The Veil of Silence (Continued)

The iron door groaned softly as Sayid pressed against it, the weight of centuries rusted into its hinges. Beyond it, the Sultan's royal archives lay in waiting—silent, ominous, and holding secrets that men had killed to bury.

Sayid turned his head slightly, meeting Mehri's eyes in the dim light. Even in the shadows, he could see the glint of something sharp—not just the dagger in her grip, but the keen edge of anticipation. She wasn't afraid. Or, if she was, she wore it well.

He took a slow breath.

Then, he pushed.

The door gave way with a low creak, revealing a long corridor lined with towering shelves of scrolls and tomes. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and lamp oil, the weight of history pressing down on them like unseen hands.

Mehri slipped inside first, her movements precise and controlled. Sayid followed, shutting the door gently behind him.

The archives were vast, their layout resembling a labyrinth more than a library. Rows of shelves stretched endlessly in both directions, the flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows that danced across the tiled floor.

Sayid's fingers grazed the nearest shelf. Some of these manuscripts had never seen the sun. Some held histories rewritten by the victors, others whispered of knowledge forbidden to common men. But Sayid wasn't here for just any secret. He was here for one page—the missing piece to the manuscript that had nearly cost him his life.

And it was hidden somewhere in the belly of this archive.

Mehri moved ahead, scanning the shelves with quick, practiced eyes. "Where would they keep something like that?" she murmured.

Sayid exhaled. "Not here. Not in the open." He gestured toward a door at the far end of the corridor, carved with the intricate sigils of the royal seal. "The restricted vaults."

Mehri frowned. "And let me guess—that's where the guards are."

Sayid smirked. "Of course."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she stepped closer to the door, pressing an ear against the thick wood. Her breath was steady, her expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, she pulled back.

"Two," she whispered. "Stationed just inside."

Sayid nodded, flexing his fingers. He wasn't fond of unnecessary bloodshed, but there was no avoiding this. If they raised an alarm, they wouldn't make it out alive.

Mehri was already moving. In one fluid motion, she withdrew a small vial from the folds of her cloak. Sayid recognized the sickly green hue of the liquid inside—sleeping poison, distilled from crushed poppy and lotus.

She flicked the vial open and dabbed a small amount onto the edge of her dagger.

"Don't miss," Sayid murmured.

She shot him a look. "I never do."

Then, she was gone, melting into the darkness.

Sayid waited. One breath. Two.

Then—

A faint scuffle. A muffled grunt.

And silence.

Sayid exhaled, stepping forward as Mehri reappeared, tucking her dagger back into her belt. The guards lay slumped against the stone walls, their chests rising and falling in deep, unnatural sleep.

Sayid cast her a glance. "Efficient."

Mehri smirked. "You were expecting anything less?"

He shook his head, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

---

The Forbidden Vaults

The vault was unlike the rest of the archive. It was smaller, colder, the walls lined with locked cabinets made of reinforced cedar and brass. Here, the most dangerous records were kept—documents that could shatter empires, letters that had sealed the fates of kings.

Sayid moved quickly, scanning the markings on each cabinet. His pulse quickened as he found what he was looking for:

Section IV: Arcane Histories & Lost Fragments.

His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the etching.

This was it.

The missing page—the answer that had eluded him for so long—was somewhere behind this lock.

Mehri stepped up beside him, inspecting the heavy iron latch. "You don't happen to have a key, do you?"

Sayid pulled a slender piece of wire from his sleeve, twirling it between his fingers. "Not exactly."

Mehri arched an eyebrow. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ignoring her, Sayid crouched and inserted the wire into the lock, feeling for the mechanism. It was an old design—one he had seen before in merchant vaults and noble estates. The trick was patience.

Click.

Mehri shifted slightly, keeping an eye on the door. "Hurry."

Sayid gritted his teeth. "If you keep talking, I might not—"

Click.

The latch gave way.

Sayid exhaled in relief, pushing the cabinet open.

Inside, the shelves were lined with scrolls and parchment, each carefully preserved in silk wrappings. Sayid's eyes darted over them, searching for any sign of the missing fragment.

Then—

There.

A single sheet of aged parchment, tucked between two larger manuscripts, its edges singed as if it had narrowly escaped destruction.

Sayid reached for it, his breath catching in his throat.

His fingers brushed the parchment—

And the shadows shifted.

A blade flashed in the dim light, striking the cabinet just inches from Sayid's hand.

Mehri reacted instantly, her dagger drawn as she spun toward the attacker.

But the figure was already moving.

A man, dressed in dark robes, his face obscured by a mask of silver and onyx. He moved like liquid shadow, his presence barely more than a whisper against the cold air.

Sayid barely had time to duck as the assassin struck again, his curved blade slicing through the space where his neck had been moments before.

Mehri lunged, her dagger meeting steel with a sharp clang. The masked man twisted, deflecting her strike with an ease that sent a chill down Sayid's spine.

This wasn't a common guard.

This was something else.

Sayid scrambled backward, his mind racing. Who sent him? Ardashir? The Sultan? Someone who wanted the manuscript buried forever?

No time to think.

The assassin pivoted, shifting toward Sayid again. In a desperate move, Sayid grabbed the manuscript and threw himself to the side just as the blade cut through the empty air where he had been standing.

Mehri struck again, this time landing a deep slash across the assassin's arm.

The man hissed—a sound more animal than human—but didn't falter. Instead, he twisted his grip, flicking his wrist.

Sayid barely registered the movement before something sharp embedded itself in his shoulder.

