PROLOG- THE LAST PROMISE
672 Words
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Fifteen Years Ago…
There were three kinds of secrets.
The ones people buried.
The ones people protected.
And the ones people were willing to kill for.
Tonight…
A man was running with the third.
Rain lashed against the deserted streets, washing streaks of blood into the drains as he staggered through the darkness.
His breathing was uneven. His white shirt, once neatly pressed, was now soaked crimson beneath a charcoal-grey coat.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Behind him, the distant growl of engines echoed through the empty streets.
They were close.
Too close.
He tightened his grip around the worn leather satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Inside, there was no money.
No gold.
No power.
There was something far more dangerous.
The truth.
The kind of truth that had destroyed families—and would destroy many more if it ever fell into the wrong hands.
A blood oath that had ruled the city from the shadows.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Three black SUVs emerged through the rain, their headlights slicing through the darkness like knives.
He knew who they were.
He had once stood beside them.
Trusted them.
Believed in them.
Until he discovered what The Covenant truly was.
His mistake was believing he could walk away.
His vision blurred. Blood continued to drip from the gunshot wound beneath his ribs.
Every breath burned.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Yet he forced himself forward.
Not for himself.
For her.
He finally stopped before an old bookstore hidden between two forgotten buildings.
Its weathered wooden sign swayed gently in the wind.
LIBRERIA AURORA
A sad smile crossed his face.
“So you're still standing…”
He whispered.
The bookstore hadn't changed.
Neither had the promise he had made inside it years ago.
With trembling fingers, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small brass key.
A faded leather tag hung from its ring.
He stared at it for several seconds before pressing it gently to his lips.
“If fate is kind…”
His voice trembled.
“…you'll find this.”
Kneeling beside an old red postbox, he carefully opened a hidden compartment beneath it.
He placed the key inside.
Then, a sealed brown envelope.
On the front, he wrote only one name.
AIMAARA DANEESHA
His hand trembled as he traced the letters.
“I'm sorry…”
His voice broke.
“…I couldn't come home.”
A tear mixed with the rain upon his face.
The sound of car doors slamming echoed behind him.
He slowly closed the compartment.
Footsteps approached.
Measured.
Patient.
Confident.
He didn't turn around.
There was no point.
A familiar voice broke the silence.
“You should have handed it over.”
The man smiled faintly.
“It never belonged to you.”
“It belongs to the truth.”
A cold chuckle echoed through the rain.
“The truth is whatever survives.”
The wounded man lowered his head.
“No.”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“The truth always waits.”
Even if it takes years.
A pistol clicked.
The metallic sound was enough.
He knew his time had come.
But he wasn't afraid anymore.
Because the most important thing was no longer in his possession.
The Covenant could kill him.
They could erase his name.
They could burn every record of his existence.
But they would never find the key.
Never.
He looked toward the dark sky one last time.
“Aimaara…”
His voice softened.
“If we never meet again…”
He took a shaky breath.
“I hope you'll forgive me.”
His eyes slowly closed.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed through the empty street.
Silence followed.
Rain continued to fall, as though the city itself was mourning someone it would never remember.
Far beneath the old postbox, hidden inside a forgotten compartment, the brass key marked 214 remained untouched.
Waiting.
For the day its rightful owner would finally come looking for the truth.
Every secret has a beginning.
Every covenant demands a sacrifice.
- Writer
