The training hall deep within the Fortress of Mecca was nothing more than a forge for men, where the scent of molten iron mingled with metallic sweat. The air was thick, boiling with the awe of challenge, and the echo of bodies striking the stone floor resounded like endless war drums.
Sultan stood in the center of the courtyard, bare-chested except for rough leather pants, his white hair gleaming with sweat, shining like molten silver under the torchlight. The ancestral symbols etched into his skin were no mere markings—they breathed, contracted, and expanded with every inhale, like living creatures poised for the strike.
Across the hall, Khalid moved with calculated slowness, almost inhuman, his black hair casting shadows over eyes that had become abysses of darkness. His hands were empty, yet his fingers trembled as if strangling an unseen foe. In the corner, Layla al-Riyah leaned against a marble pillar, her amber eyes never leaving Khalid; she smelled in the air something alien—cold moisture reminiscent of graves, forgotten shadows of ancient Eastern legends.
"Begin!" cried Saqr from his observation platform, his voice shattering the hall's silence like a whip cracking across stone.
Sultan lunged forward, each step cracking the stone beneath him. He drew a massive training sword and brought it down in a vertical strike capable of cleaving solid rock. Khalid did not leap to evade but slid sideways with unnatural fluidity, vanishing for a heartbeat before reappearing behind Sultan.
Sultan twisted suddenly, sending a punch ignited by the fire rune on his arm. Sparks danced from his knuckles, scorching the air near Khalid's face. For the first time, Khalid staggered, and his shadows beneath him surged violently, detaching from the ground to form a thick black smoke that coiled around Sultan's arm and extinguished the flame at its source.
Layla's warning scream cut through the air, freezing even Sheikh Abdulrahman in his place. The cold emanating from Khalid's shadow was so intense that frost began to crawl across Sultan's armor. Sultan struggled to lift his arm, his piercing blue eyes fixed on his brother with shock and pain—but Khalid was lost in another world, his eyes drowned in darkness, his breaths whispering like venomous serpents.
"Khalid! Come back to me!" Sultan's roar shook the fortress walls. He focused all his will on the water rune on his right arm. A surge of pure water erupted, shattering Khalid's shadows and breaking their grip in an explosion of white steam. Khalid fell to his knees, gasping violently, while the shadows obediently returned to the ground like a dog banished from its cage.
A strange silence fell over the hall. Layla advanced slowly, her eyes fixed on Khalid with visible suspicion before turning to Sheikh Abdulrahman.
"This is no ordinary training, Sheikh… what we just witnessed does not belong to the covenant. There is darkness in this boy's blood… darkness even the Emperors fear."
Saqr descended from his platform with heavy steps, his hand steady on his sword hilt. His gaze shifted between Sultan and Khalid, who still trembled on the ground.
Sultan allowed no one to approach; he stood between them all and his brother, his white hair blazing with sacred fury, his piercing blue eyes flashing an unyielding challenge.
"He is my brother, and what happened is only the pressure of training. Anyone who touches him touches me."
Saqr regarded Sultan for a long moment, seeing the glow of prophecy beginning to consume his innocence. He nodded silently to Sheikh Abdulrahman.
The others withdrew, leaving Sultan holding his brother's trembling hand in the dark hall, while Layla watched from afar, realizing that the spark ignited today was the beginning of a fire that would consume Mecca and beyond.
And above them, behind cracks invisible to the human eye, the Emperors smiled;
The shadow was growing in the heart of the home,
And the true enemy wore no armor…