A man broken by his thoughts, his mind his greatest foe,

Jack sets forth on a journey to where the other winds blow.

But listen closely, readers, for in this arc lies a twist,

The final villain emerges soon — one you surely won’t have missed.

Finally onto a man named Elias, a poet with secrets untold,

His story unravels, a mystery bold.

Ties hidden, a past cloaked in shadow’s embrace,

But what truly haunts him? What masks his face?

The crew readies themselves, not for armies or war,

But battles within—struggles that cut to the core.

The journey begins, the world’s truth to expose,

Brace yourselves, readers—this tale only grows.

As the crew set off before sunrise, the atmosphere in the car was sluggish. Everyone—Jack, Khonsu, Henu Safir, Ramon, Yune Noya, Kamil, and Kasib—sat inside, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Meanwhile, the sailors rode alongside them on horseback, just as tired but equally determined.

Henu broke the silence, his tone inquisitive. “So, this version of the car... it’s not the latest one, is it?”

Kamil, still half-asleep, replied, “No, Commander. This is the first version. It’s slower and doesn’t really have any advantages in combat.”

Henu nodded, looking out at the desert that stretched before them. The ride soon became bumpier as they transitioned from the palace roads to the uneven dunes.

Miles away, in a tranquil riverside town, a man lay on the soft grass near a floating river of crystal-clear water. His hands rested behind his head, and a scarf shielded his eyes from the sun.

From behind him, a merchant called out, “Elias! I’ve got some vegetables that didn’t sell today. Want them for the hotel to cook?”

Without moving, Elias reached for a piece of parchment and scribbled a reply:

“Those who rest in beds I own,

Deserve the finest ever known.

Fresh fruits and meals, a rightful share,

To serve them less would be unfair.

Their trust in me, I won’t betray,

And so, your offer, I turn away.”

The merchant read the note and sighed. “All right, all right. Let me know if you’re interested when something fresh comes in.” With that, he wandered off.

Back in the car, the conversation had taken a lively turn.

“NO WAY!” Ramon suddenly shouted, startling everyone.

“What’s with the yelling?” Kamil asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ramon pointed dramatically at Henu. “Are we really staying with Elias Solen? The Pen of Blood?”

Henu chuckled. “That’s what I said.”

“I’ve read all his poetry!” Ramon exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “Every single one! Never missed any!”

Kamil smirked. “The Pen of Blood, huh? He’s famous, sure, but I heard he hasn’t released anything new recently.”

Kasib chimed in, unimpressed. “You people actually line up outside to buy poetry?”

“It’s not just poetry—it’s art,” Ramon shot back defensively.

Henu joked, “I’m surprised you even read, Ramon.”

The group burst into laughter, Kamil chuckling the loudest.

Jack, intrigued, asked, “Why him specifically, though?”

Henu explained, “He runs the only guesthouse in that area, and it’s well-known for its quality. Plus, he offered us a good deal.”

Yune sighed skeptically. “Commander, I don’t trust your pricing skills. Last time, you spent thirty gold coins on pearls that turned out to be fake.”

“THIRTY GOLD COINS?!” Ramon’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Hey, shut it. That was a mistake!” Henu snapped, trying to save face.

The group’s laughter resumed, lightening the mood despite the rough terrain.

As the sun began to set, Henu added a final warning. “We’ll reach the guesthouse before nightfall, but stay alert. These routes are notorious for bandits and dangerous animals.”

Yune smirked. “Aren’t those two the same thing?”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the bustling town of Coptos, the crew finally arrived. Dust kicked up by the car’s wheels settled as Henu stepped out, stretching his arms with a groan.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Oh, my legs hurt,” Jack complained as he swung the car door shut. “We really need to make the car more comfortable... maybe fit more people too.”

Stretching alongside him, Kamil replied, “Yeah, the newer model fixed that, but we couldn’t exactly hand that one over to the Nubian Kingdom, could we?”

Before their banter could continue, Ramon leaped from the car, his excitement impossible to contain. “We’re here! Finally! Elias Solen, my favorite poet—this is going to be amazing!”

“Ramon!” Yune snapped, shooting him an annoyed look. “Go grab the bags. You need something to do, or you’ll be too energetic and wont sleep later.”

As Ramon reluctantly picked up a bag, Noya smirked and crept up behind Yune. “Hey, Yune, look at this!” he said mischievously, opening his hands to reveal a squirming frog.

Yune screamed, “AHHH!” and jumped back, glaring at Noya while everyone else laughed.

“Ugh, you idiots love messing around,” he muttered angrily, delivering a swift kick to Noya’s back. “Get to work!”

Their antics were cut short as the door to a large, modest home opened. Out stepped a man clad in pure white robes, his presence serene yet commanding.

Ramon wasted no time, rushing forward to shake his hand. “Elias Solen! I’m your biggest fan! I’ve read all your poetry and can’t wait to learn more from you!”

Elias, with a faint smile, replied in his signature poetic cadence:

“Those who read my work deserve peace,

Those who support my poetry, health increase.

And you, my friend, as fate may prove,

Look like a man who deserves deep love.”

Ramon’s eyes sparkled with admiration, but Henu promptly shoved him aside. “Alright, enough of that,” Henu said, stepping forward. “We booked two rooms. Ten of us will share each one.”

