Part 2

The mysterious moon in the sky, like a lonely sentinel, kept hiding itself every now and then behind thick blankets of dark clouds. Each time it veiled its face, the world below sank into a dreadful darkness—an abyss that stirred the deepest fears of the human heart.

In front of the mansion’s massive wooden doors—like the very gates of hell—stood fierce-looking dogs. Their eyes burned with a primal wildness, their sharp teeth flashing in the faint light of the moon. Beside them stood tall, broad-shouldered guards. Their faces were as hard as stone, their eyes shining with unshaken resolve. Like warriors, they kept watch with sleepless vigilance.

Corporal Rajib, whose handsome face carried the mark of determination, stood at the front. By his side was Soldier Moon, tall and striking, embodying the very image of an ideal warrior. Together, they waited for the thieves—every breath of theirs thick with tension and anticipation.

Meanwhile, at the back of the mansion, where the shadows were darker and more secretive, three thieves had just completed hours of relentless digging. Their hands dripped with sweat, their clothes smeared with earth, yet their eyes blazed with the fire of triumph. Through the secret tunnel they had carved, like shadows rising from the underworld, they finally slipped inside the house.

Around the mansion stood towering ancient trees, their massive trunks and drooping branches like silent sentinels that had guarded the earth for thousands of years. The soft breeze that whispered through their leaves sounded like those old guardians’ forgotten voices—a language only the night itself could understand.

Three shadowy figures, like messengers of a curse, cut through the darkness as they moved. Each step was silent, yet the ground seemed to tremble with their presence. They stopped at the back of the six-story mansion—the last refuge from the burning eyes of unseen spirits.

Suddenly, the heavy clouds tore apart, and the moon revealed its silver face. For a fleeting moment, the world bathed in a divine glow, as though heaven itself had poured light upon the earth. Then, just as quickly, the moon slipped back into its mysterious veil. But in that brief shimmer of light, one could see a tall figure climbing a rope with extraordinary agility and grace, his every movement carrying an almost otherworldly elegance.

In moments, the three men had scaled the rope and reached the second floor. At the lead was Hamad—their leader—his sharp eyes burning with alertness. With a silent gesture, he commanded his men to stay quiet. Each movement of his hand was an order without words. Leaning close to Usuf’s ear, he whispered,
“Fifth floor. Room number six.”

On the wide balcony above, a blue-tinged flame from a gas lamp flickered like a strange beacon. In its eerie glow, the three men crouched low, moving forward with the supple silence of cats. Usuf went first, determination clear on his striking face. Behind him came Salih, eyes sharp with intelligence. And last of all, Hamad—like the commanding figure of a shadowed procession.

Suddenly, Salih froze. Before him stood a black cat, a living shadow born of the night itself. Its emerald-green eyes locked with his, as if two souls were locked in an ancient duel. For a tense moment, the air thickened with silence. Then Salih’s face twisted with menace, his eyes flaring with wild fire as he lunged forward, making a grotesque face at the creature. The cat tilted its head, studied him for a moment, then with a pitiful meow fled into the night.

From behind, Hamad struck Salih lightly on the head with his strong hand. His deep voice dripped with annoyance and urgency.
“Move. Save your drama for later.”

At the chosen door, Usuf—his face calm with the confidence of a master craftsman—brought out the special tools Mir had given him. His long, powerful fingers worked with the precision of an artist’s brush, each movement silent, each touch measured, as if he were weaving a spell to open the lock.

The balcony lay under a cloak of heavy darkness, as though the night itself had draped its black veil there. In this thick silence, Salih straightened, his restlessness written across his handsome face. While Usuf and Hamad were completely absorbed in the lock’s intricate mechanism, Salih began to wander restlessly, moving with a strange elegance, like a silent dancer whose every step carried an odd grace.

In one shadowed corner of the balcony, a thin layer of oil had been spilled across the floor—set as if by an unseen hand, a hidden snare waiting to claim its prey. In the dim light, Salih’s confidence only grew. In his proud mind, he thought: his steps were soundless, his body was one with the shadows. The thought filled him with vanity, and he began to tread with a subtle, almost playful rhythm—his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory.

And then fate mocked him. His right foot slid into the oil. In an instant, his body betrayed him—his leg flailed upward, and he crashed onto the floor with a thundering noise, as if the mansion itself had been struck.

Hamad and Usuf—so focused moments before on the delicate art of unlocking—froze as the sound ripped through the silence. Their faces twisted in alarm, their hearts jolted as though lightning had struck them. Spinning around, they saw Salih sprawled on the floor, his face full of confusion, his eyes wide with helpless disbelief.

The mysterious moon in the sky, like a lonely sentinel, kept hiding behind thick black clouds from time to time. Each time it veiled its face, a dreadful darkness fell upon the earth—darkness that awakened the deepest fears within the human heart.