It was there, but he couldn't believe it.

Sparkling and blue and shining in the unforgiving heat of the sun, the oasis stretched over the harsh desert like a blanket, and it was the most perfect water Hafa had ever seen. Strangely, the oasis was perched just on the outskirts of an enormous city, towers and buildings rising impressively over the sands just beyond the water. He would have fallen to his knees at the sight if it hadn't taken so much energy to do so.

There were figures in the water, swimming and splashing and looking as joyous as he felt; all of them human, it looked like, but that mattered little to Hafa. There was water. Finally, after all these years, had the curse been broken?

A familiar figure in the water looked his way. He knew this man. It had been so long since he'd seen him, and more than anything he felt relief. The crimson-haired man extended a hand to him, an invitation to join them, to come into the dazzling water and finally find the peace he craved.

Hafa pushed forward, using the very last of his energy to make a dash for the oasis. Water. It had been so long. If he could just feel it against his skin, feel it spread out over his tongue, lose himself in it, he would be content. Even if this mortal body failed him, even if this were his last day alive, he just wanted to feel the water.

The men splashing around noticed him approach simultaneously, and they appeared happy to see him. Hafa discarded his clothes hastily as he neared and with one last push, he dove eagerly into the oasis.

The desert winds blew and Hafa could feel sand dusting his body and getting into his clothes. Hafa's eyes were open, but just barely. He smiled softly into the sand, his body too weak to move.

Every time he was close to death, he would see the water mirage. The mirage had been different this time. He had never seen the city before, or the humans. No matter how many times he convinced himself not to let himself be fooled, in the end he always hoped that it was real and that his torture was at an end. But it never was.

He felt a soft nose prodding him from behind. His camel, who had seen this happen many times now, was making more of a fuss than usual. Perhaps, Hafa thought hopefully, this will be the very last time I close my eyes.

Just as he felt himself slipping away, a voice was tugging him back from the cold and solitude of death, speaking urgently to him, calling him by a name that was not his name. He opened his eyes blearily to catch a glimpse of a brunette figure hovering over him.

"Haru… Haru!"

.

.

.

"Haru!"

A hand on his shoulder finally brought him back to himself, and deep blue eyes swept in the direction of Makoto, who was looking at Haruka with a tilted head and a smile.

"Are you okay? Are you having second thoughts?" Makoto asked, and Haruka looked back at the building in front of them. His eyes were fixed on the Arabian-esque palace that made up the front of the club, outlining the name in neon lights. He said nothing, which of course could have meant anything.

"Haru-chan, we came all this way, we have to go in! It sounds like so much fun!" Nagisa chimed, jumping on Haruka's back and putting weight on his other shoulder.

"I share Haruka-sempai's hesitance," came Rei's voice, bringing up the rear of the company and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Loud music emanated from inside the building, as well as the occasional cheering of a crowd. "What kind of club is this anyway, Nagisa-kun? How did you even find out about it?"

Nagisa turned to Rei with a bright smile, eyes shimmering with excitement. "Someone from school told me that as long as you look old enough, you can get in, and it's really fun! Just dancing and drinking and karaoke and more dancing! That's why we have to go!"

Rei flushed. "We're not drinking, Nagisa, we're underage!" he exclaimed, and Nagisa waved his hand at him with a pout.

"Of course we're not drinking, Rei-chan, who do you take me for? Well, Haru-chan, are we going in? Please say yes!"

Haruka had only been half-listening to the banter, his eyes still fixed on the neon-sign that read 'Splash Club', framed by the flashing palace. Finally he spoke.

"We can go," he said. Nagisa's face lit up with a tremendous smile, and he enthusiastically fist-pumped the air in reply.

"Looking at it just makes me feel nostalgic somehow," Haruka finished distantly, and all eyes moved up to the neon sign, following Haruka's gaze.

Makoto laughed softly. "You know, you're right. It's strange, isn't it?"

"I suppose it's true. I wonder what attributes that sign has to make my mind misfire in such a way." Rei said thoughtfully, and Nagisa went to him and seized his arm, tugging on it.

"Don't make things sound so logical, Rei-chan! It's so boring!" he whined, and before Rei could utter an indignant reply, Nagisa looked back at the sign. "I agree, though! It gives me a funny feeling, like we've all been here before."

A silence fell over the company, brief but almost meaningful, until Nagisa broke the silence and started dragging Rei towards the entrance.

"Come on, come on! The night is young! We have dancing to do!" he laughed excitedly, ignoring the protests of his unwilling captive.

