The Ancient Jinn slowly vanished after claiming its final soul.
The Celestial Compass Activated.
The golden artifact shook violently in Malakar's grasp, glowing with dark purple energy. The needle spun in a frenzy, faster and faster, until—
It halted. Dead still.
Malakar's gaze followed the direction it pointed, but a smirk tugged at his lips.
"As expected…" he muttered.
He already knew where the gate was—he had been there before, 1620 years ago.
Malakar barely had time to process it when—
SCHLING! A silver blur cut through the air as Amina appeared in front of him, slicing off Malakar's right hand in a flash—blood sprayed, the limb severed in an instant.
The Celestial Compass fell from his dismembered limb, still clutched in his severed hand mid-air—but before it could hit the ground, Amina snatched it, her fingers closing tightly around the artifact as she turned and sprinted toward the entrance, adrenaline surging through her.
"AMINA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Shahira's voice cracked with panic.
Amina didn't answer.
She didn't have time.
The Celestial Compass wasn't just an ancient artifact that points to where the gate is—it's also a key.
A key to a gate sealed away for over a millennium.
A gate containing an army of malevolent spirits, ready to be unleashed upon the world.
She couldn't let Malakar have it. No matter what.
With one powerful swing of her katana, a violent gust of wind magic erupted, obliterating the rubble blocking the entrance. Stones and debris flew outward, clearing her escape.
She was almost there.
Almost—
SNAP! Malakar flicked his finger, the sound echoing ominously through the air.
A black miasma erupted from his left hand, swirling violently before morphing into a massive demonic hand.
It lunged toward Amina, but she noticed too late.
She barely had time to react before—
THUD.
A monstrous fist slammed into the back of her head.
A deafening ringing filled her ears.
Her vision blurred.
The world tilted.
The Celestial Compass slipped from her grasp.
And then—
Darkness.
"AMINA!!!!" Shahira's scream shattered through the throne hall.
The moment Amina's limp body collapsed, the dark, miasmic hand snatched her by the stomach and lifted her into the air like a broken doll.
And at the same time, its index finger curled around the Celestial Compass, lifting it effortlessly as both the artifact and Amina were brought back to Malakar, who took the compass and slipped it into his robe before cradling Amina in both arms like a passed-out princess.
The room was silent, the only sound was the eerie crackling of Malakar's dark magic.
Malakar stared down at Amina's unconscious form.
And then—
He chuckled.
A sick, mocking laugh. "Heh… What a petty little thief." His voice was dripping with amusement.
With an eerie grin, he said. "You really should know who you're up against before stealing from me."
"LET AMINA GO, MALAKAR!" Shahira's voice was desperate, raw with emotion.
Sultan Malik's fists trembled with rage. "RELEASE MY ATTENDANT AT ONCE!!"
Malakar's smirk twisted into something worse—a spark of cruel amusement flickering in his eyes.
And then—
An idea.
A twisted, horrible idea.
"Since this Amina girl wants to be such a naughty little thief…" he said, tilting his head playfully.
Then—his smirk widened. "I guess I'll just sacrifice her to the spirits behind the gate."
A chill ran through the room.
Shahira's breath hitched, her blood ran cold.
"NOOOOO!" Her scream shook the throne hall, her rage boiling over.
Water erupted from her dagger, forming into a massive serpent.
With pure fury, she launched it at Malakar.
The serpent roared, surging forward at blinding speed.
But Malakar just smiled, an amused, delighted smirk, and then, in one swift motion—
He lifted Amina's unconscious body in front of him.
Shahira's heart stopped.
The water serpent froze inches from Amina's unconscious body.
If it moved even an inch further, she would hit Amina instead.
Malakar let out a mocking chuckle. "Oops! Wouldn't want to hurt your little friend, now, would you?"
No one could move.
No one could do anything.
Malakar slung Amina over his shoulder, and then, with a mocking wave, said. "Adiós."
He turned and ran straight toward the shattered window.
Dark miasma coiled around his body, fueling him with supernatural speed.
Then—
He JUMPED.
Soaring into the night sky.
"AMINAAAAAA!!!!" Shahira's voice pierced the darkness.
Her desperate cry echoed through the city.
Malakar landed on the rooftops, his silhouette disappearing as he leaped from building to building.
And then he was gone, vanished into the night.
Shahira collapsed, her body trembling as rage and agony bubbled inside her.
She clenched her fists and slammed them into the floor—once, twice, over and over—until her knuckles bled.