Elias nodded gracefully, replying in verse:

“Our contract stays, our promise unbending,

I give you my word, with service unending.

The best you’ll receive, no less than the best,

With honour and care, I’ll handle the rest.”

Khonsu, standing in the back, leaned toward Kamil and whispered, “Why does he say everything in poetry? It’s... weird.”

Kamil shrugged. “I guess it’s just his style.”

The town of Coptos basked in the gentle glow of twilight, a picture of tranquillity. People moved about with a calm contentment that seemed almost surreal. Children laughed and played in the streets, their joy infectious, while the nearby river gleamed under the fading light, its pure blue waters reflecting the last hues of the setting sun.

Mothers washed dishes by the open windows of their homes, their chatter mingling with the soft hum of the evening breeze. Fathers meticulously prepared their tools for the next day’s labor, sharpening blades or oiling wooden handles. An old man sat outside his modest home, sipping a warm bowl of soup as he gazed up at the stars beginning to twinkle above.

Near the town square, a young man carried heavy wooden pillars on his shoulders, his cheerful grin lighting up the faces of passersby. He stopped to help an elderly woman carry her basket, exchanging warm words and laughter. The town was alive with the harmony of ordinary lives—a peaceful rhythm that lulled the night into being.

But beneath this serene facade, a truth lay buried.

The stone hadn’t been turned yet...

The crew settled into their rooms, finding them spacious and comfortable. After dropping off their belongings, they changed into more relaxed clothing and gathered in the large kitchen for dinner. Despite accommodating 20 people, the space felt welcoming and warm.

As they were finishing their meal, Ramon turned to Elias with curiosity.

“So, Mr. Elias, do you live alone?”

Elias’s expression softened into sorrow, his voice heavy with emotion as he replied:

“My family, a bond I held so dear,

Mother, father, sister, always near.

But fate was cruel on the eastern climb,

Bandits struck, stealing their time.

An unfortunate end, their lives were torn,

Leaving me behind, shattered and worn.

Yet their memory lingers, a light in the night,

Guiding my steps, keeping hope in sight.”

“Oh… that’s really sad to hear,” Ramon replied hesitantly, feeling the weight of Elias’s words.

Kamil, always inquisitive, followed up, “Is that why you stopped writing poetry?”

Elias nodded, his voice tinged with a bittersweet tone:

“The poetry I craft comes from my core,

A reflection of fate, of what I endure.

Each word I write is a piece of me,

A mirror of truth for the world to see.

Not many know the tales I weave,

Nor the reasons my lines might deceive.

So, I opened this guest house, humble and kind,

A pastime, a purpose, and peace for the mind.”

Khonsu and Noya exchanged puzzled looks before turning to Kamil. “What does he mean by that?” they asked.

Kamil thought for a moment before interpreting, “I think his poetry was deeply personal, reflecting his life and struggles. But people didn’t understand it, so they didn’t support it. That’s probably why he started running this guest house—to keep himself busy and make a living.”

“Am I right?” Kamil asked Elias.

Elias smiled faintly, his poetic cadence returning:

“The words that left your lips were pure,

A truth so raw, so clear, so sure.”

Jack, however, watched Elias closely. Leaning toward Kamil, Ramon, and Kasib, he whispered, “I think he’s dealing with mental trauma. It’s probably from everything he’s been through.”

“What do you mean, mental trauma?” Ramon asked, confused.

Jack explained, “It’s when something terrible happens to someone, and it affects their mind. It’s like… a wound, but for your thoughts and emotions.”

“Right,” Kamil agreed. “And there’s no easy fix for that, I presume?”

“In my time, we’d have medicine to help calm him down,” Jack replied. “But here… unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do.”

Elias stood up suddenly, ready to retire for the night. Before leaving, he spoke with his usual poetic grace:

“I pray you rest in peace tonight,

Let dreams embrace you, soft and light.

Tomorrow’s journey may test your will,

But sleep shall grant you strength and still.

Let not this home weigh on your mind,

Leave questions, doubts, and fears behind.

Stay safe within the maze of thought,

For peace is found where worry is not.”

With that, he bowed slightly and left the room, leaving the crew in thoughtful silence.

As Elias walked down the dimly lit corridor, his steps slowed, and he came to a stop before a locked door. His gaze fixed on it, unwavering, as though drawn by an invisible force. He stood there, motionless, his face shadowed by an expression of guilt and sorrow.

Jack, leaning back from his seat to catch a glimpse of Elias, froze when he saw the poet’s still figure. Something about the way Elias stared at the door unsettled him deeply.

"What’s he looking at?" Jack’s mind raced. Years of navigating dangerous and unpredictable situations had honed his instincts, and now, they screamed that something was off. "Why do I feel like there’s something very wrong in this house? I need to dig deeper."

The thought lingered as Jack considered his next move. If he used his powers and touched Elias, he might be able to read his memories and uncover whatever secret weighed so heavily on the man. But as Jack prepared to rise and approach him, Elias suddenly vanished from the corridor, disappearing into the shadows as if he had never been there.

Jack sat back down, his mind now set. "I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll leave no stone unturned."