Chapter 59: Performance at the Door
"Hey, Zaara! Hurry up! What's wrong … ? You don't look okay today."
Noel's cheerful voice trailed into worry as she walked beside Zaara. But Zaara only kept her head low, her lips were pressed tight, and her silence felt heavy to Noel.
When they reached the house, Zaara muttered a half-hearted greeting and slipped inside. Zirak immediately noticed the sorrow etched across her face. He stepped closer, and asked in gentle tone.
"What is it, Zaara? Did someone trouble you?"
Zaara shook her head. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked up at him and whispered in trembling voice,
"Teacher … it isn't true, is it? About Brother Ravi?"
Zirak's expression stiffened.
"At the academy," she continued in a half-broken voice, "everyone was talking about him. Even the teachers! (Sniff) ... They said he murdered the Ghost Monarch ... f-father. (Sniff) That he's a traitor, a rogue mercenary! (Sniff) But that's not true, right? It can't be!?"
Her voice cracked and her eyes teary.
Zirak's silence weighed on the room. His jaw tightened behind his high white collar, the shadows of old grief flickering in his eyes. He hadn't expected the news to spread and so quickly. Coral … it had to be his doing.
Finally, he spoke with low and heavy voice.
"No, Zaara. Your brother did not kill your father. It was the Dark Monarch—and a hidden organization pulling the strings behind the scenes. Ravi was only accused ... and cursed."
He placed a hand gently atop her head.
"You know why your father entrusted you to me when you were just two years old? It was to shield you from this madness—to give you a chance at a life untouched by war and cruelty that your father and siblings never obtained. He cared for you ... And so did your brother."
Zaara sniffled, eyes glistening.
"Then why?" she whispered. "Why aren't you helping him? ... Why did you let brother leave and face this alone?"
Zirak fell quiet. Beneath the folds of his robe, his fist clenched. It was because—Ravi was bearing the Dark Sigil—he couldn't even say that he was really Ravi, but he swallowed it. Because she couldn't understand it. Some truths would crush her before she was ready as it had crushed him.
When his silence stretched on, Zaara's tears spilled. She turned and ran to her room, slamming the door. Noel lingered by the wall, troubled, her mind already searching for a way to bridge the rift between them.
In her room, Zaara sat curled on her bed. Her small hands clutched a thick black book. Its cover was etched with a golden ring, lines radiating outward like sunrays.
This book Ravi had pressed into her hands on the stormy day he vanished suddenly into the shadows.
She clasped it tightly and prayed.
"Please … keep Brother safe." She ended softly, "Ameen."
She tried to open the book many times, but the cover remained sealed. Zirak had once told her that It will open when the time comes. She had never understood what that meant.
The door creaked and Noel peeked in.
"Zaara … are you alright? Can I come in?"
Zaara nodded faintly.
Neither of them noticed the shadows shifting along the walls. The shapes of ordinary objects stretched and bent … their outlines sharpening into claws. Creeping, they inched toward Zaara silently.
A sudden surge of energy split the air.
Zirak appeared in the room shocking both Zaara and Noel, his eyes blazing. He slammed his palm onto the floor, and the walls themselves seemed to bend, folding inward as ghostly blue sigils spiraled across the room.
The shadowy claws writhed, trapped, as his incantation tightened around them.
From the floor, two cloaked figures materialized—masked magicians clad in dark robes, their upper faces hidden by winged masks. Illusory blue flames coiled around them, binding them in rings of ghostly blue fire.
Zirak's voice was cold as frost as he said. "So. You've come at last."
One of the intruders cursed under his breath. "Shit! We weren't prepared for this!"
Zirak's high collar hid the lower half of his face, but his eyes burned with sharp intent. He snapped his fingers. Ghostly flames swept around Zaara and Noel—yet instead of burning, the fire carried them away, vanishing them from the room in a blink.
The two captives twisted, their bodies unraveling into writhing maggots before dissolving into starlight.
Far away, in a shadowed alley overlooking the house, the same two magicians were present, cards flicking in their hands.
"Even without underestimating him, he's … too strong," one muttered shakily.
"What did you expect?" the other said grimly. "He's one of the Kings of the Sixth Great World War."
The other man froze as a chill swept through his spine.
Zirak stood on the wall above them, his silhouette wreathed in cold blue light. With a flicker, he descended, a long sword of ghostly blue fire manifesting in his grasp. He drove it through both of them, pinning them to the wall.
"You people sure are oscar level actors ," Zirak said evenly. "But you're no actors to me."
The magicians convulsed—and again, their bodies broke apart into crawling maggots before scattering into starry sparks.
He looked up before he felt the shift in the air.
Many magicians appeared on the rooftops, their robes swaying and their masks gleaming under the sunrays. Some of them leveled their wands while some flickered the cards in the air.
The time and space itself seemed to hold its breath.
Zirak exhaled, his ghostly blue sword humming with power.
"So," he murmured, as he felt the atmosphere bristling with hostile energy, "the real performance begins."