When Saba's echo vanished behind the mountains, only the heavy truth remained walking beside them.
They hid among the folds of the mountains,
where the city's echo could no longer reach,
where no jinn's gaze nor a guard's shadow could follow.
The rocks bore witness to an escape left unfinished,
and the wind slipped between them as if searching for their breath.
Breathing was heavy.
Bodies were exhausted.
And the silence… heavier than the wounds themselves.
Aram sat on a low stone,
set his sword beside him,
and stared at the ring on his finger.
It was dull.
Unlit.
As though it, too, was catching its breath after all the blood and betrayal it had seen.
At last, Solan broke the silence,
his voice drawn tight like a string on the verge of snapping:
"What happened was no coincidence…
we were deceived."
He paused,
then spoke the name like a stone dropped into still water:
"Seraph."
Aram lifted his head at once.
Despite the exhaustion, his voice was sharp, decisive:
"No.
Seraph could have handed us over long before this.
In the palace…
in the chasm…
but he didn't."
Questions rushed into their eyes before words could form.
Who planned this?
Who replaced the king?
Who knew their move before it was made?
And who had always been one step ahead?
Then came the question that stopped everything.
Aram said quietly
yet it struck their chests like a blow:
"And Argos…
and Marana…
and Riman?"
Another silence fell.
This one was not fear…
but realization.
The danger was no longer only in the palace.
The danger now… was behind them.
Before the dread could fully settle,
the sound came.
Footsteps.
Stone scraping stone.
Breath that could not be hidden.
They rose as one.
Swords drawn.
Even Karem, despite the arrow lodged in his shoulder, tightened his grip on his spear.
The ring glinted on Aram's hand
not a threat,
but a warning.
He said calmly, as if hearing what none of the others could:
"Jinn…
but not an enemy."
They stepped out from between the rocks.
Seraph stood at the front.
Behind him
Argos,
Marana,
and Riman.
Panic was clear on their faces,
dust clung to their clothes,
fatigue weighed in their eyes
but they were alive.
Only then did Aram breathe fully again,
as though air had returned to his chest after a long absence.
Seraph tightened his armor straps,
his voice carrying the weight of battle:
"This one goes to Ronen…
but the consequence of our move isn't finished yet.
What we did today
will begin to show its effect soon."
They sat.
Exchanged what had happened.
Words shortened the path of pain.
Then Aram asked the unavoidable question:
"What about those who were captured?
And what is Ronen's next move?"
Seraph did not answer at once.
Instead,
he made a strange sound
neither a word
nor a call.
The air shifted.
The shadow split.
A creature appeared
dog-like in shape,
but its shadow would not settle,
and its eyes held a faint fire,
like embers not yet stirred.
Seraph said:
"This is your guide.
It will take you to the Valley of Fire.
There…
you will rest."
Then he added, his eyes fixed on Aram:
"But when you arrive,
you must awaken what lies there.
This… is your share of the horn."
Aram froze.
Slowly, he asked:
"What do you mean… awaken?"
Seraph smiled briefly
the smile of one who knows more than he says:
"When you arrive,
you will understand.
And I will return to you with every piece of news from Saba."
Then he vanished,
as he had appeared
without a trace.
Aram looked at the creature.
He did not raise his sword.
Did not command it.
He simply said:
"Lead me."
It understood.
The group moved.
Paths that left no trace.
Passages unknown to maps.
Even Argos fell silent,
realizing this was a road not read by experience alone.
After long hours,
they arrived.
A vast valley,
its rocks rising like the walls of a forgotten temple.
At its center lay a still lake,
its surface smooth,
like a mirror reflecting not the sky…
but what lay beneath it.
Around the lake
the ruins of a city.
Walls etched with ancient sigils.
Broken columns.
Carvings of beings that no longer walked this world.
Siham whispered:
"This place…
was not abandoned.
It was silenced."
And at the heart of the city…
stood the statue.
Massive.
Ancient.
Incomplete.
Aram looked at it.
He knew what was missing before he stepped closer.
The horn.
He advanced with steady steps,
as though the valley had been waiting for this moment for centuries.
He set the horn into its rightful place.
And the instant he blew into it
everything changed.
The valley trembled.
The sigils ignited.
The water stirred as though breathing.
And heat rose
not to burn…
but to awaken.
----------------------------------------
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