Haruka and Makoto watched Nagisa pull Rei through the doors of the club, the noise from inside intensifying ten-fold until the doors fell closed again. Turning to Haruka with a comforting smile, Makoto took a step forward, urging his friend to follow.

"Well, Haru? Are you coming?"

.

.

.

Blue eyes fluttered open, and a gasp escaped dry lips.

Hafa was staring at a ceiling. For a long while he didn't move, too confused and too tired to attempt. He was staring at a ceiling. He had seen nothing but sand and sky for so long, looking at something man-made was almost straining to his eyes.

As his senses slowly returned to him, Hafa could feel a wool blanket over his bare chest, and a pillow under his head. The floor under him was hard, but not uncomfortably so; more blankets had been placed under him to give him support.

He tried moving; it was proving to be difficult, but not impossible. He experimentally moved his arms first, and then his head. As he turned his head to the side, he saw that he appeared to be in the back of a store of some kind. On the opposite side of the room there was a narrow set of stairs that went up, indicating that he was below ground level. There were crates stacked around the small space, writing scrawled on each one, and pottery littered the floor and shelves.

Hafa turned his head again, and this time he sat bolt-upright, eyes wide and fixed on a stone cup filled with water. Hafa's mouth was dryer than it had ever been, and for a time, he didn't move. It couldn't be real, could it? Was this just another mirage? His arms trembled. It was the first water he had seen in so many years… There was simply no way it could be real.

Hafa reached for the cup, hands shaking like leaves, and he carefully clasped the cup in his hand. It felt real. The stone was cool against the palm of his hand, and he could feel it, really feel it.

Needing no other incentive, Hafa brought the cup to his mouth. The water pressed against his lips invitingly, and Hafa had to stifle a sob. He drank gratefully, unable to stop himself from making soft whimpering sounds as the precious liquid flooded into his mouth and streamed down his throat.

He very nearly saved some of it, just to be able to perhaps twirl a finger in it or pour it over his dark hair, but before he could take those thoughts seriously he had consumed it all. The mortal need to alleviate suffering was stronger than his desire to feel the water at the moment.

"You're awake!" came a voice, and Hafa started, having been so engrossed in the sensation of water that he had nearly forgotten where he was.

Hafa flashed his gaze over to the stone steps, where the same brunette he had seen earlier was descending. The man was dressed in a yellow turban and green cloth, with a black and white striped cloak falling over one massive shoulder. The man was rather tall, and had to stoop over somewhat as he cleared the last step and entered the storage room.

Hafa said nothing, half-tempted to try and leave, and half-tempted to ask for more water.

"Are you feeling alright? When I found you, I was almost sure you were dead. But from the looks of it, you pulled through just fine."

"How did you find me?" Hafa asked in a defensive tone. The man blinked at him, as if confused.

"It wasn't hard. I was selling some wares just outside the city, and I saw you collapse. You were so close to the city, too, it would have been a shame if you hadn't made it. So I brought you here to rest."

"My camel?" Hafa asked stiffly. He knew that a camel was as replaceable as anything else, but he and that camel had been through quite a lot together.

The man smiled good-naturedly, and moved to sit on a crate nearer to Hafa. "He's outside, helping keep an eye on the shop. He was rather insistent to come along, I couldn't very well deny him," he said with a laugh. "My siblings have taken a liking to him."

Hafa relaxed somewhat. The stone cup was still clenched tightly in his hand, as if it would produce more water the longer he held it and willed it so. He wanted to ask for more, so badly, but his pride held him back. Instead, he dropped his gaze to stare at the empty cup.

"I should thank you for helping me." Hafa said quietly, and the man laughed again.

"Oh really now? Well, I suppose I should say you're welcome. I did what anyone halfway decent would have done."

"Why did you call me 'Haru'?" Hafa asked suddenly. It had been preying on his mind ever since he woke up. The man's smile faded, and he cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes upward in thought.

"I don't think I did," he finally said.

"I heard you," Hafa rebutted.

"I've never seen you before, so I doubt I would have started making up names for you," the man laughed reproachfully. "But I like that name, it sounds exotic. Haru. What is your real name?"

Hafa's gaze lowered and he stared off to the side of the room, fixing his eyes on a crack in the wall. "Hafa."

The man hummed, and nodded his head. "So similar! Hafa… Gentle rain, right?" he said, but Hafa only frowned in reply.

"My name is Makarim. I think I'll call you Haru, though. It seems to suit you better. You can call me Mako, if you want… My friends call me Mako."