"DAMN IT!!!" she shouted with regret, her voice breaking as her fists kept pounding the floor in frustration over her failure to save her friend.
Ryo, still hidden behind the pillar, watched helplessly.
He gritted his teeth, his hands shaking at his sides.
He had done nothing.
He had just watched.
Watched as Malakar took Amina away—right in front of him.
His nails dug into his palms, frustration boiling in his chest as he whispered to himself…
"I was useless…"
"I couldn't do anything."
"I… was too weak."
Shahira's sobs filled the room as she lunged forward, her body driven by pure desperation, running toward the window.
And—
She jumped.
Or at least—
She would have.
If her father hadn't caught her.
"WAIT, MY DAUGHTER! WE CANNOT BE HASTY!" Sultan Malik's arms wrapped around her, stopping her just in time.
But Shahira thrashed violently. "BUT AMINA! AMINA!!! I NEED TO SAVE HER!!"
Tears streamed down her face, raw grief ripping through her body.
Sultana Zafira gently placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"Sweetie… I'm so sorry… but we can't find them now that we lost sight of Malakar."
Her words shattered what little hope Shahira had left.
She went limp.
Sultan Malik slowly let go—and Shahira collapsed to her knees.
Her hands shook, her sobs grew louder, and then she screamed…
"AMINAAAAAAA!!!"
A desperate, heart-wrenching cry shook the walls of the throne hall, and for the first time in years, she felt completely, utterly powerless.
A few hours had passed since Malakar escaped and took Amina.
The once grand and majestic palace of Al-Munira was now a battlefield of broken stone and shattered glass.
The scent of smoke, dust, and blood lingered in the air.
The sound of sirens filled the night as police, ambulance, and firefighters swarmed the palace grounds.
Investigators examined the wreckage, piecing together what had happened.
The unconscious cursed guard was placed in an ambulance, his hands cuffed, as the spiked black circular mark remained in his eyes.
But the guard who lost his head, Qasim, was wrapped in white cloth and placed in a separate ambulance, while his allies wept and mourned his death.
The palace staff, the ones who had fled under the Sultan and Sultana's orders, were being questioned, their voices hushed, their faces pale with fear.
It had been strange.
Malakar never truly fought back.
He never launched a real attack.
He simply took the damage, regenerating over and over, like a monster that refused to die.
And despite that—
He still won.
He activated the Celestial Compass.
He took Amina.
He got exactly what he wanted.
And the most twisted part?
The only person he had ever tried to attack directly—was Ryo.
Because Ryo had pissed him off.
Bloodstains remained, along with the heavy air of failure.
Sultan Malik and Sultana Zafira sat in their chamber, silent.
They had lost Jamil, their only son, who was imprisoned.
They had lost one of their royal guards, Qasim, who had died.
And now, they had lost Amina too—their most trusted attendant—kidnapped and now in Malakar's hands.
One by one, the people precious to them were being taken away.
Sultan Malik sat stiffly at his desk, his jaw tight and his fists clenched.
Sultana Zafira sat on the bed, her hands trembling as she stared blankly at the floor.
The weight of their grief was crushing.
Shahira sat curled up on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her face buried against them.
She hadn't moved in hours.
The weight of everything bore down on her shoulders.
Not only had she been forced to sever her brother's foot—
But she had lost her best friend.
Amina…
The person who had been by her side since childhood.
The one who stood with her through everything.
Gone.
And she hadn't been able to do anything.
Her fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them tightly as tears slipped down her face.
Her mind kept replaying that moment—the split second when Malakar jumped, when she had failed to stop him, and when she almost threw herself out the window after Amina.
If her father hadn't stopped her…
Would she have fallen to her death?
Or would she have fought to the bitter end to bring Amina back?
She didn't know.
All she knew was that she felt empty.
Completely, horribly empty.
The dining area was silent.
Just one person sitting alone.
Ryo.
He sat in a chair, his elbows resting on the table, his hands covering his face.
His fingers dug into his hair, gripping it tightly as he let out a slow, heavy breath…
"I could have moved."
"I could have done something."
"I could have—"
But he hadn't.
When it mattered most, when Amina was in danger, he froze. His body refused to move, fear seizing him as he realized he was powerless against a sorcerer—he's just a normal human, unable to do anything.
And now—
She was gone.
Kidnapped.
Taken away right in front of him.
Ryo leaned back, staring at the grand chandelier above him, his chest tight, fists trembling, and eyes burning as he sighed
"I was useless..."
