Day 10
9:44 a.m. — The Drawing Room
The first thing Zeyla registered was silence.
Then paper.
Shhhk.
The slow, deliberate turn of a newspaper page.
She opened her eyes.
Sunlight spilled across the marble floors. Her joints ached like stone. A bandage was wrapped around her ribs. Her back screamed from lying stiff on the velvet chaise.
She sat up, grimacing. Her blade was gone.
And there he was.
Sanlang.
In Noor's chair, legs crossed, shirt rumpled, collar open. His sleeves were rolled carelessly to the forearms, hair tousled.
He was reading the Daily Ledger.
"You're awake," he said mildly, without looking up. "Good."
Before she could speak, the front doors slammed open.
Maya stormed in, nearly dropping her tablet. "Zeyla! Holy—finally! You had me thinking you were___."
Zeyla squinted at the brightness. "What the hell?"
Maya let out a sharp breath, flung her hand toward the hallway.
"You were asleep for two entire days, Zeyla. Meanwhile—half the donors are pulling out, and this gilded reptile—" she jabbed a thumb at Sanlang "—has turned the east wing into a goddamn war room."
Sanlang flipped a page of the paper. "Flattering."
Zeyla rubbed her temple. "Wait—What did you tell him?"
Maya whispered in Zeyla's ear.
"I told him she had urgent business. She said she was handling something. But now she's not picking up. No signal."
Zeyla's stomach dropped.
That night... she remembered his eyes.
What are you? she thought.
Her fingers clenched.
"Maya," she said quietly. "The children?"
"Their fevers broke. All of them. Just like that. But five still haven't woken up. Doctors are here—trying to make sense of it. One said it's like… their dreams are holding them down."
Zeyla turned sharply to Sanlang. "You did something."
"I didn't touch them," he said simply. "But maybe I just... stopped it from spreading."
Maya scoffed. "Yeah? You a doctor now?"
"No," he said, standing. "But I've seen things that eat doctors."
---
10:26 a.m. — The East Wing
A projector cycled through media reports, scandal headlines, financial hemorrhages.
Maya clicked rapidly through charts.
"Fifteen properties frozen. Investors gone silent. Government's breathing down our backs since Noor's signature was on that Kalpa export license."
Zeyla blinked. "What license?"
"Exactly. It wasn't her doing—it's forged. But no one cares."
Sanlang moved to the center table, scanning documents.
Zeyla stared.
Then he spoke:
"Maya. Get me the offshore portfolio breakdown and the corporate lockout codes. Zeyla—open Noor's private vault. I need the black journal. You know which one."
Zeyla's hand hovered. "How do you even know ....No ..That's Noor's personal archive. You don't—"
He turned to her fully.
"If you want me to salvage what's left of , I need that ledger."
Maya crossed her arms. "Wow. Shocking. I thought you were just some spoiled billionaire with daddy's blood money."
Sanlang smirked. "Only half true. My father is a warlord who manufactures weapons for governments who claim peace—but I didn't inherit the empire. I have no intension anyway."
He took out his phone.
"Who are you calling?" Maya asked.
"Yilan."
Zeyla flinched. "Why her?"
11:33 a.m. — Live Line: Call to Yilan
Yilan's office in the city was chaos incarnate.
Three assistants hovered with documents. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago. Reporters were circling like flies.
She was pacing because No call. No trace. Nothing for two days.
Then—
Her phone lit up.
Incoming call: Unknown ID
She froze.
Picked up. "What?"
A familiar voice, too calm.
"Is the broker from Li Holdings still loyal to Noor?"
Yilan stopped moving.
Her throat tightened. "Sanlang?"
"He's still under NDA. Why?"
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Not relevant."
"Not re—Are you out of your mind?! You vanish for two days, I thought—"
"Yilan."
She fell silent.
"I need Kalpa's black market channels rerouted through my father's name. I'll handle the weapon ties personally. Use the name 'White Signal'—they'll understand."
"…You're taking over?"
"I'm cleaning up what SHE didn't burn first."
Yilan blinked. The words hit like cold water.
"Once that's handled, contact Frost Securities. Reassign the cyber vault to Noor's ghost access account. When she returns, she'll have the codes."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then I'll hold the empire until she tears it from my hands."
He hung up.
Yilan stared at the phone.
11:41 a.m. — The Orphanage War Room
Maya was leaned against a pillar, tablet in hand, watching Sanlang pace.
"He's actually doing it," she muttered.
Zeyla glanced up. "What?"
Maya smirked. "I just thought he was a walking scandal with nice cheekbones and generational trauma. Turns out—he's a damn economic weapon."
Sanlang snapped a binder shut. "Flattering. I'll put it in my bio."
Zeyla muttered under her breath, "You never told Yilan where you went."
He paused.
Then, very softly:
"She doesn't need to know."
Zeyla's eyes narrowed.
What are you hiding? she thought. What happened to you that night…?
Sanlang turned back to the table.
"Zeyla," he said, voice razor-flat. "Are the staff still loyal?"
"They'll follow the strongest voice in the room."
"Then make it mine."
He pointed to the whiteboard. "Maya, you handle the digital restructuring. Move Noor's private shares to a shell holding—use 'Eclipsed Holdings' as the name."
"Dramatic," Maya said.
"Memorable," Sanlang replied.
He stepped to the window. A child's laughter echoed faintly from the courtyard.
His voice lowered:
"We don't let this house fall. Until she returns—"
12:02 p.m. — Yilan's Office
Yilan stared out her floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city never stopped. Traffic pulsed below.
She whispered: "So that's what you choose,huhh."