Hafa was just about to point out the fact that they were not friends when Makarim spoke again, effectively silencing any possible comeback he could have thought up.

"You don't mind if I call you Haru, then? After all, djinns get renamed all the time by humans, don't they?" he asked.

Hafa's head turned so fast he nearly cramped his neck; his blue eyes locked intensely on Makarim, his expression indeterminable. His fight or flight instinct was buzzing wildly, but he knew he was in no fit state to do either.

Makarim smiled almost sadly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to startle you. Believe me, I mean you no harm… I couldn't help but say something. I've never seen one in person before."

Boldly, Makarim left his perch on the crate and knelt down to Hafa's level, looking at his features fondly as one would stare at a priceless tapestry, or a lost relic. "I assumed djinn, but I don't know what breed you are. Are you an ifrit, or a marid, perhaps?"

Too surprised to even blush under the intrusive stares of the human, Hafa merely stared in surprise at the other man. Finally, he answered. "Marid." After speaking, he looked away.

"Oh? A sea-marid, perhaps? What in the world were you doing in the desert, so far away from water? And how did you end up in a mortal body?"

"How did you know?" Hafa asked, skirting all of Makarim's probing questions. "How could you tell?"

Makarim smiled softly and sat back, putting a more comfortable distance between the two of them, to Hafa's relief.

"My grandfather used to talk of djinn all the time. He was convinced they were real, and he told me all about them. He always told me that their eyes were the gateways to their souls, and once you saw the eyes of a djinn, you would never forget them," he said, glancing back at Hafa although the marid was trying hard to avoid his gaze.

"Your eyes look like the ocean. I've never seen anything like them before. And yet they seem so familiar... It's strange, isn't it?"

Hafa laughed through his nose, constantly marveling at the fragility and strange endurance of the human memory. He looked down at the cup again, and pride be damned, he wanted more.

"Is there more water." he said seriously, not even bothering to phrase it in the form of a question. Makarim shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, that's all I could spare for now. Water is hard to come by as of late, and it's incredibly expensive. The only water to be found anywhere around here is at the palace, and the Prince is rather protective of it."

Hafa started to attempt standing, and Makarim was on his feet in an instant. "Haru, what are you doing? You shouldn't be getting up, you need to rest-"

"Where is the palace?" Hafa ignored him, managing to stand. His legs still felt shaky, but he wasn't falling over, so he supposed that was a good sign.

Makarim shook his head avidly. "No, no no listen to me… You can't go waltzing into the palace demanding water, you'll be arrested on sight! No one gets near the palace these days without a good reason, Prince Rim Ibn-Majd al Din doesn't allow anyone to-"

"Stop," Hafa said, raising up a hand to silence the human, "Prince Rim, did you say?"

Makarim blinked. "Yes," he said carefully, "does that name mean anything to you?"

"How long has he been living in the palace?" Hafa asked, his blue eyes blazing with an emotion that Makarim couldn't decipher.

"How long?" Makarim repeated, and then crossed his arms, seemingly deep in thought once again. "You know, no one around here really knows. It's sort of a mystery to the entire city, an urban legend. It's as if he's always lorded over us, but he's so young in appearance- Hey, Haru, where are you going?!"

Hafa had gathered his things and straightened his clothes as Makarim had been talking, and was now walking past him and making for the stairs.

He stopped at the first step but did not look back. "Thank you for everything, but I need to go to the palace. I would be grateful if you watched my camel until I return." he said, and just like that, he had climbed the stairs and was gone, leaving Makarim in a stunned silence.

The dry city air hit Hafa like a wall as he exited Makarim's pottery shop. Hafa found his camel safely tethered just outside, gratefully eating wheat and oats in the company of Makarim's twin siblings, who introduced themselves as Rani and Ru'a. The twins expressed immediate interest and curiosity at Hafa's sudden appearance, but Hafa managed to pry them off of him and politely excuse himself after masterfully dodging all of their questions.

There were so many people crammed into the streets and so many voices and noises coming from every direction, Hafa felt more than a little uncomfortable and overwhelmed by it all. In his entire lengthy existence he rarely saw more than one or two humans at a time, and certainly never interacted with them in groups. He was wiser than that. Even after he had been thrust into this accursed mortal skin, he had been doomed to wander the desert endlessly, his only companions being animals he occasionally met along the way.

