Chapter 16
Nahlah
No, no, no, echoed silently within me, a mantra of denial against my worst fear come true.
The Sultan’s bored disdain morphed into a sharp, curious interest. ”Ah, the Mirage. Outlaws who justify their theft under the guise of charity. No doubt,” he continued, his voice laced with mockery, ”you intended to steal the tome in search of treasures—to help the poor, of course.”
The truth of our intentions pressed against my lips, heavy and undeniable. ”We had no intention of stealing any tome!” I spat out angrily.
A hint of surprise crossed Rami’s features, and after a moment, he nodded. ”She speaks the truth.”
The Sultan’s scowl vanished in an instant, replaced by a malicious grin. ”I have been hunting Sinbad for quite some time,” he confessed, his eyes meeting Rami’s with a twisted camaraderie. ”Imagine the fame, the glory if I were to rid the realms of the great King of Thieves! I would become a hero and a savior!”
Rami”s tone remained disinterested as he replied, ”It would be magnificent, sayyidi.” The air turned colder at his words, and I struggled to control my anger, trying to keep my expression as emotionless as his.
Sultan Ghazi”s fleeting moment of satisfaction evaporated as swiftly as it appeared. ”I grow tired of this,” he declared, his eyes narrowing. ”I want tangible results!”
”What would you have me do?” Rami asked, his voice betraying none of the obvious tension that crackled in the air between them.
With an impatient gesture, the Sultan demanded, ”Give me the book.”
”As you wish, sayyidi,” Rami replied, reaching into a satchel slung over his arm. I frowned, certain that he hadn’t been wearing that when he’d entered the cell. But as he pulled out a familiar-looking book, placing it in the Sultan’s outstretched hand, I stifled a gasp.
The memory of my encounter with the tome flooded back with vivid clarity—it had felt as though the very essence of existence was brushing against my soul, calling me home. Even now, it whispered across the space that separated us, stirring a curiosity that my fear, uncertainty, and the direness of the situation couldn”t dim. Why did its presence resonate so deeply within me?
”Take it,” Sultan Ghazi said, thrusting it toward me, his eagerness causing apprehension to churn within me. Despite my fascination, a sudden wariness took hold—the fact that he wanted me to interact with it made my instincts scream in protest. However, its pull was irresistible, the call weaving through my consciousness like a siren song I couldn’t ignore.
As I grasped it by the spine, the dormant energies in the room awakened, and a gust of wind—seemingly summoned from the pages themselves—whirled around us, causing my hair and dress to dance wildly in the chaotic storm. An ancient power both familiar and foreign greeted me eagerly, before ensnaring me in a vision.
I found myself in an ancient, formidable corridor constructed from red sandstone. Guided by torches lit with purple flames, my steps led me to a small chamber where a simple pedestal awaited. Atop it, a dome spun slowly, encasing an amethyst pendant that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Compelled by a force I didn”t understand, I reached out with trembling fingers. The instant I touched the glass, everything stilled.
Faces of men and women, their eyes alight with the fires of conviction and strength, were accompanied by voices—some somber with the weight of duty, others gentle and passionate—recounting tales of bravery, sacrifice, and the relentless pursuit of something greater than oneself.
As their stories unfolded, they transformed from complete strangers to family—those who”d borne this mantle before me. Their trials and triumphs, their hopes and fears, raced through my veins, bridging the gap between me and the history of those I now knew were Seekers.
And I was one of them.
Their legacy, courage, and unwavering commitment infused me with a profound sense of belonging and a determination to embrace my role in this timeless saga—one chosen to protect, discover, and keep the balance.Clutching the pedestal for support, I steadied myself against the onslaught of revelations, each one embedding itself within my consciousness, spanning beyond the confines of my existence, branding me with the esteemed title: Heartseeker.
In an instant, the vision released me, and the chaos around the cell coalesced into a focused blast that struck me squarely in the chest. Yet, instead of pain, an odd sense of completion washed over me, as if I”d regained a missing piece of myself.
”Yes!” Sultan Ghazi exclaimed triumphantly. ”She is who we have been looking for! She will find it!” His proclamation was clear, even without explicit confirmation; his obsession lay with the Heart of Eternity. ”Read the tome!” he ordered excitedly.
Opening the cover, I was confused when the letters danced and twisted on the pages, refusing to settle or form any coherent meaning. ”I can’t,” I replied, turning the book toward him to showcase its indecipherable contents.
His eyes widened, his expression twisting into a mask of seething rage as he whirled around to face Rami. ”Why didn’t it work?!”
”I don’t know,” Rami admitted, sweeping a hand through his hair.
”Draw her blood,” Sultan Ghazi commanded.
Rami hesitated, uncertainty in his tone. ”Let’s not be hasty, sayyidi.”
The Sultan’s lip curled back, reminiscent of a predator baring its teeth. ”I gave you an order!” he thundered. Rami visibly flinched, as if the Sultan’s anger had struck him like a physical blow. He avoided my gaze as he stepped closer, unsheathing a dagger and gently making a shallow cut along my palm. As the blood welled up, he pressed my hand against the tome”s cover before placing his fingers against the incision.
”Good, now bring it to me,” Sultan Ghazi demanded. I braced myself for the sting of the wound, but as Rami released me, there was no sign of it—my palm was unmarred, as if never touched by the blade.
I watched him through narrowed eyes as he strolled across the cell. While it wasn”t unheard of for fae to possess healing powers, his ability to do so effortlessly once again suggested a depth of power that went beyond that of a simple elemental fae. Despite my earlier suspicions prior to knowing of his identity—that the fae captain wielded significant influence over the Sultan—Rami’s deferential behavior toward him had stirred doubts about the dynamics of their relationship, leaving me uncertain about where the true power lay.
Either way, he was pretending to be less powerful than he really was. What grand scheme did they have in mind that required such deception? More importantly, what implications would it have for Nephria—and the realm at large?