“Abu, the sun is rising,” I say to Naji as soon as I notice the sky lightening.

It is my duty to wake him for the morning ablution and Fajr. The water jug is ready, covered with a cloth and placed on a stone. The mentor mumbles something and rises with difficulty. In the darkness, still half-asleep, he cannot see me clearly, but his intuition never fails:

“You didn’t sleep all night?” he asks. “I said goodbye to sleep yesterday,” I reply. “And today I was bidding farewell to the moon and stars.”

Naji begins his ablution. A single drop of water on his palm—we must conserve every bit. There is a spring behind the big rock, but soldiers are stationed there. We can only approach them once. They are our enemies. Behind us in the mountains, another enemy lurks, but they will never shoot us in the back, so we are at ease.

Naji takes a worn prayer rug to a small elevation left of the cave. He always prays there. I spread my rug too, but ensuring he isn’t looking, I freeze, gazing at the brightening sky. It is the second day of a dust storm, as if specially prepared for me by Allah. The sunrise is orange; Naji’s silhouette appears completely black. I see him put his palms to his ears and hear: “Allahu akbar...”

But I do not pray, though I know it is a sin. Today, all my sins will be forgiven. Inside me, an unfamiliar feeling of despair and indignation is growing.

Naji is like a father to me. In my fourteen years, I have never received such care from anyone, but I always knew the day would come when I would repay him for everything he so generously gave. I have known my purpose since I first understood words; four years ago, this knowledge turned into a ticking bomb that now counts down the minutes of my life. For four years, we have slept in caves and under open skies—in dust, heat, and cold—moving further from home.

“Man comes to earth for suffering, but paradise bliss awaits him,” Naji always says. “Praise be to Allah, Lord of the worlds.”

“Hey, Jandal,” Naji touches my shoulder; I didn’t notice him approach. “What are you thinking about? Here, eat.”

He hands me a cup of water and a piece of thin flatbread. The water smells of rot, but the bread is so dry it lasts a long time. I look at a gray stone. If I knew how to write, I would carve my name on it. So that someone could read it later.

“Abu, show me how to write my name.” “Why do you need that?” he asks grumpily. Still, he draws a few squiggles in the sand. “Like this.”

I don’t have time to examine them; a hot wind blows in, instantly turning my name into waves of dust. “That’s how it is,” Naji laughs. “When there is a person, there is a name. And when there isn’t...” he makes an expressive gesture. “Only Allah is eternal.”

The radio crackles. Naji walks away so I cannot hear him. It makes no difference—I know anyway.

“If it is Allah’s will,” he says upon returning, “you will move out right after Asr. The sign will be a helicopter. A supply helicopter for them. It is about an hour’s walk. When you arrive, it will be twilight. You will approach the camp and ask for water. You understand? You will do it alone?” “No, don’t. I’ll do it myself.”

Time drags. I feel as if a pile of stones has been heaped upon my heart. “Abu,” I plead, “let’s go to the mountains. There...”

He looks at me with surprised eyes: “You have been honored to serve Allah, and you want to run away? I envy you; today you will perform your last prayer surrounded by angels. Izrail himself will lead you to heaven. Jibril will pray at your right hand, Mikail at your left. Who else is granted such an honor?” Naji bares his teeth in a smile.

I look at his mouth and think that when I am gone, he will return to his village with his faded keffiyeh and chipped teeth.

Shortly before Asr, Naji brings a plastic bag from the cave. I know it contains something I would rather not see. He carefully takes out a heavy vest, entangled with wires, and lays it on the stone. He connects the wires with gentle movements, purring under his breath as if talking to a child.

“Come closer, Jandal. I’ll help you put this on.”

The vest presses unpleasantly on my shoulders. I repeat to myself: “My name is Jandal. I am fourteen years old. Today, I must die.” Naji hands me a beautiful button. It is transparent like dawn and crimson like the sunrise. It is fitting to see something beautiful in one’s last moment.

“Allah will be pleased—you are a true shahid.”

“What is this?” Two wires end up in the dust at my feet. I hadn't noticed how I tore them off. Naji shakes his head in frustration and removes the vest. “What are you doing? Now I must fix it.” “Only after the prayer,” I reply spitefully. “It is time for Asr.”

We lay our rugs side by side. “I swear by the declining day, truly every man is in loss...” I repeat after him. But suddenly, I stop hearing him. I say other words: “Oh Allah, I am only fourteen. Why do you need my life? I agree to drink rotten water and eat stale bread—just don't make me die. If this is not your will, give me a sign...”

At that moment, the world changes. A strange low hum grows louder. A huge silvery disk appears above the earth. Its edge obscures the mountains. Light dims; the earth vibrates. “Abu! Allah has appeared to me!”

My voice fades. In the distance, the helicopter appears—my sign to leave. But Allah sends fire. Flames pour onto the desert. The helicopter ignites like an insect in a lamp. I feel the fire touch my face and fall, blinded.

Suddenly, it stops. I open my eyes to pain. My face is burned; my clothes are rags. Naji is nearby, still on his knees in prayer. “Abu, we are alive. Allah has granted us life.”

But he is silent. I touch his shoulder, and his body crumbles into a pile of gray ash. He disappears, just as my name disappeared in the sand.

For hours, I make my way to the big rock. I look down into the valley. There is nothing there—only scorched earth and ash. No sounds of explosions. Only dead silence. The rock has turned to glass under the heat.

Night falls, then dawn. I shiver from the cold. The spring has evaporated. Days pass until I hear a faint sound—water is returning. Defying fire and ash, it returns to save me. I struggle to open my eyes. Below, a faint glow grows stronger. Finally, a fountain of glowing water hits me in the face, bursting my blisters. I swallow it greedily, knowing I am drinking not salvation, but death.