A week had passed since the messenger vanished into ash.
And yet, the Eye remained.
It appeared everywhere.
In coffee spills, in machine prints, in dreams. Nurses whispered about it. Patients drew it without knowing why.
It had no voice. But its silence screamed.
Zahra knew what it meant: the next gate was opening.
And she now had a destination.
"A place where bones do not decay…"
She spent nights researching burial grounds beneath the city—ancient ones.
That's when she found it.
A hidden network of pre-Islamic catacombs under the old city cemetery—long forgotten.
Scholars avoided discussing it. Locals called it Sann-e-Khaamoshi — The Silence Beneath.
And deep within it, legend spoke of a sealed tomb that had never been disturbed.
Until now.
Zahra and Arif prepared in secret.
They took Qur'anic protections, salt, torches, climbing gear, and a map based on archaeological dig reports from the 1980s.
Mufti Rafiq handed Zahra a small bottle.
"Olive oil blessed on the 27th night of Ramadan," he said. "If the shadows breathe, burn them with light."
She nodded, heart thudding.
"This isn't just a burial chamber," he warned. "It's a prison."
Arif added, "And someone wants it opened."
At midnight, they entered the graveyard.
The wind was still. Even the trees didn't move.
Following the map, they found a cracked mausoleum near the edge of the graveyard—covered in moss, nameless.
Behind it: a stone trapdoor hidden beneath layers of mud.
They pried it open.
A deep, cold breath of air rose from below.
Zahra whispered, "Here we go."
And they descended into the Silence Beneath.
The catacombs were vast.
Carved tunnels stretched in all directions, bone-lined, their walls etched with strange patterns.
Not Islamic. Not pagan.
Just… old.
Older than language.
As they moved deeper, time seemed to slow.
Their watches stopped. Sound muffled. Even Zahra's thoughts felt muted, like someone was dampening her mind.
They passed ancient graves with names erased.
Then they reached a door of black stone—sealed by rusted chains.
The Eye symbol was carved in the center.
Zahra reached out.
The moment she touched it, her mind flashed:
A man screaming as darkness swallowed him…
A child with no face, weeping beside a corpse…
A city underground, where no birds fly…
And a whisper: "The Healer must bleed."
She gasped and pulled back.
Arif grabbed her. "What did you see?"
"Something… trapped. Something waiting."
They broke the chains and pushed the door open.
Inside was a large chamber with a single stone coffin in the center—untouched by time.
Around it: twelve statues, cloaked and faceless, each holding a blade made of bone.
At the foot of the tomb, carved in flawless Arabic:
"Here lies the One Who Refused to Die.
May his breath never rise.
May his name never be spoken. **"
Zahra's knees buckled.
The room pulsed like a living heart.
"This isn't a grave," she whispered. "It's a containment cell."
Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the tunnels.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something ancient… waking.
The torches flickered.
The statues turned their heads—just slightly.
Zahra screamed. "They moved!"
The coffin began to glow from within.
Arif shouted, "We have to go. Now!"
But as they turned to run, the door slammed shut behind them.
The temperature dropped.
Zahra held up the bottle of blessed oil.
The glow from the coffin intensified—then it cracked open from within.
A hand reached out.
Skinless. Bone wrapped in dark flesh. Fingers ending in claws, not nails.
Zahra's ears filled with whispers.
A voice inside her head spoke:
"You healed what was broken.
Now heal what should have stayed dead."
She fell to her knees, blood dripping from her nose.
The being rose from the tomb.
Tall. Not fully formed. Shifting shape as it stood—first a man, then a child, then a beast.
Arif shielded her. "Stay back!"
The creature spoke—not aloud, but inside their minds:
"You thought you sealed the doctor.
But you only opened the path for me."
Zahra recognized it.
This wasn't just a spirit.
It was the origin.
The thing Iftikhar had been trying to copy.
The one who gave him his forbidden knowledge.
The First Patient.
Arif recited Surah Al-Hashr, his voice shaking.
Zahra opened the bottle and threw the oil toward the being.
Light exploded.
The creature screamed—its body caught in golden fire.
The statues began to crumble.
The chamber shook.
Stones fell from the ceiling.
Zahra grabbed Arif's hand. "Now!"
They ran toward the back of the tomb—where a collapsed tunnel hinted at a way out.
Behind them, the First Patient howled as fire tore through its form.
But not before it spoke one final prophecy:
"The gate has opened.
The souls are rising.
The healer will burn in her own light."
They escaped into the night, gasping, hands bloodied.
The trapdoor above them sealed with a heavy thud—as if the earth had closed itself.
Zahra stared at the stars.
They looked closer now.
And one of them blinked.
Back at Noor General, things were different.
All newborns born that week had the Eye symbol faintly marked on their skin.
Machines read false heartbeats—like echoes of something underground.
Zahra stood in the children's ward, watching a baby sleep peacefully.
And then… he whispered her name.
In her mind.
She looked down at him.
He opened his eyes.
And they glowed faintly gold.