Pain exploded through his body.

His vision blurred as he stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Mehri's voice cut through the haze. "Sayid!"

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move. The manuscript. He still had it. He had to get out.

Mehri moved faster than Sayid had ever seen, a whirlwind of steel and fury. Her dagger danced through the air, driving the assassin back step by step.

Sayid clenched his jaw against the pain, forcing himself upright. He reached into his belt and grabbed the only weapon he had left—a small vial of powder.

He threw it.

The vial shattered at the assassin's feet, releasing a thick cloud of white smoke.

For a single heartbeat, the masked man hesitated.

That was all they needed.

Mehri grabbed Sayid's arm, yanking him toward the exit. "Move!"

They sprinted back through the vault, past the unconscious guards, through the aqueduct's dark tunnels, their breaths ragged and uneven.

Sayid's vision swam, the pain in his shoulder pulsing with every step. But he didn't let go of the manuscript.

He couldn't.

Not now.

Not when he was finally holding the truth in his hands.

The city was waking by the time they reached the spice merchant's shop.

Sayid collapsed against the wooden counter, his chest heaving. Mehri knelt beside him, inspecting the wound.

"You're lucky," she muttered. "The blade wasn't poisoned."

Sayid let out a weak chuckle. "For once."

Mehri hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing against his bloodstained sleeve.

"You almost died for that page," she murmured. "Was it worth it?"

Sayid didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he slowly unrolled the parchment.

And as his eyes scanned the words written in ancient ink, his breath caught.

Because, for the first time, he wasn't sure if he had stolen knowledge—

Or a death sentence.

The ink on the parchment was old, cracked in places, but the words still breathed with a quiet menace. Sayid's hands trembled as he traced the script, each letter weaving a story buried beneath centuries of dust and deceit. Mehri leaned in closer, her gaze flickering between the document and his face.

"Well?" she pressed, voice hushed but urgent.

Sayid swallowed. His throat was dry, as if the very act of reading had siphoned the moisture from his body. He had risked everything for this. Nearly died for it. But now, staring at the words before him, a part of him wished he hadn't.

"It's not just a map," he murmured. "It's a warning."

Mehri frowned. "A warning about what?"

Sayid hesitated, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He had expected revelations—perhaps a location, a secret burial site, a hidden vault of forbidden knowledge. But this was different.

The parchment spoke of a reckoning. Of an event long prophesied, a silence that would swallow cities whole, leaving only echoes in its wake. And at the heart of it all was the manuscript he had been chasing.

His fingers tightened around the brittle page.

The words were clear:

"He who seeks the veil shall become its keeper. And he who breaks the seal shall not be spared its weight."

Sayid exhaled, the weight of realization sinking deep into his bones. This was more than just lost knowledge. This was a burden—one men had killed to keep buried. And now, it belonged to him.

Mehri watched him carefully. "Sayid," she said, quieter this time. "What does it say?"

He looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, he considered lying. Saying it was nothing, that their journey had reached a dead end. But he knew better.

Mehri could always see through him.

"It's not just knowledge," he finally admitted. "It's a curse."

She didn't flinch. Didn't scoff or roll her eyes. Instead, she reached out and gently pulled the parchment from his hands, studying the words herself.

The silence stretched between them, heavy as the sands before a storm.

Then, she set the parchment down. "So," she said, exhaling slowly. "What now?"

Sayid ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the pain in his shoulder flared again. "Now?" he echoed bitterly. "Now, we decide whether we keep running—" He gestured to the parchment. "—or if we find out who wrote this warning… and why they didn't want it to be found."

Mehri's lips pressed into a thin line. "You already know the answer to that."

He did. And it terrified him.

Because if this parchment was telling the truth, then the manuscript he had been chasing wasn't just a relic.

It was a key.

And the door it unlocked?

Might never be meant to open.

---

The Gathering Shadows

The alley outside was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city stirring to life. Sayid wrapped the parchment in silk, tucking it beneath his robes as he and Mehri slipped into the streets, their movements quick but careful.

They couldn't stay here. The assassin from the vault hadn't been working alone—Sayid was sure of it. And if they lingered, more would come.

Mehri pulled her hood lower, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where to?"

Sayid hesitated. The scholar in him wanted answers, but the survivor in him knew that answers often came at a price.

He exhaled. "We need to leave the city."

Mehri arched an eyebrow. "Just like that? No plan?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Do we ever have one?"

She sighed, shaking her head, but didn't argue.

As they turned a corner, the faintest shift in the air made Sayid pause.

Footsteps. Close.

Too close.

Mehri felt it, too. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of her dagger. "How long?"

"Since we left the shop," Sayid muttered.

He didn't look back. Didn't need to.

They were being followed.

And if their pursuer had waited this long to make a move, it meant they were patient. Skilled. The kind of hunter who didn't strike until they were sure of the kill.

Mehri's grip on her blade tightened. "We can't fight here," she whispered.

Sayid nodded. Too many people. Too many eyes.

But they couldn't run forever.

He took a sharp turn into another alley, heart pounding. The path ahead led to the eastern gate—but if they wanted to make it out alive, they needed to lose their tail first.

The moment they reached the next turn, Sayid caught Mehri's eye. No words were needed.

He broke left.

She broke right.

A test.

A gamble.

And as Sayid darted through the narrow streets, the sound of hurried steps following him, he knew the truth.

Their pursuer had made their choice.

They were coming for him.

And Sayid had only moments to figure out why.

---

To Be Continued…