youth. Men were praised for being successful at a young age, but a successful woman was a perplexing puzzle. Most men did not know how to respond to her confidence. She raised a brow. "No, forgive me. I should not have spoke so sharply to a child.

Qadir sighed in her ear. "Why do humans thank the gods for things they do not do?" "Because they are fools that believe in fate," Loulie said bitterly.

This is not a story, he told himself. This is reality, and I am living it right now.

Though only the gods know how long we may live, we humans are the ones who decide when legacies die. Though Shafia is gone, her memory lives on in the lives she touched. That, gentle friends, is the power a story has.

It was unfortunate that wishes, like dreams, were imaginary.

It didn't matter that he was a coward. Cowards knew how to flee and hide, and that was good enough.

Family. That was the word that came to mind as Loulie took in the domestic scene. It gripped her heart like a vise, made it difficult to breathe. She had become accustomed to - preferred - living a solitary life, but it was easier to forget what she had lost in the cities, where the families were scattered and hidden. Sitting around this campfire, she could see the interconnectedness of the lives around her - and she could see herself sitting in the heart of the web, adrift.

A criminal is charged by their actions, not their intentions.

Why are they called relics? It makes them sound ancient." Qadir spoke without turning to look at her. "Jinn are ancient. Is it any surprise the things we enchant are just as old?

Perhaps someday, she would find the confidence to reject Ahmed bin Walid outright and stop hoping for something that tore her heart in two. But - the thought of losing her connection with him was just as terrifying as putting name to it in the first place. She'd always told herself it was easier to walk away from someone when she buried her feelings for them; she couldn't lose anyone she didn't commit herself to.

Hundreds of years have passed since his resounding victory. But beware, fair desert folk, for peace is a fragile promise. If you ever come into the desert and hear a voice from your memory offering you your greatest desires, turn away from it. That path is filled with broken and deadly lies.

Her mother had been right. Patience was a hard but necessary lesson. Obtaining revenge was not a sprint; it was a journey.

The less vulnerable she was with someone, the easier it was to leave them behind.

You are all killers; no one could ever mistake you for soldiers." Aisha looked at him for a long moment. And then she snorted and turned away. What did he think soldiers were, if not glorified murderers?

The edges of Qadir's lips curled ever so slightly. "I have aged more in the nine years I have known you than in the hundreds I lived before our meeting.

It was amazing - horrifyingly amazing - that the silver blood spilled in that violent struggle could provoke nature into existence. Unlike human blood, which only ever signified loss. Pain. Absence.

That was the problem with respites, they were temporary.

We all start as cowards, Aisha had once told him. The only difference between a hero and a coward is that one forgets their fear and fights, while the other succumbs to it and flees.

Sometimes we must make necessary stops before we reach our final destination.

Aisha had told him about this in the ruins; how had he forgotten ? Because Omar is family, he thought. And with family, we always try to forget.

Mazen’s mother had once said the opposite: that in their country, a soft heart was more valuable because the desert dried out a person’s emotions. But he did not say this to his father.