No matter how much he hated Malakar—
No matter how much he wanted to fight—
The truth was that Malakar didn't even see him as a threat.
Ryo wasn't someone Malakar feared.
He was just a nuisance.
A pest.
And that realization made his stomach twist with frustration.
"I need to be stronger," Ryo whispered.
He clenched his jaw, his fingernails digging into his palm, and for now, all he could do was sit in silence, letting the weight of his own weakness suffocate him.
The door to the dining area creaked open.
Ryo turned his head, his tired eyes landing on the person who entered.
It was Sultana Zafira.
She still wore her royal elegance, but her face carried the weight of sorrow.
Her usual radiance was dimmed by exhaustion, her once warm expression now tinged with quiet despair.
Ryo sat at his table, a half-eaten plate of chicken fried rice in front of him.
"Oh, Your Majesty," Ryo said.
"Oh… Mr. Detective, it's you," Sultana Zafira replied.
She glanced at his plate, forcing a small, tired smile. "Did you have a late-night dinner?"
Ryo followed her gaze before replying. "Yeah… Had to cook myself some chicken fried rice."
The Sultana nodded slowly. "I see. But you could have asked our maids to cook for you."
Ryo scratched the back of his head, and said. "Ah, well… they, uh… went back home. You know, because of the… chaos."
The Sultana's forced smile faltered slightly. "Ah, yes… You're… right."
The room fell into silence.
The air between them felt heavy, as if the weight of the entire royal family's despair had settled within the palace walls.
Ryo could see it—
The pain behind her tired eyes.
First, her son, Jamil, was imprisoned with a missing foot.
Her guard was dead, sacrificed to the Ancient Jinn.
Now, Amina—the most trusted attendant of her husband—was kidnapped.
And as if that wasn't enough, the Celestial Compass was activated.
Malakar was now heading toward the Gate, preparing to unleash an army of malevolent spirits.
They couldn't even track him down.
They didn't see the direction the compass pointed when it activated.
Everything was falling apart.
Hope was slipping through their fingers.
Breaking the silence, Ryo spoke up. "So, uh… how's Shahira doing?"
The Sultana's expression darkened.
She looked down at the floor, her hands clasped together tightly.
It's been four hours... She still hasn't come out of her room," she said, her voice quiet, almost fragile. "I'm worried she's not eating."
Silence.
Ryo exhaled, running a hand through his hair before offering a small, reassuring smile.
"Alright, I'll check on her. There's some chicken fried rice left, so I'll bring it over to her room."
The Sultana glanced up at him, and despite the pain in her eyes, a flicker of warmth returned.
She teased lightly, though her sadness still lingered.
"Thank you, Mr. Detective… Shahira has been very close to you. It's incredible that you have such charisma. You must be popular with women."
Ryo chuckled, waving his hands in mock denial. "Oh, stop it…"
For just a brief moment, the tension in the air softened.
But the reality of their situation remained.
Ryo stood up, preparing a plate of chicken fried rice and a glass of water.
"Anyways, I'll go see her now," he said, carrying the food on a tray.
Sultana Zafira bowed slightly, offering him a gentle wave. "Okay… See you, Mr. Detective."
And with that, she turned and left the dining area.
Ryo took a deep breath and made his way toward Shahira's room.
He walked through the empty palace hallway, the tray of food steady in his hands.
The air was still. Too still.
The once vibrant palace, filled with life and chatter, now felt like a hollow shell.
Every step he took echoed faintly against the cold marble floor.
Ever since the staff went home, the palace had become a place of sorrow, a place where hope felt distant.
Ryo stopped in front of Shahira's room.
He lifted his free hand and knocked gently.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
A quiet sigh left his lips.
He reached for the handle, turned it, and pushed lightly, surprised to find the door unlocked as he opened it and stepped inside.
And there she was.
Shahira sat on her bed, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, face buried deep.
She didn't even flinch at his presence.
She just sat there—
Silent. Motionless.
Ryo's chest tightened at the sight.
He knew this feeling, knew exactly what was going through her heart, and exhaled softly before stepping forward.
"Hey, Sha… I cooked up some chicken fried rice for you," he said softly.
No response.
Silence.
He walked over and gently placed the tray on her desk.
Then, without another word, he sat beside her on the bed.
The room felt heavy with unspoken pain.
"Sha… are you okay?" he asked out of concern.
Again, no answer.
He hesitated for a moment.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand and patted her head.
Soft. Gentle.
His fingers brushing through her hair.
