Blade In The Dark

He ran. Fast. Silent. The city blurred around him, shadowed alleyways twisting into a labyrinth of stone and dust. But his pursuer was faster. He could hear them closing in, their footsteps smooth, controlled.

Sayid spun around a corner, skidding to a stop.

A dead end.

He barely had time to curse before the figure emerged from the shadows.

Clad in dark robes, a hood concealing most of their face. Only their eyes were visible—sharp, predatory. A glint of silver flashed beneath the folds of their cloak. A knife.

Sayid's pulse thundered. He didn't have a weapon. Not even a dagger. His breath was shallow as he slowly raised his hands. "I don't suppose we could talk about this?" he said carefully.

The assassin didn't answer.

A flick of the wrist. The knife spun through the air. Sayid barely ducked in time, the blade grazing his cheek as it buried itself into the wall behind him.

He didn't wait for the next attack.

He lunged forward, slamming into the assassin with all the force he could muster. They crashed against the wall, Sayid's forearm pressing against their throat. But they were fast. Too fast.

A sharp elbow to his ribs sent him stumbling back. Before he could recover, the assassin struck—a swift, brutal kick to his injured shoulder.

Sayid gasped, the pain blinding.

The assassin seized the opening.

A second knife appeared in their hand.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

Sayid saw the blade coming, a cold whisper of steel. He knew he couldn't dodge in time.

But before it could strike—

A blur of movement. A flash of steel.

The assassin's knife flew from their grip, clattering against the ground.

Mehri stood behind them, dagger pressed against their throat.

"Not today," she murmured.

The assassin went rigid. For a moment, silence hung between them.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, they raised their hands.

Mehri exhaled. "Start talking," she ordered.

The assassin's voice was smooth. Almost amused.

"You're making a mistake."

Sayid grimaced. "I seem to be making a lot of those lately."

The assassin chuckled. "Perhaps. But this one? This one will cost you everything."

Sayid's jaw tightened. He was tired of riddles. Tired of chasing shadows.

He stepped forward, ignoring the pain in his body. "Who sent you?"

The assassin tilted their head. "You already know."

Sayid's breath caught.

Because deep down, he did.

And it meant their troubles were only just beginning.

The assassin's words lingered in the air, as sharp as the blade Mehri had pressed to their throat. Sayid studied their face—or what little he could see of it. Their eyes, dark and unreadable, held no fear. Only certainty.

"You already know."

Sayid's heartbeat thrummed against his ribs. He did know. But he wanted to hear it from them.

"Then say it," he pressed, his voice low.

The assassin's lips curled into a ghost of a smile. "The man who taught you to chase knowledge," they murmured. "The same man who abandoned you to the road."

Sayid felt the blood drain from his face.

Mehri stiffened. "That's not possible," she snapped. "He's—"

"Dead?" The assassin chuckled softly. "No, Mehri. He is very much alive. And he's watching."

Sayid's breath hitched. A dozen memories slammed into him at once. His mentor—his teacher, his guide, the man who had shaped him—was supposed to be gone. Killed when the caliphate fell. He had mourned him. Grieved for him.

But if this assassin was telling the truth…

"Where is he?" Sayid demanded.

The assassin tilted their head, amusement flickering in their gaze. "Would you like to find out?"

Sayid clenched his fists. If this was a game, he was done playing. "Give me a name," he growled.

The assassin leaned closer, the blade at their throat pressing into their skin. A thin bead of blood ran down their neck, but they didn't flinch.

Then, with quiet finality, they spoke.

"Iskander."

The name hit Sayid like a blow.

He staggered back, disbelief curling in his gut. "No," he whispered. "That's not—"

But the look in the assassin's eyes told him it was.

Iskander. His mentor. His father in all but blood.

Alive. And pulling the strings.

Mehri's grip on her dagger tightened. "Sayid, we can't trust them. They could be lying."

Sayid swallowed hard. He wanted to believe that. Desperately.

But deep down, something inside him already knew the truth.

"Why?" His voice was barely audible. "Why would he do this?"

The assassin exhaled, as if they had expected the question. "Because he has seen the end of the path you walk."

Sayid frowned. "What does that mean?"

The assassin's eyes darkened. "It means," they said softly, "that if you keep searching for the manuscript… you will not live to see its final page."

The weight of their words settled over him like a burial shroud.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The city's distant hum felt muted, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

Then, Mehri shifted. "I say we kill them," she said flatly.

The assassin smiled. "That would be a mistake."

"Would it?" Mehri challenged. "You followed us, tried to kill us, and now you expect us to just let you walk away?"

"I expect you to listen," the assassin corrected. "Because I am not your enemy, Mehri. Not yet."

Sayid inhaled sharply, forcing himself to think.

If they were telling the truth, then Iskander was alive. Watching. Manipulating.

And if that was true… then nothing about his journey had been coincidence.

He needed answers.

But first, he needed to decide what to do with the assassin standing before him.

Mehri's dagger gleamed in the dim light, still pressed against their throat. "Sayid," she murmured. "Your call."

Sayid studied the assassin's face, searching for any sign of deceit. But they remained calm. Steady. As if they had already anticipated his choice.

After a long moment, he exhaled.

"Let them go."

Mehri shot him a look. "Are you serious?"

Sayid nodded. "If they wanted us dead, they wouldn't be standing here talking."

The assassin's smile widened. "Wise choice."

Mehri cursed under her breath but relented, lowering her blade.

The assassin stepped back, brushing a gloved hand against their neck where the blade had drawn blood. "You have a long road ahead of you, Sayid ibn Rahman."

Sayid squared his shoulders. "And where does it lead?"

The assassin held his gaze. "To the only man who can answer your questions."

Iskander.

Sayid's throat tightened. He had spent years chasing knowledge, believing himself to be uncovering secrets long buried.

But now, for the first time, it felt like he was the one being hunted.

The assassin turned to leave. But before they vanished into the shadows, they paused.

"A final warning," they murmured. "If you continue down this path, be prepared to let go of everything you hold dear."

Then, without another word, they were gone.

Sayid stood frozen, his mind racing.

Mehri watched him carefully. "Sayid…"

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

Everything had changed.

His mentor was alive. The manuscript was more than just knowledge. And if the assassin was right…

He was walking toward something far darker than he had ever imagined.

When he opened his eyes, they burned with quiet resolve.

"We leave at dawn," he said.

Mehri studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Where to?"

Sayid's jaw tightened.

"To find Iskander."

And with that, the next chapter of their journey began.