The calm that had settled over the place was nothing but an illusion… a veil preceding the storm.
Inside Mustafa's house, no longer the safe haven it once was the survivors sat amidst the rubble and traces of blood, panting. Their faces were streaked with dust and wounds, their eyes fixed on Muhammad, who sat in silence, lost in deep contemplation.
Jeros. words still echoed in their minds:
"The leader of the Last Silence is planning to attack all sectors… and seize control of everything."
Ryan (glancing at Muhammad with concern):
"Do… do you think he was serious? The leader of the Last Silence? We don't even know if he's just an entity or… a monster."
Muhammad (in a faint voice, as if speaking to himself):
"He's not just an entity… he's a curse. I thought I had escaped my past, but it seems the past has decided to hunt me down to the end."
Omar (angrily):
"Let's goto him! End this before it even begins! There's no time to wait!"
Mustafa (calmly, pressing a hand on Omar's shoulder):
"We're not ready yet. We don't know his size or his strength… If we attack now, we'llall die."
Sarah (holding Adam's hand):
"We have no other choice… If we don't prepare, hewill."
Adam (gazing out the window at the dark horizon):
"Look… smoke is rising from Sector 'Zayed 7'… It's already begun. The war is coming."
Muhammad (rising slowly, leaning on his sword, looking at his comrades):
"If this is my fate… I won't run from it. We'll fight…and resist… to the end."
In the distant shadows of the Tunnel of Silence, someone was watching them.
A head covered in bone masks, and eyes unlike those of any human.
The leader of the Last Silence… raised his cold hand, and in his faint voice, the tunnel walls whispered:
"Time is running out… Let them prepare… for hell is coming."
Beneath the Earth Deep underground, behind a stone gate that opens only with blood, lies the tunnel of the Last Silence…
This is no ordinary tunnel.
Its walls breathe, occasionally releasing muffled groans.
The air is thick, saturated with the scent of mold and ash—as if the souls lost within were never buried.
The ground is covered in a layer of black moss, pulsing occasionally as though alive.
Shadows move without cause, as if the tunnel itself watches those who enter… or swallows them whole.
And at the heart of this terrifying abyss… dwells him.
The leader of the Last Silence.
They call him The Scarred One.
A massive, twisted body, his head resembling fused human skulls, with a jagged scar across his forehead like lightning carved into flesh.
His eyes are dark red—but one of them is not his own…
It is a real human eye, once belonging to an old enemy… Muhammad.
His voice is not heard it is felt.
His words translate directly into the minds of those he speaks to, as if you don't hear them… but remember them.
His home… a bone palace built from the remains of the dead.
Its pillars are towering skulls; its floors, paved with smooth bones.
And yet, inside, there was something strange…
The smell of food.
At a long table carved from stone, the Scarred One sat in a tattered gray cloak, quietly eating his supper.
Before him, a bowl of dark soup steamed with green vapor.
Beside him sat two children… and a little girl.
His wife, Nadia—a beautiful woman with wide eyes, her face soft but sorrowful, wearing a simple white dress that hid a long history of pain.
Nadia (softly watching the children):
"Eat slowly, my loves… then off to bed. Your father has grave matters tonight."
The Little Girl (gently):
"Will you tell me the story about the mosque, Father?"
The Scarred One (a flicker of something crossing his harsh features, his voice entering her mind):
"Tomorrow… if this world survives its own folly."
After supper, the children kissed their father and left, leaving him alone with Nadia in a suffocating silence.
Candles flickered around them, breaths heavy.
The Scarred One (lowering his head):
"Do you know, Nadia… Muhammad still breathes. As if his shadow has chased me since his betrayal."
Nadia (speaking softly, not looking at him):
"No… it is your shadow. The truth you fled from."
The Scarred One (his inner voice cracking):
"He betrayed me. Forgot who we were, those we prayed with, those we woke for Fajr…"
Nadia (tears in her eyes):
"You* are the one who forgot. You were the imam, the man of the mosque, who cared for the poor… And now? You kill in the name of Silence? In the name of vengeance?"*
The Scarred One (staring at his deformed hand):
"I am no longer that man, Nadia… Not since I entered that place. Not since the gate closed behind me. Not since I saw what Muhammad did to us…"
Nadia (whispering):
"But you are still a father… You can still forgive… if you choose to."
