The night smelled of smoke. The little village at the foot of the mountains burned like a candle in the wind, its flames licking the sky.
Arian ran barefoot over the dirt, clutching the hem of his mother's dress. His wooden toy sword a gift from his late father was still in his other hand, though his fingers trembled too much to hold it steady.
Mother (breathing hard, pulling him):
"Don't stop, Arian. Stay with me. Whatever happens, don't let go."
Behind them, shadows moved with impossible grace. Figures dressed in black, faces wrapped in scarves, glided over rooftops and through the alleys like hunting wolves.
Arian tripped, scraping his knee. His mother lifted him quickly, pressing his face against her chest. Her heartbeat thundered like a war drum.
Arian (voice breaking):
"Why are they chasing us? Who are they?"
She didn't answer. She just kept running, eyes wide with fear.
Then like lightning one of the shadows dropped in front of them. His curved blade gleamed in the firelight.
Assassin:
"The boy. Hand him over."
Mother (snarling, clutching Arian tighter):
"You'll take him over my corpse."
She hurled a stone she had picked up from the ground. It struck the assassin's mask with a dull crack, making him stumble. But another figure was already behind her. A wooden staff slammed against the back of her head. She crumpled instantly, her arms loosening around Arian.
Arian (screaming, trying to shake her):
"Mother! Get up! Please get up!"
A calloused hand clamped over his mouth. The bitter smell of herbs filled his nose. He struggled, biting, kicking, but the shadow only tightened his grip.
The last thing Arian saw before the drug dragged him into darkness was his mother's still body, her hand stretched toward him, fingers twitching weakly in the firelight.
---
When he woke, the world was cold.
The boy's arms and ankles were bound with rough rope. His lips were cracked, and snow stung his face. He was being dragged uphill by two men in black through a narrow mountain path.
All around him, the jagged peaks of Koh-e-Baba loomed like teeth, white with snow and ancient as the earth. The wind howled, carrying with it whispers that sounded almost human.
Arian (hoarse, weakly):
"Where… where are you taking me?"
The man dragging him didn't answer. He only glanced down with eyes like ice and shoved Arian forward.
Hours passed. His knees bled, his feet blistered. At last, they reached it—
A fortress carved directly into the cliffs. Black stone towers jutted out from the mountain itself, connected by bridges of wood and rope that swayed above bottomless chasms. Torches burned at the gates, glowing like watchful eyes.
Inside, Arian was thrown onto the stone floor of a vast hall. The walls were carved with strange symbols, half-Arabic script, half-forgotten runes. Dozens of black-robed figures stood silently along the sides.
Then, he heard the voice. Deep. Calm. Too calm.
A man stepped forward. His robes were darker than the others, embroidered with silver. His hood cast a shadow over most of his face, but his eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight—cold, ancient, patient.
Sayyid Zaman (measured, almost gentle):
"So… this is the child who raised a wooden sword against the fire."
He crouched down in front of Arian, tilting his chin up with a gloved hand.
Sayyid Zaman:
"Look at me. Do you fear death?"
Arian (teeth clenched, glaring through tears):
"You killed my mother!"
The hall went utterly silent. Some assassins shifted, expecting their master to slit the boy's throat for his insolence.
But Sayyid Zaman's lips curved into a thin smile.
Sayyid Zaman:
"No. Weakness killed her. Weakness kills everything it touches."
He released Arian's chin, standing tall again, his voice echoing against the stone.
Sayyid Zaman (to the hall):
"This boy has fire in his eyes. That fire can be quenched… or forged."
He turned back to Arian, lowering his voice again, almost like a whisper only the boy could hear.
Sayyid Zaman:
"Here, in the mountains, you will shed your weakness. You will be remade. You will kill, or you will die. That is the law of the shadows."
Arian spat at his feet. His whole body trembled, not with courage—but with the stubbornness of a cornered cub refusing to bow.
Sayyid Zaman laughed softly.
Sayyid Zaman:
"Good. Hatred is sharper than fear. Let it feed you… until nothing is left but the blade."
The torches flared as if stirred by unseen wind.
And in that frozen hall, under the gaze of a hundred assassins, Arian's childhood ended.
"To be Continued"