The plane touched down in Lahore under a blanket of restless clouds. The city, once radiant in Zahra's memories, now pulsed with an uneasy tension — as if the earth itself held its breath. Wind danced through the narrow alleys, carrying whispers Zahra couldn't decipher.
She stepped onto the tarmac with the Council's staff strapped to her back and the ancient Book pressed tightly against her side. Arif was waiting near the car, his face more somber than usual.
"There's been another incident," he said without greeting. "This time in Shahdara."
Zahra's jaw clenched. "The child?"
Arif nodded. "He hasn't spoken since the mark appeared… but his shadow moves even when he doesn't."
Zahra felt the weight of her role pressing harder with every heartbeat. "Take me to him."
The hospital ward in Shahdara had been cleared. Nurses murmured prayers beneath their breath, and a trembling doctor led them to the sealed room. Behind a glass pane, the boy sat curled on a bed, staring blankly ahead.
Zahra entered.
Instantly, the air grew colder.
The boy looked up, his eyes now dim — like candlelight struggling against a storm.
She knelt beside him. "What's your name?"
His lips didn't move, but Zahra heard a voice inside her mind.
"Yusuf. I'm scared. He's inside."
"Who, Yusuf?"
"The one with teeth. He says he wears bones. He's coming for you."
Zahra gasped.
Arif stepped forward, alarmed. "What is it?"
"The Bone Collector," she whispered.
Without warning, Yusuf screamed — a high, unnatural sound that sent a shiver down Zahra's spine. The mark on his chest flared red. Zahra pressed her hands to his shoulders, chanting verses from the Book.
Golden light spread from her palms. The mark resisted at first, pulsing wildly — but then calmed. The boy collapsed into sleep.
Zahra turned to Arif. "They're embedding marks into the innocent. Vessels. Portals. This isn't possession. It's preparation."
Arif's eyes darkened. "For what?"
"For war."
That night, Zahra met Mufti Rafiq in the shrine district of the old city. They sat beneath the great banyan tree near Data Darbar — a place of power older than the city itself.
Mufti Rafiq placed a stone bowl before her. Inside: ash, bone fragments, and a tiny vial of black liquid.
"The Collector's essence," he explained. "Drawn from a dream-walker who tracked him to Tibet."
Zahra touched the vial. It trembled, then snapped in two — spilling ink-like shadow into the bowl. A cold wind blew through the shrine as the shadows began to swirl.
The flames of nearby lanterns flickered, and the ash lifted into the air, forming a shape — a skeletal figure with glowing red eyes and claws like knives.
"The Bone Collector is not alone," the Mufti said gravely. "He is one of twelve. The Circle of Shadows has existed for centuries. Their return means the Veil is crumbling."
Zahra stood. "Then we hold it."
Mufti Rafiq raised a finger. "Not just with power. With understanding. You must enter the Plane Between."
Zahra froze. The Plane Between—the realm of memory and shadow, where time and space bent. Few ever returned. "That's forbidden. Even the old Guardians never—"
"Your mother did."
Zahra staggered back. "What?"
"She crossed over… and left you the path."
In her apartment that night, Zahra sat in meditation with the book open and the staff laid across her lap.
The pages turned on their own, stopping at a glowing passage:
"The Plane Between lies beneath the breath and beyond the heartbeat. Only through surrender may the Guardian pass."
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
The world faded.
She awoke in a realm unlike any she had seen.
The sky was cracked like broken glass, and rivers of silver light flowed between floating fragments of land. Voices whispered on the wind — familiar and foreign.
A path of black stone appeared beneath her feet, leading to a gate made of mirrors.
Zahra stepped forward.
Reflections surrounded her — visions of herself: young, afraid, angry, and hopeful. Then, one by one, the reflections vanished until only one remained.
Her mother.
Not as a memory, but as a spirit — shimmering, radiant, wrapped in the robes of a Guardian.
"Zahra," her mother spoke softly, "you've come."
Tears welled in Zahra's eyes. "Why did you leave me?"
"I never left. I walked this path so you could finish it."
Zahra reached out, but their hands passed through one another. "What do I do now?"
Her mother pointed toward a floating temple surrounded by shadows. "The Collector waits there. But you are not ready to fight him — not yet. You must unlock what lies within you."
Zahra's hand moved to her heart.
The staff she carried in the physical world materialized in her grip, its crystal tip now glowing.
Her mother smiled. "You are the bridge — healer of body, protector of soul. You must choose what you guard… and what you're willing to lose."
Zahra awoke with a gasp.
The book lay closed beside her.
On her palm was a burn mark — the same shape as the Eye within twelve circles.
Arif burst into the room. "Zahra, it's happening again. The marks are spreading. Seven more cases."
Zahra stood.
"No more waiting."
She dressed in the ceremonial robes gifted by the Council — silver-trimmed, dark blue fabric that shimmered in the light.
"We go to the origin," she said. "Where the first mark appeared."
They arrived at the site in the outskirts of the city — a crumbling shrine hidden in the forest.
Inside, candles flickered despite no wind.
Symbols painted in blood covered the walls. In the center: a pit — a well that descended into darkness.
From below came chanting.
Zahra gripped her staff.
She stepped forward — not as a doctor, not as a student of healing, but as the Guardian she had become.
Beneath the shrine, a network of catacombs stretched endlessly. At the heart, a circle of marked children stood around a central altar — unconscious, but glowing.
And behind them… the Collector.
He turned slowly, his body tall and grotesque, made from twisted bones and stitched flesh. His eyes glowed with hunger.
"So… the Surgeon bleeds light."
Zahra didn't flinch. "And you fear it."
The Collector smiled with rows of jagged teeth. "Your light will flicker. The Circle of Shadows feeds on hope — and you, Guardian, are full of it."
Zahra raised her staff.
Light burst from its tip — forming a protective dome around the children.
The Collector snarled, raising a hand. From the shadows, dark spirits emerged — wraith-like, clawed, whispering in forgotten tongues.
Zahra fought.
Each strike of her staff sent waves of cleansing energy through the catacombs. Shadows screamed, vanishing into smoke.
But the Collector was ancient. Strong.
He charged, swinging with unnatural speed.
Zahra barely deflected him, her staff shattering part of his bone armor.
He staggered back.
"Impressive," he hissed. "But the others will come."
She knelt beside the children, chanting softly.
The marks on their skin faded, one by one.
As the last mark vanished, the altar cracked — the Collector roared in rage, vanishing into a mist of bone and shadow.
Outside, dawn was breaking.
Zahra stood with the rescued children behind her.
Arif approached. "You fought him… and survived."
Zahra's eyes sparkled with light. "We bought time. But not peace. He was only the first."
Mufti Rafiq's voice echoed from behind them.
"And the Circle will not rest until the flame is snuffed."
Zahra turned, a quiet fire in her chest.
"Then let them come."
The Mystic Surgeon had declared war.
And the world was watching.