By the time Hatim checked his phone, the screen flashed 8:30 p.m.
"I should get going," he told Farhan. "It's getting late."
Farhan nodded. "Alright, brother. Come again tomorrow. And don't forget—Imran and Sana have a test next week."
Hatim smiled faintly, waving goodbye before hailing a taxi. The ride home was quiet, the low hum of the engine blending with the occasional honk of passing motorbikes. The city lights slid past the window like scattered stars on earth.
The driver dropped him a short walk from his apartment building. Hatim stepped out, the cool night air brushing against his face. Above, the moon hung in the sky, pale and perfect, surrounded by a thin halo of silver clouds.
By the time he reached his home, it was exactly 9:00 p.m.
Inside, he locked the door, washed his face, and changed into a loose T-shirt. His body felt heavy, the day's events—hospital visits, strange fires, and that bead—pressing on his mind like a weight.
He walked into his small bedroom, switched off the main light, and opened the window. A gentle night breeze flowed in, carrying the faint smell of jasmine from somewhere far below.
Hatim lay down on his bed, folding his hands behind his head. From his window, the moon seemed close enough to touch. Its glow bathed the walls in silver, and for a moment, the chaos of the day faded.
One day, everything will be alright, he told himself. He believed it—not out of blind hope, but out of the quiet confidence that came from knowing his own strengths. He was good at studying, and his skills in computers were solid. If he could make it through school, maybe a university or a good job was waiting for him.
But for now… it had to wait.
Hatim's eyes lingered on the moon as lines of a poem began to take shape in his mind—a habit he'd had since childhood. He whispered the words softly, almost like a prayer:
I dream of skies where chains don't reach,
Of roads unbound, of endless speech,
Where time stands still, where souls don't fade,
And freedom blooms, unafraid.
But dreams for mortals fade like sand,
Slipping fast through mortal hands.
Yet still I reach, though bound I be,
For a taste of eternity.
When the last line left his lips, something in his gaze hardened—a quiet resolve, the kind that settles deep in a person's bones.
Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bead. In the moonlight, it looked completely ordinary, its strange patterns barely visible.
Hatim closed his fingers around it, feeling its smooth surface press into his palm. The warmth of his hand seeped into it, but the bead didn't change.
Within minutes, his eyelids grew heavy. He drifted into sleep, the bead still clenched in his fist.
At first, the night was still.
Then, a faint shimmer began to pulse from between his fingers.
The bead glowed—softly at first, then brighter. A pale silver light seeped into Hatim's skin, tracing faint patterns up his arm like liquid lightning. His chest rose and fell steadily, unaware of the silent storm building around him.
The glow strengthened, wrapping his body in an otherworldly aura. In a heartbeat, the light flared—blinding, pure, and soundless.
And then, Hatim was gone.
The bed was empty.
A rush of wind roared in his ears.
Hatim's eyes snapped open. Cold air whipped past his face, pulling at his hair and shirt. The sensation of falling clawed at his stomach, making his heart pound.
"What the—?!" His voice was stolen by the rushing wind. "Where am I?! Is this a dream?"
But this didn't feel like any dream. The air stung his skin. Every sound was sharp and real.
He looked down—and his vision swam. Shapes and colors twisted in dizzying patterns far below him. His stomach lurched, and for a moment, his sight went black.
When he blinked again, he was no longer falling.
His feet touched solid ground.
He stood in front of something massive—an enormous gate carved from dark stone. The structure towered above him, its surface etched with patterns and symbols he couldn't recognize. Some looked like animals; others were shapes that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them.
A faint mist curled at the gate's base, carrying with it a sound—a deep, slow thrum, like the beating of a giant heart far away.
Hatim swallowed hard. His voice shook when he called out, "Is anyone here? Who brought me here?!"
The sound of his own words bounced back to him in echoes. No reply came.
"Maybe it's… a dream," he muttered, pinching the skin of his forearm. The sharp pain made him wince. "No… too real."
For a long moment, he just stood there, the silence pressing in from all sides. Then, gathering what courage he could, Hatim stepped forward.
His hand touched the gate.
It was cold—so cold it burned. But at his touch, a low rumble rolled through the air, and the ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.
With a slow, groaning creeeak, the gate began to open. The sound was heavy and deep, like old metal grinding against stone.
As the gap widened, a blast of stale, cold air spilled out, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and something older—something ancient.
Hatim's heart pounded. Still, he stepped inside.
At first, the darkness was absolute. His footsteps echoed hollowly, each one chased by whispers of sound from the unseen walls. Then, small orbs of light flickered to life along the sides of the passage, one by one, casting a pale glow.
The air was still and heavy, as if no wind had touched this place for centuries.
When Hatim's eyes adjusted, the sight before him made his breath catch.
The floor stretched into an enormous hall, lined with towering statues of figures he couldn't name. Some looked human, others… didn't. Their faces were a mix of beauty and terror, their eyes seeming to follow him as he walked.
Far ahead, a massive structure glimmered faintly, its shape hidden in shadows.
Hatim's voice was barely a whisper. "What… is this place?"