A Path Unwritten

The name echoed in Sayid's mind long after the assassin had disappeared into the night.

Iskander.

His mentor. His guide. The man he had buried in his heart as both a cherished memory and an irreparable loss. He had spent years believing the man was dead, mourned him, carried the weight of his lessons like a holy scripture.

But now, the past was shifting beneath his feet like loose sand.

Mehri hadn't moved, her expression guarded as she studied him. The firelight between them flickered, casting jagged shadows across her face. "Sayid." Her voice was softer now, lacking its usual sharp edge. "What are you thinking?"

He forced himself to focus. "I'm thinking about how much of my life has been a lie."

Mehri sheathed her dagger, watching him closely. "We don't know that yet. The assassin could be deceiving us."

Sayid exhaled through his nose, trying to steady his thoughts. "And what if they aren't?" He turned toward her. "What if Iskander has been watching this entire time? What if he knew exactly where I'd go, what I'd do, and… what I'd become?"

Mehri's gaze darkened. "Then that makes him a danger."

Sayid said nothing. He didn't know what to think.

In his memories, Iskander had always been a figure of wisdom—stern but kind, a man who had understood the weight of history better than anyone. It was Iskander who had first taught him the importance of knowledge, the delicate balance between understanding and power.

And yet, if the assassin spoke the truth, Iskander was now manipulating events from the shadows.

Was it for his own gain? Or was it to guide Sayid toward something greater?

Mehri's hand on his arm startled him from his thoughts. "Sayid," she said firmly. "If we're going after him, we need to be ready for whatever we find."

Sayid met her gaze. There was a hardness in her eyes, the same look she always had before a fight. A warning. This path won't end the way you want it to.

But he had already made his decision.

"We leave at dawn," he repeated.

Mehri exhaled through her nose, nodding once. "Then I suggest you rest while you can."

She turned and walked toward the edge of their camp, vanishing into the darkness.

Sayid remained standing, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

For the first time in years, he felt like a student again—lost in the pages of a story he did not yet understand.

The Journey Begins

By the time the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Sayid and Mehri were already on horseback, riding toward the next city.

The assassin had given them no clear direction—only the name Iskander and a warning. But Sayid knew exactly where to start.

There was a city to the east, near the edge of the empire, where scholars and merchants gathered to trade more than just gold. Rumors, knowledge, forbidden texts. If Iskander had left a trace, it would be there.

The wind carried the scent of dust and spice as they rode. The road ahead stretched long and uncertain, but Sayid felt an unfamiliar clarity settle over him.

He had spent years searching for answers in ink and parchment. Now, he was searching for a ghost.

They rode in silence for hours, only the rhythm of hooves against the dirt accompanying them. Mehri, as always, seemed at ease in the saddle, her eyes scanning the road ahead with quiet vigilance.

Sayid, on the other hand, was drowning in thoughts.

Why had Iskander hidden himself? Why reveal his presence now?

And most of all—what did he know about the manuscript?

As midday approached, they stopped by a river to water the horses. Sayid crouched by the edge, splashing cool water onto his face.

Mehri stood beside him, arms crossed. "You haven't said a word in hours."

Sayid didn't look at her. "I have nothing to say."

Mehri scoffed. "That's a lie. I can practically hear you thinking."

He sighed, rubbing his face. "Fine. Then tell me, Mehri—what would you do in my place?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What, if I found out someone I trusted had been manipulating me from the shadows?" She shrugged. "I'd kill them."

Sayid shot her a dry look. "That's always your answer."

She smirked. "Because it's usually the right one."

Sayid shook his head, staring at the water. "I can't just kill him, Mehri."

Her expression softened. "I know."

A beat of silence passed between them. Then Mehri sighed, crouching beside him. "Look. I get it. This man—your mentor—he meant something to you. But if he's been pulling the strings all this time, you need to be ready for the truth."

Sayid exhaled, staring at his reflection in the river. "I don't think I am."

Mehri nudged his shoulder. "Then you'd better prepare yourself, scholar. Because once we find him, there's no turning back."

The Scholar and the Shadow

They reached the city by nightfall.

The streets were alive with the glow of lanterns, merchants shouting their wares, the scent of roasting meat mingling with spices. Sayid pulled his cloak tighter, his hood low.

They had come looking for whispers—and in places like this, whispers always carried a price.

Mehri led the way through the winding alleys, her steps sure and confident. She knew these kinds of places better than he did. The underbelly of civilization, where deals were made in shadows and truths were bought with coin or blood.

Sayid followed her into a small, dimly lit inn. The scent of stale ale clung to the air, and the patrons barely glanced up as they entered.

A man at the back—older, with sharp eyes and a thick beard—watched them approach.

Mehri slid into the seat across from him, tossing a small pouch of coins onto the table. "We need information."

The man smirked. "Depends on what kind."

Sayid pulled down his hood. "We're looking for someone."

The man studied him, then leaned forward. "Aren't we all?"

Sayid ignored the remark. "His name is Iskander."

At the mention of the name, the man's smirk faded.

For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face. "Iskander?" He shook his head. "If you're looking for him, you're either a fool or a dead man."

Sayid's pulse quickened. "Then he's alive?"

The man exhaled, rubbing his face. "Listen, scholar. I don't know what business you have with him, but I'll give you one piece of advice—walk away."

Mehri leaned in. "That's not an option."

The man studied them for a long moment. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled out a small scrap of parchment.

"He's moving," the man muttered. "Always one step ahead. But the last time someone saw him, it was here."

Sayid took the parchment. It was a location.

His fingers tightened around the paper.

He was close.

Mehri glanced at him. "Well? Are we doing this?"

Sayid exhaled, his heart pounding.

This was it. No more speculation. No more unanswered questions.

Iskander was out there.

And it was time to find him.

To Be Continued