Lessons In Silence

The road back to the inn felt longer than it should have. The marketplace noise faded behind them, but the tension in the air lingered, pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

Sayid kept his hands tucked under his cloak, as if hiding the mark would make it disappear. But the presence beneath his skin was undeniable now. It no longer pulsed—it simply was, existing as part of him.

Mehri's pace was quicker than usual. She was always sharp, always on edge, but this was different. The woman's words had shaken her.

"A debt."

Something given. Something taken.

Sayid exhaled slowly, keeping his voice level. "What do you think she meant?"

Mehri didn't look at him. "You already know."

Sayid's fingers curled at his sides. He wanted to argue. To insist that no, he didn't know. That he hadn't made a deal, hadn't asked for this mark to brand itself onto his skin.

But the truth?

The truth was he had opened the book.

He had chosen to read the words that shifted like ink in water.

He had taken knowledge from that place.

And now, something had taken something from him in return.

The lesson was simple.

"Everything has a price."

The real question was—what was his?

---

Lessons in Silence

The streets were quieter now, the midday rush settling into afternoon stillness. Sayid's mind turned, trying to piece together what he had actually lost.

His body was fine. His memories were intact.

But he had felt it the moment he woke up.

Something had changed.

Mehri must have sensed his thoughts, because she finally broke the silence. "You're not the same as you were before we stepped into those ruins."

Sayid glanced at her. "You think I've changed?"

Mehri shook her head. "Not changed. Just… altered." She hesitated, then added, "Like something shifted, and you haven't noticed yet."

Sayid frowned. "If I don't notice it, then does it even matter?"

Mehri stopped walking.

Sayid took two more steps before realizing. He turned back, confused.

She was looking at him, her expression unreadable. Then she said, "That's the most dangerous kind of change."

Sayid stilled.

"People think change is obvious," Mehri continued, crossing her arms. "That you wake up one day and suddenly feel different. But it's not like that. It's quiet. It settles in the bones first, before the mind even understands what's happened."

Sayid swallowed. "And what happens when you finally realize it?"

Mehri's gaze was steady. "By then, it's already too late to undo it."

Her words hit deep, the weight of them sinking in like stones in water.

Sayid had always believed he could choose the things that shaped him. That he had control over his own story.

But what if that wasn't true?

What if the change had already happened?

What if it was still happening?

---

The Whisper Beneath the Skin

They reached the inn, stepping into the dimly lit interior. The scent of spiced tea and old parchment filled the air, a comforting contrast to the thoughts lingering in Sayid's mind.

Mehri pulled out a chair at the same table from earlier, but she didn't sit. Instead, she leaned forward, hands flat against the surface. "We need to figure out what this thing wants before it takes more."

Sayid didn't argue. He pulled back his sleeve, looking at the mark again. It hadn't moved. Hadn't flickered.

But it felt deeper now, as if it had woven itself into him.

Mehri sat down, watching him. "Try to focus on it."

Sayid raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She gestured at his wrist. "You can feel it, right? So focus. See if it reacts."

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he placed his palm over the mark and closed his eyes.

At first, there was nothing.

Then—

A whisper.

Faint, like the last breath of wind before a storm.

Sayid inhaled sharply. The whisper wasn't coming from outside.

It was inside.

Something inside him was speaking.

The moment he realized that, the whisper became words.

"There is no gift without sacrifice."

Sayid's eyes snapped open. His pulse hammered against his ribs.

Mehri leaned forward. "What happened?"

Sayid swallowed. His mouth was dry.

"It spoke."

Mehri's face darkened. "What did it say?"

Sayid hesitated, repeating the words in his head.

"There is no gift without sacrifice."

A debt.

But he still didn't know what he had lost.

And that terrified him more than anything.

---

The Law of Equivalent Exchange

Mehri rubbed her temples. "So whatever this thing is, it works by taking something in return."

Sayid nodded. "It's like a balance. A law that can't be broken."

Mehri exhaled. "Then we need to know what it took from you."

Sayid thought back to the book, to the moment the ink curled around his skin. It had felt like…

Like something had been exchanged.

But if he couldn't remember losing something—

Did that mean he had already given it up willingly?

Mehri suddenly muttered something under her breath, running a hand down her face.

