Part 63

Hamad did not open the door. Instead, he stopped within the darkness.

At that very moment, outside the palace, in the distant sky, a strange change occurred. The weight of the clouds suddenly lightened, as if an unseen hand had pushed them aside. The sky that had been dead and starless until now, suddenly lit up with a star. Only one. Small, sharp, unnaturally clear. Its light promised no beauty, but a warning.

Hamad did not see it. But inside his chest, for a moment, he felt a muted pull. As if the sky itself had reached a decision.

Wind swept over the distant mountains, no longer carrying the scent of wet stone, but something like old ash and dried blood. The peaks of the palace trembled faintly. No bell rang anywhere, yet it felt as if the night itself had declared: something has begun.

From the inner room, sounds came from time to time.

Hamad’s breathing was slow, deep. Every muscle of his body was ready, yet his eyes were calm. His body was shaped by blood, honour, and the discipline of weapons.

Then… Hamad pressed his lips together. Slowly, carefully, he twisted the handle and opened the door.

The entire room was instantly covered by a veil of silent wonder. The air froze, as if the time of the world had stopped.

Silence returned, but this time it was not steady, it was waiting. A faint light spilled out through the gap of the door. As if it were light from an unfamiliar sky.

As the door opened, he saw someone sitting with his back toward him. Sitting on the floor of the room, on a bluish silk carpet, that unknown figure sat. That body, tall, flawless, yet seated in a way that felt like an ancient man bowing his head before ruins.

In front of the thief, a candle burned softly. The candle flame danced slowly, not in any wind, but in a fear, an unseen resonance. Its light brushed the lines of the thief’s body.
So in that dim light, the thief could not be seen clearly. But his presence could be felt.

Hamad did not step back even once. He knew that some doors are not opened by hand, they are opened by decision.
He set the staff against the floor. Metal touching stone made a very faint sound, almost like a prayer. And with it, deep within the palace, it felt as though another breath was taken. Old. Tired. But awakened.

Hamad stepped forward once, slowly. The candlelight touched his face. The head of the staff touched the floor once.

The thief did not move. Only something in the air suddenly changed.

The friction of the air, the patience of stone, and the fatigue of having remained silent for too long.

Hamad raised the staff and stood behind the man. His grip was firm, it did not tremble.

The staff. That staff, bearer of dynastic history, now lifted above Hamad’s arm.

On that fragile boundary between light and shadow, Hamad’s body became like a hunter’s sculpture, form, glow, and purpose all perfect. There was no doubt in his eyes then.
At this moment, he only knew that deep within his royal palace, someone had entered. Someone who was either a traitor, or a dark shadow from the past that had returned.

The candlelight touched Hamad’s chin and passed through the bars of the window, making him even more solid.
His heart beat slowly, but heavily. Every sound, every vibration entered his awareness.

The dance of the candle flame on the floor, the distant sounds of the night, the faintest breath of that man…
Now…

That lone star was still burning. Beneath it, the clouds had shifted as if the sky itself wished to reveal a wound.

The outer night slipped inside. Cold, deep, alive.

Now…
Hamad decided.

For the first time, Hamad stepped back, but not to flee. To attack. He raised the staff to strike the thief. Light fell on his shoulder, and his shadow stretched long across the floor.

Just as Hamad was about to strike with the staff, the thief turned around.

It was not a spin, nor a defence. The thief’s sharp cheekbones, the scent of sweat in his hair, eyes broken by exhaustion yet strangely beautiful, together made him look like the prince of an abandoned city. Defeated in battle, yet unmatched in beauty.

Some battles begin the moment eyes turn. And some begin simply by standing still.

It was not a spin, nor a defence. Sharp cheekbones, the scent of sweat soaked hair, eyes broken by exhaustion yet strangely beautiful, together he seemed like the prince of an abandoned city, defeated in battle yet unmatched in beauty.

Seeing Hamad’s face and the raised staff, the thief’s eyes widened.

The thief cried out,
"I am Salih Han. Not a thief."
Not a scream, but a mixture of self defence and confession, a frightened heart that knew it was about to lose everything.

Salih Han.
The name struck Hamad’s ears like a storm.

Stunned, Hamad barely restrained himself. He had almost killed Salih.

Suddenly the wind changed direction. The cold current that had been flowing inside from outside now rushed back out, as if the palace itself was exhaling. The curtains swayed, and the shadows on the floor broke and formed new shapes, not like people, but like memories.
The night grew heavier.