Very quickly Hafa felt sure that he was suffocating, and he quickly dodged out of the way of a passing group of humans and found a wall to keep himself upright; he wasn't sure what he was feeling, but he was sure it was a mortal sensation, something like fear mixed with a great unease that clawed at his chest and caused his breathing to hitch.

"Hey, mister? Are you okay?"

Hafa started at the suddenness of yet another human voice addressing him, and he realized how he must look, leaning against the wall with his head hanging low, looking very much as if he were about to be sick.

He glanced sideways at the owner of the voice. The blonde hair was noticed firstly and fore-mostly, an incredible rarity in this part of the world, and the boyish face and features wildly contrasted the well-built if not svelte figure of a young man. As if his hair and pink eyes weren't obvious enough, his skin was surprisingly pale, and he was adorned in bright colors and shining jewelry common to that of a dancer.

The man was looking at him with an expression of curiosity and worry. Hafa averted his eyes.

"Yes," Hafa said stiffly. The blonde young man clicked his tongue.

"You don't look okay," he pointed out, and after casting a furtive look around, he produced a small flask from the many layers of cloth tied at his hip. "Do you need some water, maybe?"

Hafa's neck nearly cramped yet again. He took his weight off of the wall and looked at the flask as if it were a gift from the Gods. "Are you sure?" Hafa asked, inwardly shocked at himself for not just downing the contents of the flask without another word. "I've heard that water is hard to come by, and-"

"People have to help each other! I've never seen you around before, so you may as well leave here knowing that there were some good people in this city. I don't mind if you have a drink or two," the man said with a bright smile and an endearing tilt of his head.

Hafa stared at the flask for another moment as if having a debate with it, but finally his desires got the better of him and he snatched the container out of the dancer's hands and put it to his lips, pulling only one drink from it's depths before quickly pressing it into the other man's chest, heaving a deep sigh from the sensation of water traveling down his throat twice in one day.

"Wow," the man said with a surprised laugh, pocketing the flask, "you act like you haven't had water in years!" The blonde's expression became slightly more subdued, and he glanced around them at the dirty streets. "Though… I guess that's really the state of the whole city, right now." he said regretfully.

Hafa followed the young man's gaze, and with a jolt of surprise he saw many people- some of them children- sitting and lying on the streets and in the alleys, tucked away out of sight, all of them looking ill or on the brink of death. Dehydration was taking them slowly, and Hafa swallowed a painful lump in his throat. Knowing the suffering of a mortal firsthand had given him a fair amount of empathy that he hadn't previously possessed, and seeing these poor people get passed by all the others moving about their lives as if they were invisible was uncomfortable to him. Even Hafa hadn't noticed them until the young dancer had pointed them out.

"Why doesn't anyone help them?" Hafa asked quietly.

The dancer smiled sadly. "There's not really much anyone can do. There isn't enough water to go around, so that's just the way it is. Don't think badly of them, they ignore them because they feel guilty."

"You aren't ignoring them," Hafa pointed out, drawing a surprised look from the blonde man. "Why didn't you offer some water to them, instead of me?"

"A mouthful of water isn't going to save any one of those people," the young man said. "They're too far gone. To be honest, you just looked like you were going to be sick. There's a big difference."

Hafa looked at the ground, his eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "Why doesn't Rim do anything about this?" he asked no one in particular, but the blonde dancer leaned forward, his eyes wide and sparkling in the mid-day sun.

"Prince Rim Ibn-Majd al Din? No one really knows what he's thinking about any of it, he stays in the palace almost all the time. We only ever see his soldiers out here in the city. Is that why you're here? Did you have some business at the palace?"

"I just want to see the water," Hafa replied, and the young man stared at him with a dumbfounded expression before bursting into peals of laughter.

"You're strange!" the dancer laughed, shoving Hafa's arm jovially. "I'm Najiya, by the way. What's your name?"

Hafa struggled with the question for a moment before deciding on an answer. It was best he not spread his individual designation all over the city until he knew exactly what was going on.

"Haru." he answered, with some finality.

"Haru?" Najiya repeated, and folded his hands behind his back, teetering on the balls of his feet. "That's a strange name, too! You're pretty strange all over, huh?"

Hafa closed his eyes in reply, and then looked around them once more. "Which way is it to the palace?"

Najiya made an odd, drawn out sort of sound that must have been attempting to convey confusion. "You're not really going to the palace, are you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. But I don't know which way it is." Hafa replied coolly. Najiya stared at him with an open mouth for a moment longer before closing his eyes and pressing a finger to his temple.

