The morning after the fall of the Gate was deceptively quiet.
Noor General Hospital had resumed its daily rhythm — the distant murmur of footsteps echoed through the sterile hallways, nurses exchanged hushed conversations in the corners, and the constant beeping of monitors kept the fragile pulse of life steady. Yet, beneath this normalcy, Zahra sensed a tremor in the air — an unseen tension that clung to every shadow.
She sat quietly by Arif's bedside, his breathing steady but shallow. His body had healed physically, but the faint glow that hovered around him, like a fading ember, unsettled her deeply. The darkness that had tried to consume him had left a scar not on his flesh, but on his very spirit — a mark only she could sense, though its meaning was shrouded in mystery.
Her fingers gently brushed his hair back, but her mind raced ahead, unable to rest. Who were these Marked Ones? What was the Circle Mufti Rafiq had spoken of? Questions piled up as her phone buzzed sharply against the sterile hospital sheets.
The message was from Mufti Rafiq:"They've awakened. Cairo. Istanbul. Lahore. The Marked Ones are rising. You must come to the Circle."
Her heart clenched at the words. The Marked Ones — a name whispered in ancient legends, but until now, nothing more than myth. She quickly typed back, "What is the Circle?"
The reply was immediate, as if the answer was waiting:"The Guardians who remain. The world is unsealing. And you're at the center."
Zahra stared at the screen, her breath catching. She was at the center. Not just a healer or a doctor — but something far greater.
By dusk, Zahra found herself on a plane bound for Istanbul, arranged through the labyrinthine network of Mufti Rafiq's contacts. The city greeted her beneath a violet twilight sky, where the ancient met the modern in a delicate dance. A tall figure, cloaked and silent, awaited her at the airport. His eyes, dark pools reflecting centuries of knowledge and pain, held her gaze without words.
He handed her a sealed envelope, heavy with promise and danger.
Inside, she found a symbol she knew well — the Eye, encircled by twelve rings. Below, a single phrase: "The Council of the Veil awaits."
Meanwhile, in Lahore…
A crowded market bustled with life — the calls of vendors, the chatter of shoppers, and the scent of spices thick in the air. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the noise. A young boy, no older than ten, collapsed onto the cobblestone street, his small chest glowing an unnatural red and black.
The crowd froze in terror as the strange symbols burned across his skin like searing tattoos, twisting and pulsing with a sinister energy. His eyes, once bright and innocent, had turned an abyssal black.
In a voice foreign to his own, cold and distant, he whispered:
"The gate is open. The saints have fallen. The Surgeon must bleed."
Before anyone could react, the boy collapsed, unconscious.
News of the incident did not reach Zahra immediately, but the world was shifting beneath her feet. Ancient seals once thought eternal were cracking, and the shadows were stirring once more.
Back in Istanbul
Beneath the towering grandeur of the Hagia Sophia, deep in tunnels forgotten by time, twelve figures gathered. The air was thick with incense and the hum of power.
Each member of the Circle of the Veil radiated a unique energy — some serene and calm, others burning with fierce intensity. They stood in a circle, eyes fixed on Zahra as she stepped into their midst.
Mufti Rafiq stood beside them, his usual calm replaced by a grave intensity.
"Zahra of the Noor Line," an elderly woman's voice, thick with power and age, broke the silence. "You carry the Book. You have faced the Gate. But do you truly understand who you are?"
Zahra swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "I am… a healer."
The old woman stepped closer and pressed a small, glowing coin to Zahra's forehead. In an instant, visions exploded behind her closed eyes — battles fought under scorching deserts, ancient ruins crumbling beneath dark skies, oceans raging with the fury of spirits, and skies torn apart by mystical storms.
"You are the Last Flame," the woman intoned solemnly. "The final Guardian of the balance. And they are coming to extinguish you."
Zahra's breath hitched. The weight of destiny pressed heavier than ever.
A New Threat Emerges: The Bone Collector
Far to the northeast, in the shadowed highlands of Tibet, a dark cave pulsed with an eerie crimson light. The walls were carved with ancient runes, barely visible beneath layers of ice and dust.
From the shadows emerged a figure tall and grotesque. His flesh was a patchwork of corpses sewn together, eyes burning with a hunger that transcended life or death.
The Bone Collector, the first of the dreaded Twelve Shadowed Ones, had awakened.
"Bring me… the Surgeon," he hissed, voice like grinding bones.
His dark laughter echoed through the cave, promising death and destruction to come.
Zahra's Resolve
Back in the tunnels beneath Istanbul, the council presented Zahra with a new staff — unlike any ordinary weapon. Crafted from crystal and silver, it hummed with the power of generations of Guardians who had come before her.
This was no longer a battle confined to Noor General Hospital. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders.
Turning to Mufti Rafiq, she asked with steady determination, "Where do we begin?"
He looked toward the east, shadows flickering across his face. "Lahore. The Marked Ones are multiplying. Time is running out."
As the plane lifted off into the star-speckled night, Zahra stared at her reflection in the window. No longer just a woman burdened by secret powers — she was a warrior, a protector, a storm gathering strength.
The Mystic Surgeon had risen.
And the Circle of Shadows was waiting.