The therapist playbook

SEEDS OF RENEWAL

The sun blazed relentlessly over the Sahara Desert, its heat suffocating and unyielding, but within Salem’s sanctuary, a cool, refreshing breeze floated through the air. A network of plants and vines crawled up the stone walls, their leaves glistening with moisture as they thrived in the impossible conditions. The shelter was an oasis, a hidden haven for those who had lost everything in the wars that ravaged their homelands.

Salem, the caretaker and protector of this sanctuary, was seated at a wooden table in the greenhouse, surrounded by the plants he nurtured. His dark, curly hair was pulled back, and his olive skin bore the marks of years spent under the desert sun. His hands, though calloused from work, gently cradled a small sapling, which he examined with care.

“Imaru,” Salem called out, his voice calm but firm.

Imaru, his trusted assistant, appeared by his side. A boy of Egyptian descent, Imaru had lived a life of hardship before finding refuge with Salem. Now, he was inseparable from the man who had saved him from slavery. His dark eyes carried both a youthful curiosity and the wisdom of one who had endured too much, too young.

“Yes, boss?” Imaru replied, stepping closer, his gaze drifting toward the plants.

“There’s something strange in the air,” Salem said softly, his brow furrowed. He set the sapling down carefully and looked out across the desert landscape visible through the wide-open greenhouse doors. “The winds have changed.”

Imaru crossed his arms, concerned. “Do you think it’s the weather, or... something else?”

Salem shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not natural. It’s a sensation—a chill, like being stalked by a predator. But there’s no one here who would dare come for us. Not anymore.”

They both knew that the desert could be a cruel place, but Salem’s abilities had always been more than enough to maintain control. His gift allowed him to manipulate the very environment around them, creating life where there was death, and cooling the unbearable heat of the desert into a welcoming breeze.

Still, Salem couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him.

“Imaru,” Salem continued, “I’ve never felt this kind of pressure before. It’s as if I’m being hunted by something unseen. Not by man, but by something far more dangerous.”

Imaru frowned, his young face set with determination. “Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard, boss. You’re always using your abilities to keep this place running. We’ve been living quietly for four years, away from any threats. Maybe it’s time to rest.”

Salem gave him a small smile. “I’m fine, Imaru. I’ve handled far more than this. The real issue is what’s out there.”

Imaru leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “What do you think it is, then? Some kind of animal?”

Salem stared out into the distance, his eyes unfocused as if peering beyond the horizon. “I don’t know, but I didn’t go looking for trouble. It’s come to find me.”

They fell into silence, the only sound the quiet rustle of leaves in the greenhouse and the hum of life outside. Salem’s shelter was a place of peace, a sanctuary he had built from nothing after losing everything. His father, a rogue harvester, had been killed in the dreamer wars, leaving Salem orphaned alongside so many others. His mother had been a loving woman, someone who had tried to shield him from the brutality of the world, but even she hadn’t been spared from the chaos.

Now, Salem’s mission was to protect others, to provide shelter for the lost and broken. He had taken in refugees—families who had fled war, poverty, and despair—offering them not just food and water, but hope. Imaru had been one of those children, lost in the desert, sold into slavery, and saved from a cruel fate by Salem. For four years, Imaru had followed him, becoming not just an assistant, but the only person who knew about Salem’s abilities.

Salem leaned back in his chair and sighed, his gaze turning toward the tall palm trees swaying gently in the distance. “We can’t stay idle, Imaru. I need to figure out what this feeling is before it becomes a problem.”

As if on cue, the telephone sitting on the table beside Imaru rang, its shrill sound cutting through the quiet. Imaru quickly picked it up and answered.

“Hello?” he said, his voice careful.

A voice on the other end crackled through the line, tense with urgency. “I need to speak with Salem. Now.”

Imaru’s eyes darted to Salem, and he handed the phone over. “For you, boss.”

Salem took the phone, his expression darkening as he listened to the voice on the other end. “What happened?” he asked quietly, though the tone of his voice made it clear he was already preparing for the worst.

“A breach,” the man on the other end said grimly. “One of your outposts was attacked. No one responded. When we arrived, the place was in flames. Women and children were injured. The men... most of them are dead.”

Salem’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. “Have the wounded been treated?”

“Yes, we’re taking care of them. But whoever did this... they’re not playing by the old rules.”

Salem closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I’ll handle it.”

The call ended, and Salem set the phone down carefully. Imaru was already watching him, worry etched across his face.

“What is it?” Imaru asked, though he could already guess the answer.

“One of the outposts was destroyed,” Salem said. “Men dead, women and children hurt.”

Imaru swallowed hard. “We haven’t had any problems for years. Why now?”

Salem stood, his posture stiff with tension. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to find out who’s responsible. Pack up, Imaru. You’re coming with me.”

Without hesitation, Imaru rushed to gather supplies while Salem picked up the phone again and dialled another number. After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

“Salem?” Gwen’s voice was steady, though the subtle concern in it was unmistakable. She was the one person Salem trusted to run the greenhouse and the shelter in his absence.

“Gwen, I need you to take over while I’m gone. Something’s happened at the outpost. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

There was a pause, and then Gwen spoke, her voice calm but firm. “I’ve got it covered. Just... be careful.”

Salem nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “I will.”

As he ended the call, Imaru returned with their bags packed and ready. They didn’t need much—just enough to survive in the desert for a few days if necessary. Salem strapped a knife to his side, though his true weapon was his power.

