The car sped through the narrow streets of the old city, taking sharp turns and weaving through alleys too small for larger vehicles. Lyra drove with surprising skill, her eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror for any sign of pursuit. Zane gripped the door handle, his mind racing with questions.
"I think we lost them," Lyra finally said, slowing down as they reached a quieter residential area on the outskirts of the city. The modern buildings had given way to older, stone structures with arched doorways and intricate carvings—remnants of a bygone era.
"Who exactly are we running from?" Zane asked, his voice tense. "And how did that man—Malik—know about the manuscript?"
Lyra's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel. "Malik Shadowveil isn't just a researcher. He's... something else. Something dangerous."
"What does that mean?"
She glanced at him, her hazel eyes troubled. "It's complicated, and you probably won't believe me. But the person we're going to see can explain everything better than I can."
The car turned onto a narrow dirt road that wound up a small hill. At the top stood a modest stone house surrounded by ancient olive trees. It looked like it had been there for centuries, weathered but sturdy, with a small dome on top that reminded Zane of the old observatories used by ancient astronomers.
As they pulled up to the house, the front door opened. An elderly man with a long white beard and piercing blue eyes stepped out. He wore a simple white robe and leaned on an intricately carved wooden staff. Despite his apparent age, he stood tall and straight, with an air of quiet authority.
"That's Sheikh Ibrahim," Lyra said. "He's been expecting us."
"Expecting us?" Zane frowned. "How could he possibly—"
"The mark on your wrist," she replied simply. "It's a signal. A call for help that only certain people can hear."
Before Zane could question her further, she was out of the car and walking toward the old man. Zane followed reluctantly, his hand unconsciously moving to cover his wrist where the strange mark had appeared.
"Welcome, Zane Riyami," Sheikh Ibrahim said in a deep, resonant voice that belied his age. "I have waited many years to meet the last of the Guardians."
Zane stopped in his tracks. "How do you know my name? And what is this 'Guardians' business everyone keeps talking about?"
The old man smiled kindly. "All will be explained. But first, come inside. It's not safe to speak of such matters in the open."
The interior of the house was surprisingly spacious, with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves. Ancient manuscripts and scrolls filled every available space, along with strange artifacts and instruments Zane couldn't identify. In the center of the main room was a large circular table with an intricate map carved into its surface—a map that looked strikingly similar to the one on the manuscript Zane carried.
"Please, sit," Sheikh Ibrahim gestured to cushioned seats around the table. "Lyra, would you prepare some tea?"
Lyra nodded and disappeared through a doorway, leaving Zane alone with the old man.
"You have questions," Sheikh Ibrahim said, lowering himself onto one of the cushions. "Many questions."
"That's an understatement," Zane replied, cautiously taking a seat across from him. "Let's start with the basics. Who are you, and how do you know about me and the manuscript?"
The old man's eyes twinkled. "I am a Keeper—one of the few remaining humans who preserve the knowledge of the ancient pact between our world and The Veiled Realm. As for how I know about you..." He gestured to Zane's wrist. "The Eye of Awakening only appears on those of Guardian blood when they are ready to fulfill their destiny."
Zane unconsciously rubbed the mark on his wrist. "Guardian blood? What does that mean?"
"It means, young man, that you are descended from a lineage of special humans who once served as bridges between our world and the world of the Jinn—what we now call The Veiled Realm. Your ancestors were tasked with maintaining the balance between the worlds and protecting the sacred sites where the veil between realms grows thin."
Zane laughed nervously. "Jinn? As in, genies from fairy tales? You can't be serious."
"I assure you, I am quite serious," Sheikh Ibrahim replied calmly. "The beings your ancestors called Jinn are very real, though not as your modern stories portray them. They are not wish-granters or lamp-dwellers, but a race of powerful beings who exist in a dimension parallel to our own. They have their own civilizations, their own politics, their own wars—and occasionally, their conflicts spill over into our world."
Lyra returned with a tray of steaming tea cups and set them on the table. "The Sheikh is telling the truth, Zane. I know because..." She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Because I'm half-Jinn myself."
Zane stared at her in disbelief. "You're what?"
"My mother was human, but my father was from The Veiled Realm—a Jinn from the House of Light. That's why I could guide you through the dark museum. That's why I've been having the same dreams as you. I can sense the connections between the worlds."
Zane shook his head, trying to process this information. It was too fantastic, too unbelievable. And yet... the mark on his wrist, the dreams, the woman's face in the sand—all of it was equally impossible to explain.
