Usman returned to the corridor outside Princess Nayab's chamber, his eyes scanning every corner in anticipation of seeing Qasim—but the space stood eerily empty. Qasim was gone.
Worry surged through him as he began his search, pacing the palace corridors, gardens, and courtyards with increasing desperation. He called out Qasim's name under his breath, looked behind curtains, and even checked the palace guardrooms. But no trace. It was as though Qasim had vanished into thin air.
Then, suddenly—his eyes caught something. A pool of crimson stained the pale marble floor just a few steps away from the edge of the hallway.
Blood.
His heart skipped a beat.
A cold shiver ran down his spine as he knelt beside it. It's him, Usman thought immediately. This has to be Qasim's blood—who else could it be? He was already bleeding when we last saw him.
Usman, driven by panic and instinct, quickly grabbed a nearby cloth and began wiping away the blood. He could not allow anyone else to see it—not yet. Not until he understood what had happened. Not until he was ready.
He scrubbed the floor clean, erasing the only evidence that a tragedy may have just unfolded. When he was done, not a single drop remained. The stone was spotless. As if nothing had ever happened there.He thinks that I will not get a better chance than this to kill Qasim But Now i just need to Clear The Bloood.
No one must know. Not now.
Usman composed himself and turned to Abdullah, whose face was darkened with rage. His voice cracked with authority and fury.
"He's missing again," Usman muttered.
Abdullah's patience snapped. He grabbed Usman by the collar, shaking with rage.
"If you find him and bring him back—and punish him with your own hands—I swear I'll make you commander of this entire army. But he was supposed to protect her! He was supposed to stay by my daughter's side! And now, neither she is fine… nor her friend."is anywhere.
His voice grew heavier, filled with betrayal.
"He said he was a capable soldier… and I—I trusted him blindly. But both he and his friend turned out to be traitors. They never knew what it meant to serve. They deserve punishment!"
And yet, even in his anger, Usman saw it—the same Abdullah who once claimed, "I will accept whatever comes…"—was now repeating the same mistakes. Making the same Angry decisions.
Flashback – The Book of Darkness
At that same time, far from the palace, Hashim stood in a dense, hidden corner of the desert—when he gets separated from Qasim, Yusuf, and the Princess.
A strange silence hung in the air. In front of him, resting on a flat stone, was a single book. Bound in an ancient black leather cover, almost unnatural in texture—its aura cold, as if the shadows themselves had inked it.
He approached it slowly. Pain radiated through his body, each step heavier than the last. His fingers trembled as he reached for the book.
" Naqsh-e-Zawal " (symbol of ruin)
He opened it.
On the very first page, a strange line had been inscribed:
"This book is part of another… it was separated long ago."
Hashim's eyes narrowed in confusion. What could this mean?
He turned the page. His heart beat faster.
The next page was covered in symbols, written in an ancient language. But he recognized it. His uncle had taught him many forbidden tongues—languages whispered in fear, long buried in dust and death. He began to read.
"When truth abandons you…
When goodness betrays you…
Only then must you choose the path of darkness."
Hashim's breath quickened. He flipped another page—blank. But as he turned back, the second page now bore new words, as though the book were alive, responding to his thoughts.
"This book is cursed.
To read it, to use it, is to accept that you no longer wish to be good.
You will become powerful—not to heal, but to destroy.
Through it, you can erase your shame, silence your enemies, and kill those who look down upon you.
But there is one condition.
You must spill the blood of a truly cruel man onto this book.
Only then will its power awaken."
"That blood," the final line read, "will not give you justice.
It will make you into a monster…
But you will have only one chance.
Kill, or be killed."
Hashim stood there, breathing heavily.
His mind raced—images of Qasim, the masked man, Abdullah, Usman—all of them flashed before his eyes.
They all think I'm weak. They look down on me… mock me… treat me like nothing.
He clenched his fists.
But not anymore.
He would get revenge. On each and every one of them.
But for that… he needed the blood of a tyrant. And he knew just what to do.
Pain surged through his limbs as he stood. His face, once strikingly handsome, now bore marks—scars from recent incident One below the eye. One across his cheek. Another above his brow. The beauty of his face had been replaced by the cold mask of vengeance.
He raised both hands to the sky and shouted into the empty woods—
"From this moment forward… I shall claim my revenge."
He named it:
"Khaab-e-Zulmaat" – The Dream of Darkness.
Though limping, barely able to walk, he began his slow march—toward Baghdad.
And as fate would have it, in the distance, he saw a soldier's horse—tied to a tree. The same soldier who once rode beside the Princess.
A cruel smile spread across his scarred lips.
"Even in death, you will serve me," he whispered.
And he moved forward—dragging the curse of the black book along with him.
As he read the first two pages of the Naqsh-e-Zawal, his mind began to feel unbearably heavy—almost like a storm of darkness had erupted within him. The words on the pages were blurry, not because he couldn't read them, but because his thoughts were no longer grounded in reality. He couldn't truly understand what he was reading anymore. Nothing made sense—except one thing.
One single, obsessive thought had seized his entire being:
"No matter what happens… no matter how… I must spill blood on this book. Only then can I continue reading it."
That was it. That was all he could think.
Logic had abandoned him. Doubt was gone. And any sense of morality had drowned in the rising flood of vengeance.
A storm of revenge had taken hold of his mind—a violent, burning madness that clouded every other emotion. The pages of the book no longer seemed like mere parchment… they felt like portals to something dark, something ancient, something forbidden.
His body was in pain, yet he did not feel it.
His heart beat faster, yet he did not notice.
He could no longer feel like a human being.
It was as if the person he once was had faded—died quietly somewhere deep inside him.
And in that moment, standing there, half-broken, with scars across his once-beautiful face…
He whispered to himself… not the name he was born with…
"From this moment on… I am no longer Hashim."
"I am… Khaab-e-Zulmaat."
The Dream of Darkness.
That wasn't just a name.
It was a rebirth.
A transformation.
A declaration that the boy who was once looked down upon…
Had now embraced the shadows.
Caution must Read This!
This story does not promote or support any evil, satanic, or dark magical elements. The appearance of any such concept is purely symbolic and fictional, used only to enhance the emotional and moral depth of the characters.
The book mentioned within the story is not a magical or demonic book, but rather a metaphor for inner darkness, personal choices, and the ongoing battle between truth and deception. The central theme of this novel is the journey of a character named Hashim, as he transforms into a villain—not because of any supernatural force, but because of his own internal struggles, pain, and decisions.
This is purely a work of fiction, meant to explore human emotions, consequences of choices, and the thin line between good and evil. Please do not interpret any part of this novel as promoting harmful ideologies.
Thank you for reading with an open mind and heart.
— Sabir Ali
Author of The Kabul Chronicles