The trail doesn't lead to a vault or a collector's shelf. It leads to a person.
Tariq Zoubeir was once the most celebrated instrument maker in all of Jamila — a country of terraced gardens cascading down sun-warmed hillsides, fragrant oases ringed with date palms and flowering vines, and markets alive with the smell of spiced lamb, cardamom, and woodsmoke. In Jamila, music is not entertainment. It is language. It is prayer. It is the heartbeat of a people who have turned rhythm into an art form refined across a thousand years of culture and tradition.
And Tariq Zoubeir was, by universal agreement, the finest craftsman that tradition had ever produced.
His drums were not merely instruments. They were living things — shaped from wood grown in specific groves at specific times of year, skinned with materials chosen for their resonance rather than their convenience, and finished with enchantments that Tariq developed himself over decades of patient experimentation. A Rhythm-Maker's Drum bearing his mark could do things that other drums simply couldn't. Musicians who played them described the experience as the drum playing with them rather than for them.
Fifteen years ago, Tariq Zoubeir set down his tools and retired to the Zaryah Ma'wahe Oasis — a legendary resort nestled at the heart of one of Jamila's most spectacular natural oases, where the desert holds its breath and something impossibly green and alive fills the space it leaves behind. Wealthy travelers come from across Vianova to rest beneath its shade, float in its warm mineral pools, and eat food that ruins them for everything they will eat afterward. Tariq took a villa at its edge, planted a garden, and has not made an instrument since.
He has refused every commission. Every offer. Every plea.
The reasons, depending on who is asked, vary. Some say he lost someone. Some say he made something he regretted. Some say he simply decided he had given enough of himself to the world and the world could manage without him now. The resort staff are politely immovable on the subject of his privacy.
Getting to Jamila means booking passage south — the country sits beyond the arid expanse that separates it from the northern trade routes, accessible by sea or by the great overland caravans that cross the desert on a schedule dictated by wind and season. It is not a short journey. It is not a cheap one.
And at the end of it, Tassi will have to convince a man who has said no to everyone for fifteen years to say yes to her.
She'll need more than charm. She'll need a reason worth coming out of retirement for.
Daxo Paw ~10~ / Corinthia ~3~