[The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.] — Socrates

"We have discovered that the one responsible for Mohul's condition and the attempt to poison me possesses the ability to alter people's memories," Azar explained, his tone steady but laced with intensity. "That’s how I believe he has managed to keep his identity hidden from my usual methods of detection." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "However, there’s no need for you to worry. I’ll be able to undo his technique in less than a day. You also don’t need to panic about being controlled or manipulated. This person's strength doesn’t allow him to alter a significant amount of your memories, and whatever damage he does, I can heal and reverse."

"Is this real? Can someone really toy with our minds?" asked a tribesman.

Azar ignored him. "The reason I’m telling you this is simple: I know he’s hiding somewhere within this tribe, and I want him to know that I will have my revenge. By the way, if you come across any dead bodies, inform us immediately—it’s possible he may resort to suicide."

With that, Azar stepped off the platform and headed directly to the house where Mohul rested guarded by his personal guards. Tariq remained behind to manage the aftermath of Azar's words, while Kaira and Khaleb hesitated only a moment before following after Azar.

Behind them the commotion started. Everyone started asking questions, talking with each other and even screaming for answers. But all that was left for Tariq to deal it. They were his fellow tribesmen and as he was once their chief, he had more respect then Azar at the moment.

. . .

"Was saying so much really necessary?" Tariq asked wearily after he joined Azar, Araumir, and his grandchildren at the table, exhausted from trying to calm the fearful crowd.

"I had to make my point clear," Azar replied. "Besides, consider it a mental exercise for the people of Mirha. They need to be aware of the possibilities that exist in this world and not bury their heads in the sand every time something new frightens them."

"I just hope it works," Khaleb said, worry evident in his voice.

"It will," Azar assured him. "If the culprit was completely foolish, we could have caught him right there. Now, he’ll either go after the healer to try and prevent the antidote from being made, he’ll aim to cause as much damage to Mirha as possible, he’ll try to escape, or he’ll take his own life. I believe those are the main options he has left. Our key people and locations are well defended, and the people are on high alert. Araumir’s shadow folks are also patrolling the settlement, moving through walls and shadows, ignoring any barriers of privacy. So now, let's wait and see."

"Have you dealt with similar situations before?" Tariq asked, his curiosity piqued. "You seem to know exactly what to do and what to expect from the man."

"I’ve had my share of experiences in my past lives," Azar replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Tariq nodded, choosing not to delve deeper into Azar’s enigmatic past. Some questions were better left unasked, especially since he found it difficult to understand things.

"So, how long do we have to wait?" Khaleb asked, his impatience showing.

"Relax," Azar said, his voice calm. "If our adversary isn’t the impulsive type, he’ll likely take some time to consider his next move before acting. He may wait until nightfall if he can withstand the fear of me discovering him first."

"Forgive me for asking, but can you really identify him by looking inside Abine’s memories, or not?" Kaira asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

"I can," Azar confirmed, "but to do so would require the use of a limited and highly valuable resource. I won’t do that unless absolutely necessary."

"How can we be sure we’ve caught the right person?" Tariq asked, his concern evident. "What if the culprit can alter his own memory? Worse, what if he kills someone and makes it look like suicide to cover his tracks? After all, the dead can’t speak."

"I must correct you on that," Azar said, taking a sip of his tea. "Even the dead can talk if you know how to ask the right questions."

"You can speak with the dead?" Khaleb asked, startled.

"No," Azar replied firmly, "but I can still get the answers I need."

"I swear I can’t understand anything from you anymore," Khaleb muttered, scratching his head in confusion.

"Stick by my side long enough, and eventually, you will start to understand," Azar said before giving the boy a tight-lipped smile.

Suddenly, an unexpected and terrifying sound shattered the quiet atmosphere—a violent explosion erupted from one of the huts on the outskirts of the settlement. The ground trembled, and the sky darkened with thick plumes of black smoke. The force of the blast sent debris flying through the air, and the acrid scent of burning wood and scorched earth quickly spread.

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Panic engulfed the people of Mirha. Mothers screamed, clutching their children as they fled to safety. Men shouted in confusion, struggling to comprehend what was happening, while others rushed toward the source of the explosion, torn between offering aid and defending against an unseen enemy. The once peaceful tribe descended into chaos, with people pushing and shoving in every direction, their fear palpable.

A second explosion followed almost immediately, this time from the cluster of buildings where the tribe stored their food supplies. The blast tore through the area, leaving nothing but flames and ashes in its wake. The guards defending the storage houses lay dead or injured on the hard ground, shielding their heads with their hands. Two storage houses were completely destroyed, their contents scattered and burning on the ground. The air was thick with the crackling of flames and the desperate cries of those who had lost their belongings—or worse, their loved ones—in the blasts.

"What happened?" Tariq exclaimed, jumping to his feet and preparing to rush outside.

"We’ve found the traitor," Araumir said calmly, receiving telepathic reports from his shadow folks on the scene.

"Grandfather, stay here. I’ll go see what happened," Khaleb shouted as he bolted out the door.