"Let's say, hypothetically, that I believe any of this," he said slowly. "What does it have to do with Sandbloom and the manuscript?"
Sheikh Ibrahim leaned forward, his expression grave. "Sandbloom is not just an ancient city, Zane. It is one of the seven Nexus Points—places where our world and The Veiled Realm touch. For thousands of years, these Nexus Points were guarded by your ancestors, ensuring that neither humans nor Jinn could abuse the power they contained."
"But something happened," Lyra continued. "About five hundred years ago, there was a great war between the Jinn houses. In the chaos, the Guardians were hunted down and killed, and the knowledge of the Nexus Points was lost. Sandbloom was buried beneath the desert sands, hidden from both humans and Jinn."
"Until now," Sheikh Ibrahim added ominously. "The manuscript you found is one of seven keys, created by the last Council of Guardians before they were destroyed. Each key contains part of the knowledge needed to find and access the Nexus Points."
Zane pulled the manuscript from his pocket and placed it on the table. "And Malik Shadowveil wants this because...?"
"Because Malik is not human," Lyra said quietly. "He's a Jinn from the House of Shadow—one of the most powerful and dangerous houses. If he gains control of even one Nexus Point, he could channel enough power to dominate both our world and The Veiled Realm."
Zane ran a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmed. "This is... this is insane. You're asking me to believe in magic and parallel worlds and ancient conspiracies based on a strange mark and some dreams?"
"Not just dreams," Sheikh Ibrahim said. He reached across the table and placed a weathered hand on Zane's. "The blood of the Guardians flows in your veins, Zane Riyami. Deep down, you know what I'm saying is true. You've felt it your entire life—a connection to something beyond the visible world, a sense that there's more to reality than what most people perceive."
Zane wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. All his life, he'd been drawn to ancient mysteries, to the desert, to stories of the supernatural. Even his choice to become an archaeologist had been driven by an inexplicable need to uncover hidden truths.
"If what you're saying is true," he said finally, "then why me? Why now?"
"Because you are the last," Sheikh Ibrahim replied. "The very last of the Guardian bloodline. And as for why now..." He gestured to the window, where the sky had taken on a strange, purplish hue. "The Convergence approaches—a rare celestial event that occurs once every five hundred years, when the barriers between worlds grow exceptionally thin. During the Convergence, the Nexus Points become fully accessible, their power magnified a hundredfold."
"And when is this Convergence supposed to happen?" Zane asked.
"In exactly thirty days," Lyra answered. "That's why Malik is moving now. That's why the dreams have started. That's why the mark appeared on your wrist. Everything is aligning, Zane. And you're at the center of it all."
Zane stood up abruptly, pacing the room. This was too much, too fast. Yesterday, he was just an archaeologist searching for a lost city. Now he was supposedly the last of some mystical bloodline, tasked with preventing a supernatural being from conquering two worlds?
"I need proof," he said finally, turning to face them. "Something more concrete than marks and dreams and stories."
Sheikh Ibrahim and Lyra exchanged glances. Then the old man nodded slowly.
"Very well," he said, rising from his seat. "Follow me."
He led them through the house to a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. From around his neck, he pulled a small key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness.
"The Sanctuary has been in my family's care for generations," Sheikh Ibrahim explained as they descended. "We are not Guardians, but Keepers—tasked with preserving what knowledge remained after the fall of the Guardian Council."
At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a circular chamber carved directly into the bedrock. The walls were covered in intricate carvings and symbols, illuminated by strange, glowing crystals set into niches around the room. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it rested a large, ancient book bound in leather and metal.
"The Codex of Realms," Sheikh Ibrahim said reverently. "One of the few surviving texts written by the Guardians themselves. It contains knowledge of The Veiled Realm, the Nexus Points, and the powers that flow between worlds."
He carefully opened the book, its pages yellowed with age but still intact. The text was written in a script Zane had never seen before—flowing, complex symbols that seemed to shift and change as he looked at them.
"I can't read this," he said, frustrated.
"Look again," Lyra urged gently. "Don't try to read it with your eyes alone. Feel the words."
Zane frowned but leaned closer to the page. He relaxed his focus, letting his gaze soften as he had sometimes done when examining particularly difficult archaeological inscriptions. Slowly, impossibly, the symbols began to resolve into words he could understand.
"The veil between worlds is not a barrier but a bridge," he read aloud, his voice barely a whisper. "Those of Guardian blood are the keepers of this bridge, their souls attuned to both realms..."
He jerked back from the book, startled. "How did I do that? How could I read it?"
