تمام. هذه إعادة كتابة أدبية إنجليزية بأسلوب فانتازيا إنساني موحّد، بنفس النبرة والأسلوب المعتمد للفصل الأول، ومناسبة للنشر مباشرة
Sultan did not bid farewell to Baghdad.
He was torn from it.
Before the neighbors of his quarter could whisper about the sudden silver in his hair, he was already sealed inside the belly of a silent warship, soaring through the clouds and away from the minarets and palm trees of his city. He sat in a dark corner, fingers brushing his unfamiliar silver strands in disbelief, clinging to the fading scent of incense from his home. Slowly, it was replaced by dry, metallic air creeping in from the ship's vents.
After hours of exhausting flight, the land beneath them changed.
The golden sands vanished, swallowed by endless white. Towering mountains rose below, draped in snow like burial shrouds for some ancient giant. At the heart of this desolation stood a solitary peak, carved into its face—the Joint Academy.
It was a black, gothic structure, stabbing into the sky like a dagger driven into the heart of the ice. A cold blue aura surrounded it, so absolute that even dust dared not cross its boundary.
When the ship's door opened, a violent wind struck Sultan's face.
This was no ordinary wind—it was a bite, sharp enough to awaken every cell in his body. His steps faltered as his feet touched snow for the first time in his life. The surface felt wrong—cold as death, fragile as false promises.
He was escorted into the Ice Throne Hall, where silence ruled so completely that Sultan could hear his own frantic heartbeat. At the far end of the hall stood the Emperor.
Caesar.
He looked like a statue carved from silver. His hair was ash-gray, his gaze neither cruel nor merciful, but frighteningly precise. He did not look at Sultan as a man—he examined him as a flaw in the security of an entire continent.
> "So," Caesar said at last, his voice exhaling like cold mist, "you are the Balance they speak of?"
He took a step forward.
> "In Europe, we do not believe in coincidence. We believe in immutable laws. And you, boy, look like walking chaos."
Sultan tried to speak, but his tongue felt frozen.
"I… I didn't choose this, Your Majesty. I only—"
> "Excuses do not melt ice here," Caesar cut in calmly, gesturing toward a testing platform at the center of the hall.
"Show me what you possess, before I decide whether you are a guest… or a prisoner."
From the shadows emerged a young man named Leo. His body was lean and trained, his eyes reflecting the cold blue of the frozen world around them. He was one of Caesar's prized weapons—the Blade of Frost.
At the Emperor's command, a confrontation began for which Sultan was utterly unprepared.
Leo formed a shield of solid ice-crystal before him and motioned for Sultan to attack.
Sultan summoned fire.
But it was not the fire he knew.
The power erupted from him like a suppressed earthquake. Fire intertwined with lightning, and the hall exploded in blinding violet light. Leo's shield shattered instantly—but it did not stop there. Cracks raced across the icy walls, and shards flew in every direction.
Sultan collapsed to his knees, gasping, ash clinging to his robes.
Caesar lowered his head in what looked like disappointment—but felt rehearsed.
> "As expected," he said coolly. "Power without reins. You are a danger to yourself and to everyone around you."
He turned toward a figure standing silently at the edge of the hall.
A girl.
Her name was Eliana.
Her red hair glowed like a lone ember amid the endless snow.
> "Eliana, take him," Caesar ordered without hesitation.
"Place him in the Gorge Unit. Strip him of that Arabian pride and teach him that balance does not mean possessing everything—it means controlling everything.
And if he fails…"
He paused.
"The snow is vast enough to hide a corpse."
Eliana approached Sultan. She did not offer him a hand. Her gaze was sharp, emotionless—but in the depths of her golden eyes, Sultan glimpsed a familiar pain.
The pain of someone who knew what it meant to be a stranger.
To be torn from one's roots and replanted in frozen soil.
> "Get up," Eliana said flatly.
"Grief freezes here and turns to stone. Don't waste it on tears. Follow me… lightning boy."
Sultan followed her, leaving the throne hall behind and descending toward the dark training cells.
And as the winds howled beyond the academy walls, Sultan realized that his greatest battle would not be against demons alone—but against the cold seeping into his soul…
…and against the girl who had entered his life like an unavoidable fate.