The city of Lahore groaned under a restless sky.
A strange energy had taken hold of the air—thick and trembling, like the last breath before a storm. Zahra stood in the courtyard of the Wazir Khan Mosque, its intricate mosaics glowing faintly under the moonlight, the Book of Veils clutched tightly to her chest. Behind her, Arif watched silently, hand resting on the new staff given by the Circle of the Veil. They were not here for prayer. They were here for war.
"The tremors are getting stronger," Arif murmured. "The last pulse nearly cracked the eastern dome."
Zahra nodded. "The seal is weakening faster than we thought."
Mufti Rafiq stepped beside them, his cloak soaked from the sudden downpour that had started and stopped twice since they arrived. His eyes scanned the skies. "This isn't just rain. These are echoes—reverberations from the chain site."
"The Chains of Ar-Ruh?" Zahra asked.
He nodded. "One of the original prisons. Hidden beneath Lahore. It held one of the worst of the Twelve—Malik Al-Kufr, the Whisperer of Despair."
Zahra's hand clenched the book. "And the chains?"
"Forged by saints. Melted from the remnants of Solomon's ring. They were meant to last forever." His voice lowered. "But forever has grown weak."
Thunder rumbled as if to agree.
Beneath the city...
A child wandered into the old sewer paths, following a voice only he could hear. His feet moved without will. He passed bricks etched with forgotten prayers and walls that wept black water. Then he stopped—facing a massive iron door covered in decayed chains.
From the other side, something laughed.
The child lifted his palm.
A strange glow spread from it—deep red, a symbol burned into his skin: half-eye, half-serpent.
The chains groaned.
One link snapped.
And then another.
Back above...
A tremor shook the mosque courtyard.
Zahra stumbled. The book flew open by itself, pages fluttering wildly before landing on a symbol: a serpent consuming its own tail.
She gasped. "It's happening now."
Mufti Rafiq's eyes blazed. "We must reach the underground vault."
"But it's sealed—"
"Not anymore."
He held out a map made of faded parchment, revealed only to the Last Guardian. "The gate lies beneath Shahi Guzargah. But once entered, we will not be the only ones down there."
Without waiting, Zahra, Arif, and Rafiq took to the streets—moving through the winding alleys of the old city, past closed shops, silent courtyards, and stray cats who hissed at nothing Zahra could see.
Each step they took, the sky grew darker, tinged not with night but with shadow.
At the entrance to the vault, they found blood.
Fresh.
And laughter.
Inside the Vault of Ar-Ruh...
They stepped into darkness that breathed.
The tunnels beneath were vast—old sandstone and brick walls laced with verses from ancient tongues. The air was humid, the scent of jasmine mixing with rot.
As they moved deeper, Zahra felt it—pressure against her ribs, as though her lungs were being crushed by invisible hands.
"Do you hear it?" Arif asked.
Zahra nodded. A low whisper filled the air—not in words, but emotions: sorrow, rage, and abandonment.
Then they saw the chains.
They hung from the ceiling like dying vines—some broken, others melting. In the center of the chamber lay a circle etched in silver, and inside it—
A man.
Or what once was.
His body was thin, his skin grey and cracked. Horns sprouted from his temples. His eyes were pits of emptiness, and from his mouth came a soft chant that made Zahra's heart ache:
"There is no light... There is no sky... There is only the fall..."
Mufti Rafiq stepped forward. "Malik Al-Kufr. Do you remember me?"
The creature smiled.
"I remember her," it said, turning its gaze to Zahra. "The Flame. The Ash. The one who watches."
Zahra raised her staff. "You broke your prison."
"I didn't," it hissed. "He did."
Suddenly, the air screamed.
From the walls, shadows surged—creatures made of bone and ash, teeth like needles, eyes dripping darkness. They lunged at Zahra and her companions.
"Defensive circle!" Rafiq shouted.
Zahra swung the staff, light flashing from its tip—each movement cutting through the creatures like slicing mist. Arif's hand glowed blue, casting barriers that shimmered under the onslaught.
But the creatures kept coming.
Dozens. Then hundreds.
"They're not real!" Zahra shouted. "They're manifestations—emotions made flesh!"
"How do we stop them?" Arif yelled, barely holding the shield.
"We don't."
She dropped the staff.
And closed her eyes.
The Book of Veils flew open, and from its pages came a voice—not hers, not Rafiq's, but hundreds speaking as one.
"O Guardian, in whom the Flame resides..."
Light erupted from her chest—pure, golden, eternal.
The shadows screamed.
They melted.
The chamber went still.
Malik Al-Kufr snarled, his form cracking. "You cannot stop what has begun. The Circle falls. The Bone Collector hunts. And the Eye—" he choked—"the Eye has blinked."
Zahra stepped forward, placing a hand on the silver circle. "Sleep again, Malik. Your whisper is not louder than my purpose."
A final chant rose from the Book.
Chains, rebuilt from light, burst from the walls—wrapping the creature tighter than before. It wailed once—and then was silent.
Later... at the Circle's Outpost in Lahore
The underground fight had drained Zahra. Her body ached, her soul heavier than ever.
But there was no rest.
A call came from Cairo: one of the Circle's oldest shrines had been desecrated.
And in Karachi, a Guardian had vanished—only her staff left behind, stained with black tears.
Zahra sat alone, watching the candle flicker on the windowsill.
Arif entered quietly. "They're planning something. A coordinated rise."
Zahra nodded. "Malik's words... 'The Eye has blinked.' What does that mean?"
Arif hesitated. Then he pulled out an old photograph—one Zahra had never seen.
It showed a young girl.
Zahra.
Next to her, a woman who looked just like her, but older—fiercer—eyes like starlight.
"Your mother," Arif said. "Not just a doctor. Not just a healer."
Zahra touched the photo. Her memories were faint and blurry.
"She was the First Flame," Arif continued. "And she... sealed something inside you. Something no one else has."
Zahra's breath caught.
The book flipped pages.
A symbol appeared: a double circle around a burning eye.
And beneath it: "When the Eye blinks, the world forgets truth."
Far away...
The Bone Collector stood in a graveyard of stars—somewhere between dimensions.
He reached into the soil and pulled out a skull that wept.
"Twelve," he whispered. "Twelve flames to smother."
He turned.
Behind him stood a girl with black eyes.
A Marked One.
Ready.