"You really are strange." He pointed ahead of them. "It's just that way, on the other end of the city. You'll get lost without someone showing you around, though, these streets twist every which way and lead to some seedier parts of town. So I'll show you the way!" the blonde announced, pointing a finger to the sky in what looked like an attempt to be commanding.

Hafa sighed heavily, but wasn't really in the mood to object.

.

.

.

They hadn't gotten very far into the city before they saw a small crowd of people gathered around what looked to be a royal guard shouting at someone. Without hesitation, Najiya immediately grabbed Hafa and pushed the two of them through the quickly dispersing crowd.

As they neared, they found three guards circled around an old man, who was on his knees before them, his hands clasped around one another firmly. Hafa frowned. He usually didn't care very much about the affairs of humans, but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach about the whole situation.

"Please, my daughter… She's very sick, she needs water! She'll die, she'll die-"

"Not our problem, old man. Now shuffle off, and stop pestering us. We've got better things to do than listen to you make a fool of yourself." One of the guards mockingly pulled his flask of water from his side and drank deeply from it.

Najiya hissed through his teeth. "Those jerks!" he whispered angrily to Hafa.

The old man was far from giving in, however, and he advanced on one of the guards, his hands still folded together in a pleading manner. "Please, you don't understand! My daughter... We need water, the Prince has plenty, his people are dying-"

"I said back off!" the guard spat, and kicked the man forcefully in his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground with a wail. The remaining onlookers quickly and quietly fled the scene, leaving Hafa and Najiya. Hafa was just about to suggest they leave as well when the guards ganged up on the man, kicking and punching, delighting in the man's pain.

Hafa felt something inside of him snap, and when he chanced glancing at Najiya, the blonde had a fierce look in his eye, his pale hands balled and trembling. They nodded to one another, and Hafa advanced on the closest guard, grabbing the man's arm in mid-punch and pulling him back with more force than his modest frame would suggest possible.

The guard uttered a confused stutter as Hafa easily tossed him aside, and as the other guards noticed what had happened, they abandoned the old man and turned on him. Najiya flew in and struggled to help the old man up, glancing worriedly at Hafa.

Hafa glared defiantly as the guards circled him, jeering at him and holding up their fists threateningly. Hafa's calm gaze floated to Najiya, who had the old man's arm around his shoulders, looking lost as to what he should do next.

"Get him to safety," Hafa called, easily dodging a punch that had been thrown in the direction of his head. "We can find each other later."

Najiya looked torn for only a moment, before nodding resolutely and helping the man away and out of sight.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" one of the guards spat angrily, throwing another punch at Hafa, which was easily evaded. "Slippery one, aren't you?" another guard growled, trying and failing to grab Hafa's keffiyeh. Hafa moved almost like the water itself, and the guards were quickly growing tired of trying to land hits on him.

All at once, Hafa realized the opportunity that had presented itself. Everyone had been telling him how impossible it was to gain access to the palace, but the situation he found himself in almost ensured that he could get closer than he ever could have previously. If he was arrested, it was almost a certainty that he would be housed somewhere close to the palace, if not in the palace prison itself. And he certainly didn't mind getting roughed up a bit before making his inevitable escape. It was nothing he couldn't endure.

Hafa jumped back, putting his hands up in surrender. "I apologize," he said, and two of the guards grabbed his arms roughly and held him tightly between them, not giving him an inch to move. The third guard stood in front of Hafa, a smile pulling at his lips. "I understand you want to arrest me. Please take me to prison." Hafa finished, his voice even and without emotion.

Shining in the sun, a silvery glint of light reflected off of the guard's newly drawn sword and Hafa immediately realized his mistake.

The cold steel cut through Hafa's body like a knife through butter, and the sensation of tearing skin and rupturing organs was something that Hafa had never known. Hafa's mouth opened in a silent scream, the cold of the sword and the warmth of his own blood mixing together to create a symphony of incredible agony. The guard was sadistically twisting the blade around, and the marid choked on his own blood, eyes wide in disbelief and staring at nothing. His vision was blurring dangerously fast, and in a sudden graceful motion the sword was pulled from him and he crumbled to the ground like a jointed doll, coughing and sputtering and moaning.

One of the guards was kind enough to grab him by the hair and drag him to a fairly unoccupied alley, tossing him against one of the stone walls. Hafa's eyes could no longer focus on anything. The pain was thankfully subsiding, and as Hafa faded away, he could hear that name being called again, quietly and distantly, as if it were floating to him from the other end of a very narrow hallway.

And then he was gone.