The night passed over the people with serenity and peace, but it struck Ibrahim like a violent storm, shattering every pillar of his life. He sat on the floor in the corner of the room, holding the child in his arms, his eyes clouded and lost in an ocean of shock and sorrow. Before him lay Emily's lifeless body on the bed, peaceful as if she were sleeping, yet the tears that had pooled on her face betrayed a different truth. Her final tears seemed to speak to him silently, saying:

"Father… avenge me."

Ibrahim was paralyzed, unable to comprehend or believe what had happened. Each passing moment felt like another dagger plunging into his exhausted heart. Every time he looked at Emily, he saw her life slipping away before his very eyes.

On the other side of the room, Serena knelt beside her sister's lifeless body, clutching her hand with desperation, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. Her voice rose in a wail, a mixture of anguish and bitterness:

"Emily! Wake up, my sister! Don’t leave me alone… My sister! My sister!"

But her cries echoed into a hollow void. No response, no movement. Emily had departed.

Ibrahim slowly raised his head, his eyes empty of expression, yet his chest felt unbearably heavy. He looked at Serena, who was drowning in her grief, and spoke in a barely audible voice:

"Serena… stop, that’s enough. Emily is gone. Crying won't bring her back."

But his words did not reach her shattered heart; instead, they only made her tears flow more intensely. Her cries tore through the stillness of the night as if pleading for her sister to return, to open her eyes once more, to hold her hand as she always had.

Ibrahim’s gaze returned to the lifeless body. The frozen tears on Emily's face reopened a wound in his heart that would never heal. He felt as if something inside him had broken forever. Trembling, he lifted the child once more, his hands shaking under the weight of his overwhelming emotions. Yet not a single tear fell from his eyes. The pain was too immense to be expressed in mere weeping.

Finally, he stood, staring at his daughter’s body, while Serena’s cries behind him mingled with the room’s oppressive silence. Everything around him radiated agony. He knew this moment would never fade, and that this night would remain etched into his soul as the deepest wound—one that brought a storm he would never forget.

Standing before Emily's still body, the night growing darker and lonelier around him, his eyes burned with a silent fire—a fire he vowed would not be extinguished as long as he drew breath. With a stone-like face and features carved from pain, he lifted his gaze toward the cloudy sky and muttered in a voice low but brimming with resolve:

"I swear to God, Emily, I will not let your rights be forgotten while I am alive. I will make them pay dearly."

In that moment, Ibrahim’s kind face, the one everyone had known, transformed into something else—a face filled with anger and grim determination. Nothing else in this world mattered to him now but revenge.

When it came time to say goodbye, Ibrahim buried his daughter in a quiet corner, far from prying eyes. He stood for a long time by her grave, his brows furrowed as if engraving a new vow into his heart—a vow from which there would be no retreat. Then he returned home, holding the child in his arms for one last time before handing him to Serena.

Looking at his eldest daughter with eyes burning with sorrow and rage, he spoke in a firm voice:

"Serena, this child is our responsibility. Never tell anyone about him, ever. We are the only ones who will care for him."

Serena felt a growing sense of unease in her heart. Her father’s features were no longer those of the man she had known her whole life. Something dark and dangerous had begun to seep into his soul. She gripped his hands tightly, trying to understand what was going through his mind, then asked in a trembling voice:

"Father… where are you going?"

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But Ibrahim didn’t answer. He gently pulled his hands away without looking at her. His decision had been made, and he had no more words to say. He walked toward the door with heavy steps, hesitating not even for a moment.

Serena opened her mouth to speak, to shout, to stop him, but she froze. There was something in his face that made her remain still, as if she sensed that any attempt to stop him would be futile.

He closed the door behind him, leaving Serena standing there, fear of the unknown filling her. She stood there holding the child in her arms while his small cries echoed in the room like a mirror to her silent weeping. Her hand trembled as she clutched him to her chest, her eyes fixed on the closed door, dreading that the days to come might open a storm she and her father would never be able to close.

Days passed.

In the dense shadows of the forest, where trees stood like mountains and darkness enveloped the earth, Ibrahim stood with a deadly calm. Before him knelt a man bound with ropes, his body wrapped in a black sack, writhing and screaming in desperate attempts to break free.

"Who are you?!" the man shouted, his voice hoarse, echoing into the depths of the forest. "Let me see you! Let me out of this! Show yourself!"

With slow and deliberate steps, Ibrahim approached and grabbed the black sack. His hands were firm, his face devoid of emotion. He yanked the sack off forcefully, revealing the face of Adnan, whose eyes gleamed with a mixture of shock and arrogance.