The two of them stepped out into the cool desert night, the air still and silent around them. Salem’s eyes scanned the horizon, searching for something—anything—that might hint at the trouble ahead.

As they made their way to where the vehicle was, Salem murmured to himself, his voice low and filled with a quiet resolve. “I didn’t ask for this. But now, I’m going to finish it.”

The desert winds whispered softly over the dunes, shaping the golden landscape in an ever-changing dance of dust and heat. For most, the Sahara was a barren wasteland—an unforgiving sea of sand. But to Salem, it was something else entirely: a place where nature’s harshness could be bent to his will, where life could be coaxed from the most hostile environment. It was home.

Salem stood by the edge of his greenhouse, his fingers brushing over the thick vines crawling along the stone walls. Each plant within the sanctuary was an extension of him. With his gift, he had turned this patch of desert into a verdant oasis—a hidden refuge for those seeking shelter from the world’s cruelty.

But today, his heart was heavy, and his mind wandered back to the past he had buried deep within himself. As much as Salem wanted to forget, the events of his childhood were burned into his memory, especially on nights like this when the desert’s silence reminded him of the battles he had witnessed.

Salem had not always been the calm, gentle leader he was now. He was born into a world where war between dreamers had torn families apart. His father, a rogue harvester, had been one of the most feared men in those wars. He was a man who used his power to drain others of their gifts, leaving them broken and powerless. Salem’s father had taught him from a young age that power was everything. If you were weak, you were prey.

But Salem’s mother had been the opposite. She was kind, loving, and compassionate. Where his father had taught him how to fight, his mother had taught him how to love. Salem’s earliest memories were of his mother tending to their small garden, her hands working the soil with such care that it seemed like she could bring anything to life. She had always said that love was what made life grow.

When the war finally claimed his parents, Salem had been left alone, an orphan with nothing but his father’s fearsome reputation and his mother’s love of the earth. It had been a lonely existence, and for a long time, Salem wandered aimlessly, unsure of who he was meant to be.

Eventually, he found his calling. In the midst of a desert war that had consumed the lands, he had encountered refugees—men, women, and children who had been displaced by the endless conflicts between dreamers. Unlike his father, Salem did not seek power. Instead, he sought to protect those who had no one left to protect them.

That was how he had ended up here, in this sanctuary he had built for those lost souls. His abilities, inherited from his father, had given him the strength to shield his people from harm. But he used them not to dominate, but to nurture, creating a safe haven where life could flourish even in the most desolate of places.

Salem’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. He glanced back to see Imaru standing behind him, holding a watering can. The boy had grown so much over the years, from a frightened child into a confident young man. He had been wandering the desert alone when Salem had found him, barely alive and on the verge of being sold into slavery. Now, Imaru was his trusted aide, the only person who truly understood the weight of the burden Salem carried.

“Everything’s ready, boss,” Imaru said, his voice steady but tinged with concern. He had noticed the heaviness in Salem’s mood over the past few days.

Salem nodded, offering a small smile. “Good. We’ll leave soon.”

Imaru paused, studying Salem for a moment. “You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?.”

Salem looked down at his hands, the hands that had both created life and witnessed death. “I can’t help it. Every time we face a new threat, I wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’m strong enough.”

“You’re not him,” Imaru said quietly, setting the watering can down beside him. “You’re better than that.”

Salem’s eyes met Imaru’s, and he saw the sincerity in the boy’s gaze. It was true—he had chosen a different path from his father. But the shadow of that legacy still haunted him, especially now, when a new danger was lurking just beyond the horizon.

Imaru shifted his weight, his tone turning more practical. “The people here trust you. They follow you because you protect them, not because you scare them. That’s what makes you different.”

Salem smiled faintly, appreciating the boy’s words. Imaru had a wisdom beyond his years, likely the result of everything he had endured. The boy’s own story had been tragic—his family wiped out by sickness, and he had been left to fend for himself in a world that showed no mercy. But Imaru had survived, and now he stood by Salem’s side, a beacon of hope for those who had lost everything.

Salem sighed heavily, his gaze drifting to the desert beyond.

He turned back to the plants, running his fingers over the leaves of a vine that had climbed halfway up the wall. This place, this sanctuary, had been his way of making amends for the life his father had led. It had been his way of giving back to the world. But it seemed that no matter how much good he did, the shadows of his past would always find him.

The drive through the desert was long and uneventful, but it gave Salem time to think. Imaru sat beside him in the passenger seat, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. Despite his youth, the boy was already a capable lookout, always alert to the threats that lurked in the unforgiving wilderness.

As they neared the outpost, Salem’s mind wandered once again to his childhood. He thought of his father, the man who had been both a protector and a destroyer. The harvester had been feared by many, a ruthless warrior who had stolen the dreams and abilities of others to grow his own power. Salem had inherited some of his father’s strength, but he had chosen to use it differently.

Instead of harvesting power, Salem had learned to cultivate it. He had mastered the art of using his abilities to manipulate the environment, creating life from the barren desert. Where his father had been a taker, Salem was a giver.

But with that power came a heavy responsibility. Every life in his sanctuary depended on him, and now, someone had come to threaten everything he had built.

As they arrived at the burned-out remains of the outpost, the smell of smoke still lingered in the air. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, their once-vibrant lives snuffed out by violence.

Salem’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Whoever had done this would pay.

He stepped out of the truck and surveyed the scene, his eyes narrowing as he took in the devastation. Women and children huddled together, their faces streaked with tears and ash. The few remaining workers were tending to the injured, their hands shaking as they tried to stop the bleeding.