Her assistant blinked. "Miss?"
She turned slowly.
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
"Get me everything on father's holdings. If this is a game of weapons—then let's load the board."
---
12:14 p.m. — The Infirmary
Zeyla passed through the ward.
Children lay in rows. The fevers were gone—but five hadn't opened their eyes.
One of them whispered in sleep: "Mother Noor."
Zeyla touched her forehead. Cold.
Where are you, My Lady?
---
13:30 p.m. — The War Room
Sanlang laid down the black journal, tapped three names circled in red.
"These are the moles," he said. "Expel them. Quietly. And if they resist—you know what to do ."
"What?" Maya asked.
"A blank cheque," he said. "From my personal account. With the clause that if they betray Noor again—I will come instead of lawyers."
Zeyla watched him move.
14:44 p.m. — Elsewhere
A fax machine clicked.
A board member tore their badge from their blazer.
Security clearance revoked. Corporate files locked.
Coded messages began vanishing from Noor's servers—one after the other.
---
1:11 a.m. —
Somewhere forgotten.
The woman did not blink.
Moonlight fell like silk across her cheek.
The hut was bare—one windows, moonlight spilling in illuminating her. And Only the mirror.
And the woman before it.
Her hair fell around her like rivers of silence. White as milk. As ash.
Her lashes—snowed gold. Her eyes—
Unblinking.
Golden. Deep.
She stood still.
Barefoot. Breath shallow.
Watching her own reflection, but not seeing it.
---
Elsewhere
He touched the glass lightly.
His reflection shimmered—
green eyes veiled in something older than blood.
" You—" he murmured, voice a ruin wrapped in velvet—
"They buried your name beneath seven mountains.
Because even death feared what you might become..."
The faucet dripped once.
He lowered his forehead to the mirror. It was cold.
"You asked me not to follow.
But I was never made to obey.
Only to witness.
And you—"
His voice broke like twilight breaking—
"You are the only miracle I ever looked at and believed."
---
And in the Other Mirror
The woman raised her hand towards the mirror.
"If I fall, do not mourn.
Mourn only the stars that watched and said nothing.
Mourn the silence that let heaven's lie.
But not me.
I was born from the ruin they tried to burn—
and I will return to it with joy if it keeps you whole."
---
Sanlang, eyes flickering silver:
"If they demand I become a weapon,I will carve your name into every wall they build to cage you—
and I will do it smiling."
---
Behind her, the wind stirred.
Only presence.
Watching. Waiting. Listening.
---
2:22 a.m. — Noor's Vault
The black journal felt heavier now.
She stepped back into the vault. No lights. Just the faint glow of the moon behind clouded glass.
She placed the black journal carefully on its shelf.
Then—
thump.
A small sound.
Soft.
Like something exhaled behind her.
She turned.
The lights flickered once—then dimmed.
Shelves lined with relics, locked scrolls, coded tomes.
She moved through them.
And then—
Shhhk.
Behind her—
a book fell.
It didn't thud.
It landed like a breath.
She turned.
There—on the floor near a sealed alcove—
a book she hadn't seen before.
Bound in veined leather that shimmered like old ash.
No title. No clasp.
She stepped toward it.
It pulsed once.
Just once.
Like it saw her.
She crouched. Reached out.
The second her fingers touched it—
a heat flooded her veins.
She knew this script.
Noor had once whispered into her ear, in the dark:
"This tongue is not to be spoken."
Zeyla opened the journal.
The ink shimmered like dried blood.
At the top, hand-scratched in two languages—one ancient, one hers:
THE ECLIPSED FATE
(those who bleed and remember)
---
The page turned on its own.
And the vault darkened—just enough for the ink to begin glowing.
Her eyes scanned.
---
"When the Star-Bearer falls silent
and the Silver-Eyed walks the Veil—
Let the mirrors not lie.
Let the silence not be trusted.
For the world will say she vanished—
But the world has always feared
those who carry fire in their bones."
---
Zeyla's throat tightened.
Her fingers shook,
"And he—
The one with storm in his throat
and ruin in his hands—
Shall not rise for conquest,
But remembrance.
He will bow to no king,
nor weep for any god.
But to the ONE"
---
Zeyla's breath caught.
"If she sleeps—he shall guard the gate.
If she bleeds—he shall bathe in her wound.
If she falls—then let the heavens mourn,
For he will burn the stars
to build her a throne."
She turned to the last page.
And it was handwritten—scrawled faster, rougher.
---
3:44 a.m. — Zeyla's Room
Zeyla lay on her back, unmoving.
The moon hung labove the glass ceiling,
its light spilling in pale ribbons.
She lifted her hand into it—
palm ghost-pale, veins glinting like threads of silver.
Then slowly—
as though remembering how—
she pressed it to her heart.
Her eyes closed.
And then—
The memory returned.
---
She was still in the vault.
A breath from the final line.
I will—
"What are you doing?"
His voice.
She flinched.
Closed the journal.
Stepped past him without meeting his gaze.
"You should rest," she said.
She was almost to the door.
Then—
it came.
"And I will wait forever."
She turned—just slightly.
He was watching the closing vault.
The moonlight cut through steel and laid itself across his face—
and in that breathless sliver of time,
she saw them.
Two full moons
burning
in the hollow of a boy's skull.
---
Zeyla's eyes snapped open.
The moonlight still draped across her.
She whispered—
"And when the silver-eyed waits beneath a burning moon,
let no god call it madness—
for it is only the shape grief takes,
when it refuses to die."
Then—
Her breath caught.
A stillness bloomed behind her eyes,
soft and wet.
And just like that—
Her eyes grew heavy.