The moment Adnan’s eyes met Ibrahim’s, a sly smile spread across his lips. In a voice dripping with mockery, he said:

"Ah, so you made it this far. Did you hear the latest news?" He laughed, a deranged laugh, the kind only a true monster could muster. Then, with a more sinister tone, he added:

"My God, she was beautiful… Your daughter, I mean."

Ibrahim’s expression did not change. His face remained stone-like, without the slightest hint of anger or reaction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife that glimmered under the faint light filtering through the trees.

Adnan’s laughter stopped abruptly. His gaze shifted, and fear began to creep into his expression. He saw something in Ibrahim’s eyes—something more dangerous than mere threats. He leaned his head back, trying to pull away, and screamed in panic:

"No! Don’t do this! Listen to me, we can talk this through! No! Please!"

But Ibrahim didn’t listen. His steps remained steady, and the hand holding the knife did not tremble. He moved closer and closer, his eyes locked onto Adnan’s, as if staring into an empty soul that held no value.

In a silent moment, where the only sound was the whisper of the wind through the trees, Ibrahim grabbed Adnan by the head. There were no words, only the fulfillment of his vow. With an unyielding grip and a swift motion, the knife silenced Adnan’s screams forever.

Time seemed to stop. Blood flowed slowly, dripping onto the earth like a curse seeping from Adnan’s lifeless body. Ibrahim stood motionless, watching the limp figure, his face still as cold as stone, as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, the forest bore witness to a vengeance born of a sacred oath. Ibrahim lowered his head slightly, wiped the knife with a piece of cloth, and turned his back on the body, leaving the darkness to swallow Adnan whole. He muttered under his breath:

"I swore, and I have fulfilled my oath."

Ibrahim returned to the kingdom, as calm as ever, but his eyes carried a weight no one could decipher. Everyone wondered about his long absence—where had he been? Why had he left the kingdom during such a critical time? But Ibrahim offered no answers. He remained silent, as though bearing a secret too heavy to share.

The kingdom was experiencing a period of uneasy peace with the south. Even King Idris himself questioned Ibrahim’s absence but found no explanation. Questions echoed through the halls and markets, but no one had any answers.

Yet that peace was nothing but an illusion, and the night soon revealed its true face—a nightmare creeping into everyone’s dreams. It was a night where no one would sleep. The black night unveiled its terror when the southern forces, led by Laloris, breached the northern borders. The invasion was like a storm, destroying everything in its path. Mothers’ cries and children’s wails filled the kingdom’s corners.

Amid the chaos, Ibrahim stood torn between duty and protecting his family. He grabbed his daughter Serena, who was holding the child, and took her to a hidden shelter where civilians were taking refuge from the horrors of war. Gripping her face with trembling hands, he said in a broken voice, laden with worry:

"Stay here, my daughter. Do not move. No matter what you hear, do not leave until you receive word from me."

Serena, unable to hold back her tears, clung to his arm, trying to stop him.

"Father, don’t go! Please!"

But Ibrahim gently freed himself from her grip, placing his hand on her head in a final act of tenderness.

"I must go, my daughter. This is my duty."

He left Serena behind, his heart heavy as he walked out of the shelter, leaving a piece of himself with her. He stepped into the battlefield like a lion, charging into the fray without fear. His sword struck with relentless power, and blood spattered all around him. Yet his eyes remained fixed, watching every movement as if he had been born for this day.

But the fight was greater than the courage of one man. The battle raged on, and the northern soldiers began to retreat under the overwhelming numbers of the southern forces. In the heart of the chaos, King Idris fell to his knees, his head severed from his body. It was a nightmare made real—a moment that shattered the spirit of the kingdom.

Panic spread like wildfire, and Laloris’s voice rang out across the battlefield, declaring:

"The north is finished! You belong to us now!"

Ibrahim, who had fought relentlessly, felt the crushing weight of defeat pressing down on him. He knew the battle was over. With Idris’s fall, the kingdom had fallen.

He ordered the remaining soldiers to retreat, gathering the wounded as they fled from the battlefield. His heart was heavy with immense disappointment, his eyes searching desperately for his daughter Serena. But she was nowhere to be found.

Separated from his daughter, Ibrahim retreated with his weary soldiers into the forests, a void consuming his heart. The disappointment wasn’t just in losing the battle—it was in losing his family, his homeland, and everything he had fought for.

That night, the northern kingdom bowed its head, and the earth wept with the tears of its people. It was the night of the fall—a night where no hero could restore dignity, and no bloodshed could quench the thirst for vengeance.