And finally—
Shahira lifted her head.
Her tear-streaked face turned toward him, eyes red and swollen.
Ryo didn't say anything.
He just… looked at her.
And then—
A small, broken smile formed on her lips. "This head pat… Amina once did it for me."
Her voice was soft, fragile, like a whisper from a distant past.
"Back when we were kids… It was such a wonderful memory," She said.
"Is that so?" Ryo said with a soft smile.
Shahira nodded, the sad smile never leaving her face. "Yeah… You wouldn't believe it, but I was such a crybaby when I was little."
She let out a small, breathy chuckle. "But Amina was always there for me… lifting my spirits, no matter what."
"I see… You two were very close since back then, huh?" Ryo asked.
Shahira slowly nodded. "Yeah… she's like a sister to me."
A long pause.
Then—
"Tell me more about Amina… and how you two met?" Ryo asked.
Shahira's eyes drifted toward the ceiling, lost in thought.
Then, she looked back at Ryo.
And she began to tell their story…
Amina was an orphaned seven-year-old girl who had never known the warmth of a family.
Rumors whispered that her parents had abandoned her at birth, leaving her at the orphanage's doorstep like an unwanted burden. Others claimed they had never even given her a name before discarding her.
But Amina never dwelled on the past.
She focused on the present.
While the other children at the orphanage played in the yard, laughing and chasing one another, Amina sat alone—reading.
She was different.
More mature. More disciplined. More aware of the world.
While other children struggled with their lessons, Amina solved complex equations with ease. She spoke clearly like an adult, thought maturely for her age, and carried herself with quiet confidence.
But her intelligence made her an outsider.
The other children found her strange—too serious, too focused, too distant.
They avoided her.
Amina had convinced herself she didn't care—until one fateful afternoon when she met Shahira.
It was an ordinary day.
Amina was seated outside the orphanage, nose buried in a thick book, when she heard the sound of sniffling.
At first, she ignored it.
But then—
The sniffling turned into soft whimpers.
Curious, she looked up.
Just outside the orphanage gates stood a little girl—her eyes wide and filled with tears. She looked lost, small hands clenched at her sides, trembling as she frantically turned her head in every direction.
Amina hesitated, then closed her book.
She stood up and walked over. "Are you lost?" Amina asked.
The girl looked at her, lip quivering.
"I-I'm looking for my mama… and baba…" Shahira whimpered.
And then—
She broke into sobs. "UWAHHHAAAA!!"
Amina froze.
She wasn't good with emotional people, but something inside her told her to act, so she did the first thing that came to mind—she gently patted the girl's head.
Shahira's sobbing softened just a little as she blinked up at Amina with teary eyes.
"What's your name?" Amina asked.
"Shahira…" Shahira replied.
Amina exhaled. "Alright, Shahira. I'll help you find them."
And just like that—
A lifelong bond was about to form.
Amina walked hand in hand with Shahira through the streets, determined to help her find her parents.
Then, Shahira pointed to a specific building. "Ah! That's my home!"
Amina hadn't expected the search to end at the gates of the kingdom's Grand Palace.
Her heart pounded as she watched two grand figures approach—Sultan Malik and Sultana Zafira.
The rulers of Al-Munira.
Amina's breath caught in her throat.
She had unknowingly rescued the princess.
Sultana Zafira knelt in front of Shahira, embracing her tightly as the child sobbed into her mother's arms.
The Sultan, however, turned his gaze to Amina, studying her with a look of curiosity—then, he smiled.
"What is your name?" the Sultan asked.
"Ann" Amina replied.
'Ann' was the name given to her at the orphanage before it was changed.
"Tell me, Ann… would you like to be friends with my daughter?" the Sultan gently asked.
Amina blinked.
Before she could even think, Shahira grabbed her hands.
Her eyes, still red from crying, sparkled with excitement.
"Please! Let's be friends!" Shahira said excitedly.
Amina hesitated—she had always been alone, never needing a friend.
And yet—
Looking at Shahira's eager expression…
She couldn't bring herself to say no.
"...Alright," Amina replied, still unsure if it was a good idea to befriend a princess.
From that day forward, Shahira never left Amina's side.
She visited the orphanage constantly, dragging Amina into silly games and wild adventures.
And the most shocking part?
Unlike the other children, Shahira didn't find Amina boring—she accepted her.
Even when Amina acted too serious, even when she spoke like an adult, even when she rolled her eyes at childish games—Shahira didn't care.
She liked Amina exactly as she was.
