As they emerged from the shadowy forest, a breathtaking sight greeted them. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the lush grass, and a gentle breeze carried the refreshing scent of the sea. The trauma of Siyahzan seemed to dissolve in this serene moment.

“How beautiful it is!” Zharfa sighed, her voice tinged with relief. The girls wandered around the scene, with Zoya sitting on the fresh grass, her legs stretched out as she soaked in the air. Her head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed in peaceful contentment.

Zharfa turned to Samira, her tone apologetic. “I’m sorry for what happened back there. I just got too scared.”

Samira offered a reassuring smile. “Oh, don’t blame yourself, Zharfa. Curiosity does that to everyone. Even when I was Zoya’s age, my father had to rush back to save me. He said the same words I did today, not a letter different. Then he ran me out, saying, ‘Don’t stop, keep moving!’”

Slowly, Zharfa and Samira approached the edge of the cliff, where the breathtaking shores of Rafayt lay before them. The scent of the sea and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore were majestic. As Zharfa gazed down, she noticed long, cold white stones scattered across the sand. At first, she didn’t understand what they were, but then she saw a figure standing near the shore—a soldier or guardian.

The man was clad in golden armor, sturdy and imposing. He gripped a sharp, wide sword, its tip dug into the ground as he leaned on it for support, his gaze fixed on the sea. Zharfa turned to Samira, curious. “Who is that man?”

“Behrouz! The defender of Rafayt, always watching the shore.”

“Watching? For what?”

“For any outsider who tries to creep into our home. He slays them with his sword and then resumes his watch. But remember, don’t let him see you, or he’ll kill you without hesitation.”

The gravity of Samira’s words didn’t sit well with Zharfa. “And those sharp whitish objects lying on the shore? I see them everywhere.”

“They’re not pearls or stones, Zharfa. Those are the bones of the dead, victims of Behrouz’s blade.”

“WHAT? DEAD BONES?” Zharfa’s exclamation echoed across the cliff, catching Behrouz’s cold, piercing gaze. Panic surged through her as she stumbled back, crying out.

“Samira! He saw me... What should I do? He’s coming for me... He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Her voice broke into sobs, her hands covering her face in despair, unable to face her fate.

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Then she heard Samira giggling before bursting into laughter.

Wiping her tears, Zharfa questioned, "Wait... You lied to me, didn't you?"

“Oh, Zharfa, I’m so sorry, but that was too funny. Don’t be afraid.” Samira led Zharfa back to the cliff’s edge, where Behrouz still stood, unmoved.

Samira whispered, “He’s both blind and mute. He only reacts to sounds, like your loud voice just now.”

Zharfa felt a wave of relief, but as she looked at Behrouz returning back to the shore, something seemed different. His empty eyes stared out from within his sallet, but his posture changed. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head before collapsing onto the sand, leaning against a large stone, still gazing out at the shore.

Zharfa’s voice softened, laced with concern. “He looks tired.”

“Tired? What do you mean?” Samira scoffed. “He’s Behrouz, the Fortunate One! He was made for this life.”

Zharfa, perplexed by Samira’s response, replied, “How can you say that he was made for this? Don’t you see... He’s had enough!”

“Oh, come on, Zharfa, you’re being too sentimental. Do you know about the tradition of Nabir? Every twenty years, mothers put their blind and mute children into the pits to fight. From age twelve to twenty-one, they battle until only one survives—the Behrouz. It’s not just a name; it’s a destiny, chosen to protect our land. That tower on the right? The boys live there until they’re ready. It’s a better life than being buried alive at birth. We give them a chance at greatness.”

Samira’s words left Zharfa feeling unsettled, an indescribable unease weighing on her young mind, as if the numerous justifications felt wrong. With a distant gaze, she asked, “And what about those who die by the hands of their own brothers? Wouldn’t it be better if they had been buried at birth?”

“No, Zharfa, you’re questioning our traditions, which have been upheld by our ancestors. You can’t just dismiss them. Embrace them, as we all do!”

Zharfa remained silent, her thoughts elsewhere as she stared at the shores and the setting sun. On her left, she caught a glimpse of an approaching boat, its occupant a bulky figure clad in armor, hand poised on his sword. But the scene was too dim to make out clearly. She blinked, and it was gone, leaving her confused. Was it an illusion?

Samira noticed her distraction. “Zharfa? Are you alright?”

Zharfa shook her head slightly, refocusing. “Oh, it’s nothing... What’s with this thick mist? I can’t see anything beyond.”

“Ah, yes... The layer of Abreen. It’s a protective charm that has shielded Alqarah for ages. It keeps outsiders with ill intentions at bay. Only those seeking adventure or lost in their way can transcend through, unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you have the knowledge to surpass it.”

Zharfa was intrigued, with Samira continuing. “This whole place is mysterious, isn’t it? And it seems like you have rather enjoyed it..." Zharfa chuckles "I’m surprised you didn’t know about it. I thought you understood this place better than I do.”

“What do you mean? How could I know something I’ve never seen before?” Zharfa asked, puzzled.

“No, I meant you’re the daughter of the Queen…”

Their conversation was interrupted by Zoya’s soft voice. “It’s late, naa… Father will be angry, Sum,” she said, using a shortened form of Samira’s name.

“Oh, you little devil, always interrupting,” Samira teased. “Zharfa, we should head back now. We shouldn’t stay until dark.”

“Yeah, okay... fine,” Zharfa replied, though her tone suggested she was reluctant to end the conversation.