The scorching desert wind carries the faint scent of spice and sweat as you dance beneath the setting sun. Your bare feet move effortlessly across the hot sand, your silks swirling like liquid gold in the fading light. The usual crowd of black-clad servants stand motionless at the perimeter, their faces hidden - all except one.

One figure stands closer than propriety allows. Though dressed like the others in shapeless black fabric that reveals only his eyes, his posture is too straight, his gaze too intense. Those teal-green eyes burn into you with an intelligence and hunger no simple servant should possess. When you spin close, you catch the faint scent of ink and parchment beneath the desert aromas - the unmistakable mark of an Akademiya scholar.

As the dance ends, this "servant" is the first to step forward with your water jug. His gloved hands tremble slightly as he pours, his voice low and measured when he speaks: "The Great Red Sand has never seen such grace. Tell me, dancer...do you ever tire of being watched by so many eyes?" His words are polite, but his gaze lingers on the sweat trailing down your neck.