And little by little, Shahira broke through Amina's walls.
She even dragged her into the palace.
At first, Amina felt out of place—she wasn't royalty—but Shahira refusedto let her think that way.
She forced her into sleepovers, whispered secrets late into the night, laughed with her until they both ran out of breath.
They even watched a lot of anime together, something Amina eventually became completely absorbed in.
Over time, the Grand Palace felt like home to Amina, and Shahira became like family.
One night, Amina was sitting on Shahira's bed, flipping through a tablet screen while Shahira slept beside her.
The door creaked open.
Amina looked up to see Sultan Malik, who didn't scold her for staying up late. Instead, his gaze fell on the tablet in her hands as he saw what she was doing.
Complex equations.
Advanced theories.
Calculations far beyond her age.
For a child raised in an orphanage, it was astonishing.
The Sultan was silent for a moment before asking. "Ann… would you like to live here?"
Amina's eyes widened.
He smiled softly, and said. "Not as my daughter. But as my personal attendant."
Amina's breath caught.
Live in the palace? Stay by Shahira's side forever?
There was only one answer... "Yes," she answered.
The Sultan nodded. "Then from now on… you will no longer be 'Ann.' You will be Amina…. Amina Al-Samar."
"Amina… Al-Samar?" she repeated, testing out her new given name.
The Sultan explained the meaning. "Amina means 'trustworthy,' and Al-Samar means 'one who enjoys evening talks.' It suits you perfectly."
And in that moment—
Amina felt something she had never felt before.
And so, the Sultan adopted her.
Years passed as Amina threw herself into her studies, mastering her education, honing her magical abilities, and training tirelessly, until, at just 14 years old…
…She became the Sultan's personal attendant.
She was a prodigy.
Shahira was so proud of her.
But Amina wasn't done yet. Now, it was Shahira's turn to grow as Amina forced her to study, drilled lessons into her head, and made her endure grueling training.
Shahira complained constantly.
But deep down—
She knew Amina only wanted the best for her.
And eventually—
Shahira earned her princess title.
On the day of her coronation, she hugged Amina tightly.
"Thank you… for everything," Shahira said with a soft smile.
Amina grinned mischievously. "Don't thank me yet. You still have more to learn."
Shahira groaned, but they both laughed.
Now, at 22 years old, they were still as close as ever.
More than friends.
More than sisters.
They were each other's family.
And that bond—Was unbreakable.
As Shahira recounted her childhood memories with Amina, her voice trembled.
Each word carried the weight of years of friendship, love, laughter, and unbreakable sisterhood.
But now—
Those memories felt like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.
Tears welled in her eyes, her breath hitching.
She tried to wipe them away, but they wouldn't stop. "I… I just want her back… my friend… my sister…" Her voice broke.
She hugged herself tightly, shoulders trembling. "I… I don't know what I should do without her…"
Her hands clenched into fists.
A choked sob escaped her lips. "I can't imagine… what Malakar's going to do to her…"
The thought alone was unbearable.
Her dearest friend, trapped in the hands of an ancient monster.
What if she was suffering?
What if she was crying out for help, waiting, hoping—for someone to come for her?
Shahira's heart pounded in her chest, the fear too much to bear.
And then she moved, grabbing both of Ryo's hands tightly before he could react.
"Eh?! Sha?" He was startled, but Shahira didn't let go.
She lifted her face to meet his, her tear-streaked eyes filled with raw desperation.
She was shaking, her grip trembling. "Ryo… please…" her voice cracked, her breath uneven.
"You're a detective, aren't you…?"
"Please… help me find her…"
Her fingers tightened around his hands, holding on like he was herlast hope.
"Please… bring her back home… to this palace… to me…"
Ryo's chest tightened.
She was begging.
Not as a princess.
Not as royalty.
But as a broken girl, pleading for the return of the person who meant everything to her.
Her best friend.
Her sister.
Ryo had faced many missions as a cop before, encountering grief, loss, and despair along the way.
But this was different. This wasn't just any mission. This was Shahira's heart shattering in front of him.
She squeezed his hands harder. "Please save my friend… my sister…" her voice was barely a whisper now.
A desperate, fragile plea.
And then, her tears overwhelmed her.
She shut her eyes, her body trembling uncontrollably, and cried out—
"PLEASE SAVE AMINA!!!"
The pain in her voice cut through Ryo like a blade.
This wasn't just a request. This wasn't just another mission.
No matter what it took—
She wants him to bring Amina home.