Kaira remained in place, her eyes locked on Azar, who seemed unfazed by the explosions.

"A few houses and two storage rooms have been damaged," Araumir reported. "There are a few deaths and more injuries. My shadows captured the one throwing the bombs as he tried to flee with the crowd."

Azar remained silent, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Did you expect this outcome as well?" Kaira asked.

"No, I’m not a seer," Azar replied. "I don’t predict the future."

"Grandfather, I’m going to help my brother. You stay here," Kaira declared, dashing out after Khaleb.

Tariq remained still, his gaze shifting between the open door and the two people who sat calmly, undisturbed by the chaos unfolding around them.

"It seems the younger generation can handle things," he murmured to himself, finally sitting back down. "But if you’ve captured the traitor, why aren’t we going to confirm he’s the only one?"

"Why should we go to him when he’s already come to us?" Araumir responded, rising from his seat. With a simple gesture, he extended his hand, and from the shadows on the floor, two dark, distorted beings emerged, dragging a man between them. "Say hello to my master." Araumir forced the man to his knees.

Azar, with composed movements, emptied his teacup and placed it back on the table. He rose and approached the kneeling man who was calling forth his flux, struggling in vain against the shadowy grips that held him.

"You won’t get anything from me!" the man shouted, his voice filled with defiance.

Desperation twisted his features as he clenched his jaw, releasing the poison hidden in his mouth. With a swift gulp, he swallowed it, indifferent to the fate that awaited him.

Azar shook his head slowly. "You’re not very considerate of your own well-being," he remarked, his voice calm as he watched the man begin to tremble, blood gushing out his orifices, the poison taking hold.

"What are you doing?" Tariq exclaimed, hurrying toward the man but stopping short, fearful of being affected by the poison himself. "Damn it, you should’ve stopped him! How are we going to confirm who he is now?" he demanded, turning to Azar.

Both Azar and Araumir exchanged a glance, their expressions tinged with mockery.

"We’ll wait for him to die," Azar said to Tariq, calmly returning to his seat. "And you might want to call someone to clean the floor—it’s going to get bloody."

"You… Ah." Tariq sighed in frustration, abandoning the argument. He cast one last glance at the suffering man before stepping back. "So you can still get information from him, even after he’s dead?"

"I’ve answered that question before," Azar said, pouring himself another cup of tea. "I won’t do it twice."

Tariq stood silently for a moment, then decided to notify the guards outside to bring someone to handle the cleanup. Meanwhile, one of the shadow folks handed Araumir a round object, the size of a child’s fist—similar to the one he threw in the sky at the Sarabi tribe.

"Master?" Araumir said, presenting the object to Azar.

"This is what caused the explosions," Azar noted.

"What is that?" Tariq asked after returning.

"Never seen one before?" Azar responded. "It’s from your time, not mine."

Tariq shook his head.

"It’s a type of bomb," Azar explained. "The design is similar to the crystal bombs from my time, but the quality is much better."

"Where did this brat get it from?" Tariq asked, glancing at the lifeless body on the floor. The man seemed to be around thirty—a mere brat in Tariq’s eyes.

"Give me a few minutes, and I might be able to tell you," Azar said, signaling the shadow folks to lift the body.

He opened the dead man’s eyelids and stared into the black pupils, activating his mind-reading technique. As the seconds ticked by, Tariq nervously kneaded his hands, waiting for Azar to finish whatever he was doing.

Suddenly, Azar’s body swayed, and Araumir rushed to support him. Blinking rapidly to clear his blurred vision, Azar took a deep breath and re-entered the man’s mind. Araumir kept a close watch on his master’s condition, the irregular breathing making him uneasy. He was well aware of the dangers of overusing the mind-reading technique, but he trusted that Azar knew his own limits. At least, that’s what Araumir hoped.

"Ha." Azar’s eyes fluttered shut as soon as his awareness returned. "Hahaha, it’s so funny. It’s actually hilarious. What were the chances?" he muttered to himself.

"Master?" Araumir asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Azar Syed, have you learned something?" Tariq inquired.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be fine," Azar reassured Araumir. "And yes, I’ve learned something—something quite interesting."

"Can you share it with us?" Tariq asked, curiosity piqued.

"Let’s wait for everyone to return first," Azar replied, allowing Araumir to help him back to his seat.

About fifteen minutes passed before Khaleb and Kaira returned. In that time, Azar remained silent, his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing—the only sign of life in his pale, almost lifeless body.

"Azar Syed, everyone is here," Tariq announced, motioning for his grandchildren to sit quietly around the table.

Azar lazily opened his eyes. "This man, Dakar by name, was one of your warriors. A true member of the Mirha tribe—and a spy for the Scorpion’s Order. All you need to know for now is that from what we’ve learned from the Sarabians and this man, the organization known as the Scorpion’s Order poses a threat to all the tribes. And for reasons unknown to me, they seem particularly focused on the Mirha tribe. Through his fluxolit, this man was ordered to kill Mohul. And after reporting my and Araumir’s involvement in the Calabi’s failed attempt on Mohul’s life, he was also tasked with eliminating us as well."