Sayid frowned. "What?"

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "I just thought of something."

Sayid's stomach twisted. "Say it."

Mehri hesitated. Then—

"What if what it took… hasn't been taken yet?"

The words settled like ice in Sayid's veins.

Because if she was right—

Then the real cost of the mark was still coming.

The words lingered between them like a shadow that refused to fade.

"What if what it took… hasn't been taken yet?"

Sayid didn't respond right away. He couldn't. Because if Mehri was right—if the price hadn't already been paid—then it meant he was walking blindly toward an unknown cost.

And what if, when the time came, he wasn't willing to give what it demanded?

The mark remained quiet now, no longer whispering. But that silence felt heavier than the words it had spoken.

Sayid exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "Then we need to find out what I owe."

Mehri studied him, arms crossed. "And how exactly do you plan to do that? Ask it nicely?"

Sayid shot her a dry look. "If you have a better idea, I'm listening."

Mehri didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping against the wood. "There's someone we can talk to."

Sayid raised an eyebrow. "You know someone who's dealt with this before?"

"No." She hesitated. "But I know someone who might know why the book exists in the first place."

Sayid frowned. "Who?"

Mehri hesitated. "A historian. A collector of forbidden texts. He's not exactly someone you'd call trustworthy, but if anyone has heard of this kind of mark before, it's him."

Sayid considered this. He didn't like the idea of dealing with a man who hoarded knowledge for personal gain. But if this person knew something, he couldn't afford to let his discomfort stop him.

"What's his name?"

Mehri's lips pressed into a thin line. "Omar ibn Rashid."

Sayid's stomach tightened. He had heard that name before. A scholar turned trader of secrets, Omar was infamous for selling knowledge to the highest bidder—no matter the cost.

Sayid exhaled. "Where do we find him?"

Mehri's expression darkened. "That's the problem. He moves constantly, never staying in one place for long." She tapped a finger against the table. "But I heard rumors that he's been seen near the city of Almaran."

Sayid rolled the name over in his mind. Almaran was a trade hub—loud, busy, full of people who didn't ask questions. The perfect place for someone like Omar to operate.

Sayid nodded. "Then that's where we go."

Mehri narrowed her eyes. "You're sure?"

"No." Sayid pulled his sleeve down over the mark, hiding it once more. "But I'd rather chase answers than wait for the price to come due."

---

The First Sign of Loss

They left at dusk. The road stretched before them, cutting through dry earth and rolling hills, the sky painted in soft shades of gold and violet.

They traveled in silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of their horses' hooves filling the space between them.

Sayid's thoughts were restless. He kept his left hand tucked against his side, fingers curled slightly—as if gripping something that wasn't there.

It wasn't until later, when they stopped for water near a small well, that he noticed it.

His satchel.

It was lighter.

Sayid frowned, pulling it forward to check the contents. Everything seemed in place—his coin pouch, his travel supplies—

Then his fingers brushed against empty space.

Something was missing.

His heart skipped. He knew he had packed it.

A small, leather-bound journal. His father's journal.

The one thing he had carried with him since the day he left home.

It was gone.

His breath caught. He searched again, overturning everything in his satchel. But it wasn't there.

Mehri noticed his frantic movements. "What's wrong?"

Sayid's throat tightened. "My father's journal. It's missing."

Mehri frowned. "Are you sure you didn't leave it at the inn?"

Sayid shook his head. "No. I always keep it with me."

Mehri's gaze flickered to his wrist.

A cold realization settled over Sayid.

Had this been the price?

The journal—his last connection to his father.

The whisper returned, soft, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

"There is no gift without sacrifice."

Sayid exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of his cloak.

No. He refused to accept that.

If the book had taken something from him, then he would take it back.

One way or another.

---

The Roads to Almaran

They rode through the night, stopping only briefly for rest. Almaran was still days away, and the desert wind carried whispers of incoming storms.

Mehri kept an eye on him, watching for signs of the mark acting up again. But Sayid didn't speak of it.

Because the truth was—

He wasn't just afraid of what the mark had taken.

He was afraid of what it would take next.

And somewhere, beneath the quiet hum of the night, something watched.

The debt had only just begun.