"Because it was written for you—for those of Guardian blood," Sheikh Ibrahim said. "The script is enchanted to reveal itself only to those who carry the ancient lineage."
Zane stared at the book, then at his hands, then at the mark on his wrist. The rational, scientific part of his mind was screaming that none of this could be real. But another part—a deeper, more instinctive part—recognized the truth in what he was experiencing.
"There's more," Lyra said, turning several pages in the Codex. "Look here."
The page showed an illustration of seven figures standing in a circle, each holding what appeared to be a manuscript similar to the one Zane had found. Above them, seven celestial bodies aligned in a specific pattern.
"The Seven Guardians at the last Convergence," Sheikh Ibrahim explained. "Your ancestors, Zane. They created the seven keys—the manuscripts—and scattered them across the world to prevent anyone from accessing all the Nexus Points at once. Each manuscript contains directions to one Nexus Point and one-seventh of the ritual needed to properly control the power that flows through it."
"And I just happened to find one of these manuscripts?" Zane asked skeptically.
"There are no coincidences in matters of destiny," the old man replied. "The manuscript found you because your blood called to it. Just as the mark appeared on your wrist when the time was right."
Zane traced the illustration with his finger, noting the striking resemblance between one of the figures and himself. Same build, same features, even the same determined set of the jaw.
"So what happens now?" he asked quietly. "What am I supposed to do with this information?"
"You have a choice," Sheikh Ibrahim said. "You can walk away—return to your life and pretend none of this exists. The manuscript will eventually find another keeper, though perhaps too late to stop Malik."
"Or?" Zane prompted.
"Or you can embrace your heritage. Learn what it means to be a Guardian. Help us find the other manuscripts before Malik does, and use them to protect the Nexus Points during the Convergence."
"And if I choose the second option, what exactly would that entail?"
Lyra stepped forward. "Training, for one thing. You have abilities you haven't even begun to tap into—abilities that come with your bloodline. And research—we need to decipher your manuscript fully to locate Sandbloom."
"And danger," Sheikh Ibrahim added gravely. "Make no mistake, Zane. Malik Shadowveil is powerful and ruthless. He has agents in both worlds searching for the manuscripts and eliminating anyone who stands in his way. If you choose this path, your life will never be the same."
Zane fell silent, weighing his options. Part of him wanted to run as far and as fast as possible from this madness. But another part—the part that had always felt drawn to ancient mysteries, to the unknown—was already accepting the truth of what he'd learned.
And then there was the face in the sand—the woman who had called to him. Who was she? What did she want from him? He wouldn't find those answers by running away.
"If I agree to this," he said finally, "I want to know everything. No more secrets, no more half-truths. I want to understand exactly what I'm getting into."
Sheikh Ibrahim nodded solemnly. "Of course. The time for secrets is past."
"And I want to know more about my parents," Zane added. "You said you knew the truth about them. Were they Guardians too?"
A shadow passed over the old man's face. "Yes, they were. And their story is... complicated. But you deserve to know it."
"Then I'm in," Zane said, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "I'll help you find the other manuscripts and stop Malik."
Lyra smiled, relief evident in her expression. "You won't be alone in this, Zane. I'll be with you every step of the way."
"As will I, to the best of my aging abilities," Sheikh Ibrahim added with a small smile. "Now, we should return upstairs. There is much to discuss, and time is not our ally."
As they climbed back up the spiral staircase, Zane felt a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration. His life had just taken a turn into the realm of the impossible, yet somehow it felt right—as if he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life without knowing it.
But as they reached the top of the stairs, a deafening crash shook the house. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the sound of breaking glass echoed through the rooms.
"They've found us," Lyra gasped, her eyes wide with fear.
Sheikh Ibrahim's expression hardened. "Quickly, to the back door. There's a tunnel that leads to the hillside. Take the Codex and the manuscript."
"What about you?" Zane asked, already moving to grab the ancient book.
"I will delay them," the old man said, drawing himself up to his full height. "My house has defenses they won't expect."
"We can't just leave you!" Lyra protested.
Another crash, closer this time, followed by the sound of splintering wood.
"Go!" Sheikh Ibrahim commanded, pushing them toward a hidden door behind one of the bookshelves. "Find the second manuscript. It's in the City of Brass, hidden beneath the old clocktower. Remember, Zane—trust your blood, trust your instincts. They will guide you when all else fails."
Before Zane could argue further, Lyra grabbed his arm and pulled him through the hidden door. It closed behind them with a soft click, plunging them into near darkness. Only a few small luminescent stones embedded in the walls provided any light.
