Chapter Seven
1157 Words
The guard continued, as if the words were being forced out of him:
“Firyata and Wutelsa… the war has begun between them, my lord.”
At that very moment, Layan felt something cold spread through her limbs.
The names of the kingdoms… she had heard them before, whispered by servants like distant tales told to children.
But this man didn’t say them like a story.
He said them like reality.
He said them like a catastrophe.
Azar showed no surprise.
He only narrowed his eyes slightly.
The guard hurried on, his voice dropping lower with every detail, as if afraid someone might hear—even inside the library:
“Firyata broke the seal of the Black River… and the ancient gate in the Valley of ‘Eirn’ has been opened again.”
Layan’s fingers tightened.
A gate?
A seal?
She didn’t understand everything, but her body understood the danger before her mind did.
The guard stepped closer, as if forcing himself to admit something not easily spoken:
“The creatures that were buried in the الأرض… are coming out. Shadows are moving outside their bodies… and the mages there don’t fight with swords, my lord… they fight with blood.”
A heavy silence fell.
A single candle on the table flickered suddenly, as if an unseen current had passed beside it.
Layan didn’t know if it was the air… or the words.
She looked at Azar.
He was still, but his jaw had tightened.
The guard pressed on:
“Wutelsa responded… and summoned the rites of burning. The sky above their borders turned red tonight, as if dawn came early… but without a sun.”
Layan shivered.
Her skin prickled.
This wasn’t just a war between armies… it was a war between things that should never be awakened.
A whisper slipped from her lips without meaning to:
“A war…?”
The guard turned sharply toward the sound.
He saw her.
He paused for a split second, clear surprise narrowing his eyes.
A servant here… in the king’s library… was something that simply did not happen.
Layan felt his gaze pierce through her, as if he had discovered she didn’t belong.
Before he could say a word—
Azar spoke.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
He said a single sentence, but it cracked like a whip:
“Return to your place.”
Layan froze.
She wanted to protest, to say she had done nothing, that she didn’t understand…
But when she looked at him, she couldn’t.
One look from his eyes was enough to strip away all her courage.
Her mouth forgot how to speak.
She moved slowly, carefully, stepping back behind a tall shelf of books, where the guard could no longer see her clearly.
There, she hid… but she couldn’t stop listening.
The guard swallowed whatever shock or irritation he felt, then faced Azar again.
“My lord… the situation is worse than what we received in the letters.”
Azar remained silent.
The guard continued:
“Firyata is not fighting alone. There are banners that haven’t been seen in decades… the banners of House Arkan.”
At the mention of the name, Layan felt the air change.
Even without understanding, she sensed the curse it carried.
Azar finally lifted his head, his eyes darker now.
“House Arkan…” he murmured.
Then the guard added quickly, as if trying to gather all the horror into one sentence:
“They have seen the Masked Ones. They only appear when the Gate of Shadows is opened, my lord.”
Silence.
Even the guard’s breathing could be heard.
Behind the shelf, Layan gripped the wood tightly, her nails pressing until they nearly hurt.
The Masked Ones?
The Gate of Shadows?
Each word dragged her further away from the world she once knew.
Then the guard spoke again, even quieter… as if afraid of the sentence itself:
“If we do not act tonight… the war will reach our borders within days. And the spell protecting our kingdom… will collapse.”
Layan didn’t move, but her heart pounded violently against her chest.
A spell protecting the kingdom?
So this palace wasn’t just stone…
It was a magical stronghold.
Azar didn’t answer immediately.
He stood still, as if calculating something unseen.
Slowly, he raised his hand and closed the manuscript before him.
The pages pressed together with a soft sound… yet it felt like the end of a chapter in history.
He placed his palm over the cover.
And fell silent.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The guard began to lose patience, but did not dare speak.
From behind the shelf, Layan watched.
She could only see the side of Azar’s face, but she noticed something strange…
He wasn’t angry.
He was thinking.
Thinking like someone who could see the full picture no one else could.
Finally, he spoke, his voice very low:
“Firyata does not start a war… unless it is searching for something.”
The guard stepped back half a step, as if the sentence made him realize something far worse.
“Searching for… what, my lord?”
Azar did not answer.
He looked at the table, at the documents, at the drawing that resembled her mark… then toward the shelf where Layan was hiding.
A brief glance.
Quick.
But enough to freeze the blood in her veins.
As if he was saying: I know.
Then he turned back to the guard.
And said, with deadly calm:
“Prepare the council.”
The guard bowed quickly.
“As you command, my lord.”
He turned to leave, but paused at the door, as if remembering something else—something he didn’t want to say.
He spoke in a low voice:
“My lord… the people at the borders say the sky held its breath… and that the crescent above them… cracked.”
Layan froze where she stood.
Her heart dropped.
The crescent… cracked?
The same crescent.
The same mark.
The guard left and closed the door.
Silence returned.
But it was no longer the same.
It was heavier.
As if the library itself now knew that something had begun.
Layan remained behind the shelf, not daring to move.
She didn’t know whether she should breathe or not.
Azar stood alone before the table.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t call for her.
He didn’t tell her to come out.
He simply stood there… watching the candles melt.
As if the whole world were slowly burning…
and he was the only one who could see the fire before it arrived.
Inside Layan, something small trembled.
Did the war begin because of the mark?
Am I… part of this?
She wanted to scream, to ask, to understand.
But she couldn’t.
Because she had already realized the one truth that needed no translation:
This palace… was no longer a place to hide.
It was a place waiting for a storm…
and that storm carried her name.
- Writer