The Scarred One (rising slowly, his voice echoing through the tunnel):
"I will give them all one last chance… Muhammad first. If he refuses… there will be nothing left to forgive."
The candles snuffed out at once.
And the echo of his footsteps struck the walls of silence, heralding the coming flood.
A heavy silence filled the house, broken only by the intermittent breaths of those asleep. Comrades-in-arms were scattered throughout the space—some curled under thin blankets, others propped against walls in restless slumber.
In the corner, Omar succumbed to his usual chaotic sleep: one leg dangling off the couch, an arm flung over his eyes as if even in dreams, he was fighting.
Near the dying embers of the fireplace, Mustafa sat on the floor leaning against Sarah, who in turn rested against him. Their fingers loosely intertwined, her head nestled on his shoulder.
The faint firelight traced their weary faces, but for a fleeting moment, the wars outside ceased to exist.
Sarah (whispering, her thumb brushing his knuckles):
"Remember when we first met? You were so serious you wouldn't even look me in the eye."
Mustafa (with a faint smirk):
"You stole my dagger and called me a 'stone-faced statue.' I only date you to get it back."
She laughed softly, the sound muffled against his shirt. His free hand rose to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Mustafa (voice low):
"If time rewound, I'd do it a thousand times over."
Sarah (teasing):
"Even if you knew you'd drag me into a brutal war?"
Mustafa (turning slightly to meet her gaze):
"Especially then. You fight dirtier than I do."
A loud, exaggerated gag shattered the quiet. Omar had rolled onto his side, grinning mockingly.
Omar (sarcastic):
"By the Masks of Silence! Save the romance for the grave. I'm trying to sleep, not vomit."
Mustafa flipped him off without a glance, but Sarah merely smirked. Then, in one swift motion, Mustafa cupped her face and kissed her a slow, deliberate kiss, as if pressing a decade of love and regret into it. When he pulled away, his voice was rough.
Mustafa:
"I still love you. But my family comes first. That's why I sacrificed everything."
Her smile faltered, but she nodded. Mustafa stood, helping her up before heading to his room. At the door, he paused and glanced back.
Mustafa (dryly):
"Let's leave that kiss here..."
Then, to Omar:
"If my brother hears of this, I'll have to kill you."
Omar (grinning):
"Worth it."
As Mustafa's door clicked shut, Sarah lingered, staring until Omar broke her trance.
Omar (smirking):
"Bad idea, Sarah. Don't even think.."
Sarah (cutting him off):
"Shut up! You're not my father."
Omar (raising his hands):
"Fine! But if my father finds out, we're all dead. Me and Mustafa first, then the rest of you won't last long—no witnesses, right?"
Sarah rolled her eyes, but a half-smile played on her lips.
Sarah:
"What's it worth to you to stay quiet?"
Omar's grin turned predatory.
Omar:
"Introduce me to your sister. Heard she's... persuasive."
Sarah scoffed, but after a beat, she extended her hand.
Sarah:
"Deal. But if you breathe a word, I'll cut out your tongue before Muhammad kills you."
Omar (shaking her hand):
"Romance isn't dead, I see."
Sarah slipped into Mustafa's room. He lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, but sat up when the door opened. Without a word, she began unbuttoning her shirt, letting it slide off her shoulders.
Sarah (softly):
"Let me take care of you tonight."
Mustafa (bitterly amused):
"You know we'll die tomorrow. Probably by my brother's hand."
Sarah (stepping closer, smiling):
"I know. So let's enjoy the moment."
Her pants pooled at her ankles. Mustafa's breath hitched as she straddled him, her fingers tracing the scars on his chest. Outside, the wind howled like the coming storm.
But tonight, there was only this: her lips on his, his hands in her hair, and the unspoken truth—some fires burn brightest before the storm extinguishes them.