Shadow of the Thief

Volume Four

When the crimson sun set,
a gathering of friends took place in the fields of Yoremir.
Eight friends came together and created a new story of unity.
The place filled up with guests,
and the sound of everyone’s laughter felt like the beginning of a festival.
Someone brought pots of fragrant spices,
someone brought silver-coloured plates.
Someone brought golden vessels,
someone brought amusing stories.
Everyone mixed together, lost in laughter and playful chatter.
People of many colours, in many styles, spent the night as one.
This was not just a feast,
but a sign of a new path in life,
where the bond of friendship is the greatest treasure of all.

Dalim Kad
Leader of Roham’s small group of Olengrad

Episode Sixteen: Shadow of the Thief

A hushed night. A thick layer of clouds has gathered in the sky, the moon flaring up now and then, as if it is a hidden, sorrowful witness. Silence all around. Fireflies lie in wait on every side, as if opening their eyes to watch the beginning of an unseen tale.

Mahadi Grandpa’s food hotel. The floor is made of old wooden planks, and the air still carries the smell of spices, fried goat meat, burnt cloves, and rich ghee. On the wooden wall hangs a golden frame holding a painted image of a river. On one side, under the roof, a hanging lamp spreads its bright light.

The inner luxurious chamber. Where shadows dance like elegant guests of commerce and wealth. In the soft glow of candlelight, the grand dining hall stands still, waiting for its nightly gathering.

Tall wooden pillars, carved with unmatched skill by master craftsmen, bind the hall in royal beauty. On their surfaces, golden patterned lines shimmer, whispering tales of ancient empires. On the floor lies a vast red velvet carpet, as if a king’s blood has been spilled. Upon it stands a massive table, its snake-like curved legs spreading across the red velvet carpet. High, confident chairs wrapped in soft, colourful velvet stand around the table, as if they are thrones for plotting kings or vengeful queens.

From the domed ceiling, decorated with patterns in an ancient language, hangs a huge glittering chandelier. Ironwork holding hundreds of candles, all burning in a golden glow. That light bathes the entire hall in a strange warmth. Oil paintings of conquerors are arranged in the wall niches, as if staring directly into the eyes of those who enter below. Through the tall windows, the outside world reveals itself.

Decorated candles sway gently, their shadows twisting and spreading over the complex patterns of the red carpet, as if the hall itself is involved in a conspiracy. This is no ordinary dining room, but a stage of intrigue, where the clink of plates sounds like secret deals or betrayal. Filled with the sweet scent of candle wax and the smell of old wood, this place almost feels as if past feasts are still echoing in the air.

Usuf and Salih are seated at the table.

The surrounding grandeur and the mysterious night atmosphere make the mind even more alert. Darkness, the drifting scent of wax, and the shimmering light of the sky together seem to signal the beginning of a new chapter, where courage, knowledge, and unknown danger must be faced.

Salih sits leaning back lightly. Lean, young, with eternal tiredness in his eyes and a faint trace of mockery. He seems like a flawless beauty shaped by the touch of night’s shadow. He wears a luxurious black-and-white outfit, sleeves rolled up. Yet exhaustion has not defeated him. He bites into crumbly goat meat, along with hot, steaming, buttered bread. Meat juices run down beside his fingers and stop after striking the table like stone. He eats slowly. Fried goat meat, lifting each piece on his fork in a way that makes him look like a fighter without regret, celebrating victory after battle. The smell of butter rises from the bread.

On the other side is Usuf. He is like a stone placed under fire, cool on the surface, but burning within. Fire-like light shines in his dark eyes. In his hands is a map, drawn on old leather, lines made with red and black ink, slightly blurred, carrying an ancient smell. It sits like a witness to a centuries-old oath. The torn and scarred map of the Jathar forest. He stares at it with full focus, turning it over again and again, scanning every line, every strange symbol. But nothing is clear, nothing is revealed. Deep frustration slowly casts its shadow over his face.

Usuf turns the map over once more, then puts it back again. His fingers trace the lines of the forest, every bend, every spiral. But no matter how much he looks, he finds no meaning. The surroundings suddenly fall silent, as if the air itself has stopped, waiting for their words.
His brows draw together, a mass of restlessness settling at the corner of his lips.
The corner of his mouth begins to throb. Then, slowly, he lifts his head. Red shadows under his eyes, failure laid bare. He whispers:
"Where is the direction to the treasure on this map? There is only a forest and a temple."
His voice carries a restrained stream of anger, as if he is blaming himself—hoping so much, dreaming so much… now it feels like everything is false. On the map before him lies the Jathar forest, but there is no path, no signal, only a painted deep green monster, whose womb hides secrets.

Salih smiles lightly while chewing and looks at Usuf, a soft touch of mockery in his eyes. A piece of bread in his mouth, and a flicker of a question in his gaze.