"This way," Lyra whispered, leading him down a narrow tunnel carved into the rock.
Behind them, Zane could hear shouting, then a strange humming sound that made the hair on his arms stand on end. A flash of brilliant blue light seeped through the cracks around the hidden door, followed by screams that didn't sound entirely human.
"What's happening back there?" he asked as they hurried through the tunnel.
"Sheikh Ibrahim is a Keeper," Lyra replied grimly. "They have their own ways of fighting Jinn. But he can't hold them off forever. We need to move quickly."
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning through the hillside. Just when Zane thought they must have traveled miles, they reached a small wooden door. Lyra pushed it open, revealing the late afternoon sunlight and a view of the desert stretching out below them.
"There," she pointed to a small shed about fifty yards away. "Sheikh Ibrahim keeps an emergency vehicle there. We can use it to reach the City of Brass before Malik's forces regroup."
They sprinted across the open ground, the Codex clutched tightly under Zane's arm. As they reached the shed, a piercing scream echoed from the direction of the house, followed by a column of blue fire that shot into the sky.
"Sheikh Ibrahim," Lyra whispered, her voice breaking.
Zane stared at the distant fire, a cold anger building inside him. The old man had sacrificed himself to give them a chance to escape. A man he'd just met, but who had been waiting for him, preparing for his arrival for who knew how long.
"We won't let his sacrifice be in vain," he said firmly. "We'll find the second manuscript, and the third, and all of them. And then we'll make Malik Shadowveil regret the day he ever heard of the Guardians."
Lyra looked at him with newfound respect. "You're starting to sound like a true Guardian already."
Inside the shed was a rugged off-road vehicle, fully fueled and packed with supplies. As Zane slid behind the wheel, he caught sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror. The mark on his wrist seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, and for a moment, he thought he saw something else—a subtle change in his eyes, a hint of gold around the irises that hadn't been there before.
The blood of the Guardians flows in your veins, Sheikh Ibrahim had said. And for the first time, Zane truly believed it.
He started the engine and turned to Lyra. "How far to the City of Brass?"
"About six hours' drive," she replied, checking a map she'd pulled from the glove compartment. "If we push through the night, we can be there by dawn."
Zane nodded and put the vehicle in gear. As they pulled away from the shed, he glanced back one last time at the column of blue fire still rising from Sheikh Ibrahim's house. A silent promise formed in his mind: he would master whatever powers came with his heritage, he would find all seven manuscripts, and he would protect both worlds from Malik's ambitions.
The journey had only just begun, but already Zane Riyami felt changed—as if something long dormant inside him had finally awakened. Something ancient and powerful. Something that connected him to a legacy far older and more important than he could have ever imagined.
And somewhere in the vast desert ahead, Sandbloom waited—the first of the seven Nexus Points, a city between worlds, calling to him with every grain of sand that danced in the wind.
ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ
In the smoldering ruins of Sheikh Ibrahim's house, Malik Shadowveil stood amid the destruction, his elegant suit unmarred despite the chaos around him. His cold eyes surveyed the scene with clinical detachment.
"They escaped through a tunnel," one of his men reported, his human appearance flickering occasionally to reveal glimpses of something decidedly not human beneath the disguise. "We found the entrance, but it's collapsed now."
"And the old Keeper?" Malik asked, his voice unnaturally smooth.
"Dead, but he took three of our scouts with him. The human had unexpected defenses."
Malik nodded, unsurprised. "Keepers are resourceful. It's why they've survived this long." He walked to what remained of the circular table, running his fingers over the charred wood. "Did they take anything?"
"The manuscript is gone. And the Codex of Realms."
A flash of anger crossed Malik's face, his eyes momentarily glowing with an inner fire. "Find them. The Guardian is untrained, unaware of his potential. He cannot be allowed to reach the City of Brass."
"Yes, Master," the servant bowed and retreated.
Alone among the ruins, Malik closed his eyes, extending his senses beyond the physical realm. He could feel them—two presences moving rapidly away, one blazing with untapped power, the other a curious blend of human and Jinn energies.
"Run all you want, last Guardian," he whispered to the empty air. "You cannot escape your destiny. And your destiny is to fail, as all your ancestors failed before you."
From his pocket, he withdrew a small object—a golden compass with strange symbols etched around its edge. The needle spun wildly for a moment, then settled, pointing unerringly in the direction the fugitives had fled.
Malik smiled, a cold, predatory expression that held no warmth or humor. "The hunt begins."