Seven Months Later
A man wearing a mask and a cloak stood beside a grave with no name — only two dates carved into the stone: 1981 – 2008. A faint breeze carried the scent of damp soil and the fading perfume of withered flowers that lay in brittle clusters around the headstone. His eyes brimmed with tears, each drop falling silently into the earth, vanishing as if swallowed by the grave itself.
He lingered there for a moment longer, fingers brushing the cold stone, before turning away.
Leaving the Gandah Cemetery, he passed through the heart of Deras — its iron balconies overlooking narrow streets, where the laughter of children tangled with the cries of market vendors. Ancient yet proud buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, their walls holding stories no one had time to tell.
At the edge of the city, he crossed an old iron bridge — rust biting into its railings, yet still unyielding. Beyond it lay the Saya Forest. Shadows pooled thick beneath its canopy; the sun was nothing but a rumour here. The air was damp and heavy, every step crunching over the dry skeletons of fallen leaves. Somewhere deep inside, a wolf's howl curled through the dark, distant but chilling.
Hidden within this forest was a cave — a narrow mouth of stone that opened into the underbelly of another world: Demara City. Here, skyscrapers stabbed into the night sky, their edges glowing with neon. The streets swarmed with the endless hum of traffic, the air vibrating with life and danger.
At the far end of the city rose Samad's mansion, guarded by a towering black iron gate. The man stepped through, removed his mask as he entered the warm glow of the hall.
"Where have you been?" Samad's voice came from the doorway.
"Gandah Cemetery," the man replied simply.
Samad sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I know it means everything to you… but these are dangerous times. Leaving the safety of this place is a risk you can't afford. If anyone had seen you, you wouldn't be here now. You understand that, don't you?"
"I understand," the man said quietly, placing his cloak on a chair.
Samad's gaze softened. "I know how hard it is. You've just lost Azam… but you're not alone, Haman. I'm here for you."
Haman nodded once. "Thank you." Without another word, he walked towards his room.
Samad watched him go — the weight in his friend's steps heavy enough to bend the floorboards.
_______
Haman collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling until the edges of the room blurred. His body felt carved from stone, every muscle carrying the ache of seven long months. The sound of the city faded beyond the walls, replaced by a hollow silence that seemed to breathe from deep within him.
And then, the memories began to rise… pulling him back—
back to one month after the shooting.
_____
One Month After the Shooting
Where am I? I… I was shot, wasn't I? Am I alive… or dead?
The thought settled heavy in Haman's mind as his eyes opened to a white ceiling.
"You're awake," Samad's voice came from the side. "That's good."
Haman's gaze sharpened. "You traitor! Did you shoot me?"
"No. It wasn't me — a friend of mine pulled the trigger," Samad answered quickly.
"Same thing. You must have told him to do it! Otherwise how would he appear out of nowhere and shoot me?"
Samad leaned forward, voice firm but urgent. "Listen. That's not what happened. My associates and I have an extremely fast communication system with our guards. The moment an outsider enters, they alert us. That's how I was told someone had arrived. I rushed to the spot. In the same way, my friend also got the alert. When he came to my house to discuss the matter, he saw you holding a sword to my neck. He thought you were about to kill me, so he fired at you from behind."
Haman's breathing slowed. "I see… I'm sorry. Forgive me for doubting you."
"It's fine. You'll stay in the hospital a few more days, then recover at my place," Samad assured him.
"I've become a burden," Haman murmured.
"Nonsense. We caused your injury — we'll see you healed."
At that moment, the room's door swung open.
A tall man entered—broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit and trousers with a grey shirt. His face was handsome, but serious.
Haman and Samad both turned to look at him.
"Speak of the devil and the devil appears," Samad said jokingly.
"So… he's awake," the newcomer said in a deep, commanding voice, glancing at Samad and then at Haman.
"Yes," Samad confirmed. "Haman, meet Zahir—he's the one who shot you."
"Nice introduction," Zahir remarked dryly.
"Sorry, but I only told the truth," Samad replied, narrowing his eyes teasingly. Zahir returned the gesture with a faint smirk.
"Alright, alright. Let me do this properly—Haman, this is Mr. Zahir, my best friend," Samad said with a smile.
"Forgive me, Haman. I didn't do it intentionally. It was an accident," Zahir said sincerely.
"Blah, blah, blah—no need to explain. I've already told him everything," Samad interrupted.
"It's alright. I'm not angry with you," Haman told Zahir.
"Thank you, my friend. You truly have a big heart—just as Samad described," Zahir replied warmly.
"Oh? And what else has he told you about me?" Haman asked with a curious smile.
"Don't worry—everything he said falls under the category of praise," Zahir assured him.
The three of them laughed together. Zahir stayed for a while, chatting with them, and then left for some urgent work.
______
Haman turned to Samad. "Where's Momin? Is he alright?"
Samad's eyes lit with memory. "Ah — I almost forgot. After the incident, I took him home. His mother was overjoyed. She asked me to give you this…"
From his pocket, Samad produced a heavy silver ring, its center holding a large black gemstone that caught the light strangely — almost as if something inside shifted when the ring moved.
Haman took it, the metal cold against his palm. For a moment, he thought he saw something… a faint ripple in the stone. But when he blinked, it was gone.
_____