The Truth Behind The Manuscript

The night hung still around them as Sayid and Mehri stood before the weathered wooden doors, the remnants of layered paint barely visible beneath years of dust and neglect.

Sayid exhaled, pressing his fingers against the door's surface. It was solid—too solid for a place that was supposed to be abandoned. Someone had reinforced it.

Which meant someone was inside.

Mehri shifted beside him, her voice low. "Are we knocking? Or breaking in?"

Sayid glanced at her. "We don't even know if Nadim is in there."

Mehri smirked. "Only one way to find out."

Before he could stop her, she rapped her knuckles against the wood. The sound echoed through the quiet street.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A slow, deliberate shuffle.

The door creaked open just a fraction, revealing a sliver of darkness. A voice, hoarse with age, whispered through the gap.

"I told him never to send anyone."

Sayid's heart kicked against his ribs. "You are Nadim."

Silence.

Then, the door opened wider, and the figure of an old man stepped into the faint moonlight. His robes were tattered, his beard streaked with white, but his eyes—his eyes were still sharp.

Nadim studied Sayid for a long moment before stepping aside. "If you value your life, step inside."

Sayid and Mehri exchanged glances before slipping through the threshold.

---

A Scholar in Exile

The interior of the house was cluttered with books, scrolls, and half-burned parchments. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with texts in languages Sayid barely recognized. The air smelled of old paper, ink, and the faintest trace of something herbal—burnt incense, perhaps.

Nadim shut the door behind them and bolted it. He moved slowly, but not out of frailty—his movements were deliberate, cautious.

He turned to face them. "Omar is playing a dangerous game, sending you here."

Sayid narrowed his eyes. "We came because we need answers."

Nadim scoffed. "Answers? Do you think knowledge is so freely given?"

Mehri crossed her arms. "Enough riddles. We know the manuscript takes something. Sayid's memory—his real memory—is missing."

Nadim's expression darkened. "Then it has already begun."

Sayid's pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"

The old scholar exhaled and gestured for them to sit. He lowered himself into a chair, rubbing his temples as if deciding how much to reveal.

Finally, he spoke.

"The manuscript is not a book. Not in the way you understand it."

Sayid frowned. "Then what is it?"

Nadim's gaze met his. "It is a contract."

The room went silent.

Mehri was the first to break it. "A contract with what?"

Nadim's fingers tapped against the table. "Not what. Who."

Sayid felt a chill creep down his spine. "You're saying this thing… belongs to someone?"

Nadim nodded. "Not someone. Something. A force older than kingdoms. Older than the language we speak. The manuscript does not merely take knowledge—it exchanges it."

Sayid's stomach twisted. "For what?"

Nadim leaned forward, voice low.

"For power."

Sayid could barely process the words. His fingers curled against his knee. "Power?"

Nadim nodded. "Not in the way men understand it. The manuscript does not grant wealth, nor does it give physical strength. What it offers is far more insidious."

Mehri's voice was edged with skepticism. "And what exactly does it offer?"

Nadim gestured to Sayid. "He already knows."

Sayid inhaled sharply, his pulse racing. The mark on his wrist. The whisper he had heard in his mind.

The sensation of something… waiting.

Nadim continued, "The manuscript does not take memories to erase them. It takes them to store them. To repurpose them."

Sayid's throat felt dry. "Why?"

Nadim's gaze didn't waver. "Because knowledge is power. And power must always have a price."

A cold realization settled over Sayid. "Then what did it take from me?"

Nadim exhaled, his face lined with something close to pity. "That is the question every one of us has asked."

Sayid's mind reeled. "And did you ever get your answer?"

Nadim hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached up—lifting the edge of his sleeve.

Sayid's breath caught.

A mark.

Faint, but there. Twisting against the skin of his forearm, identical to Sayid's own.

Nadim's voice was quiet. "You are not the first to bear it."

Mehri muttered a curse under her breath. "Then you know what it took."

Nadim looked down at his own mark. His voice was distant.

"I once believed I did."

Sayid felt something heavy settle in his chest. "And?"

Nadim's lips pressed into a thin line. "And then I realized I was asking the wrong question."

Sayid clenched his fists. "Then what's the right one?"

Nadim's gaze was sharp.

"What has it already given you?"

The words hit like a stone to the chest.

Sayid's mind flashed back. The whisper beneath his skin. The sense that something was waiting.

Not something taken.

Something unlocked.

Mehri spoke first. "That's not an answer."

Nadim gave a bitter chuckle. "No. But it's the closest thing you'll get."

Sayid inhaled, trying to steady himself. "Then how do I find out?"

Nadim's eyes darkened. "By using it."

Sayid stilled. "You mean—"

"Yes." Nadim leaned forward. "The manuscript's power does not exist in words. It exists in exchange. And every time you use what it gives you, you bring yourself closer to remembering what it took."

The realization sent a shiver through Sayid.

He could get his memory back.

But at what cost?

---

The Truth of the Manuscript

Nadim exhaled. "There are two paths for those who bear the mark. The first is denial. To resist its gifts. To live without ever using what it offers."

Mehri scoffed. "And the second?"

Nadim's voice was solemn.

"To embrace it."

Sayid's pulse pounded. "And what happens if I do?"

Nadim's expression was unreadable. "Then you will understand why those before you disappeared."

The words hung in the air.

Mehri crossed her arms. "And if he doesn't use it?"

Nadim leaned back. "Then he will live. And die. As any man does."

Sayid felt the weight of the choice pressing down on him.

He could walk away. Pretend none of this had happened.

Or he could chase the truth.

And risk losing himself in the process.

For a long moment, the room was silent.

Then Sayid exhaled.

"I need to know."

Nadim studied him. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Then your path is set."

Sayid glanced down at his wrist. The mark felt heavier now.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a whisper stirred.

And for the first time…

He listened.

The weight of Nadim's words pressed down on Sayid like a slow-building storm. The path before him was no longer just about reclaiming what had been stolen.

It was about accepting what had been left behind.

Sayid exhaled, his fingers tightening around the edge of the worn wooden table. "You said the manuscript's power isn't in the words, but in the exchange." His voice was steady, but the unease in his chest only grew. "Then tell me—what exactly has it given me?"

Nadim leaned back slightly, studying him. "That is something only you can discover."

Mehri scowled. "Great. Another cryptic answer."

Nadim didn't react to her irritation. "You misunderstand. I am not withholding the truth from you." His gaze met Sayid's, sharp and unyielding. "You already know what it is."

Sayid clenched his jaw. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking."

Nadim smirked faintly, shaking his head. "Then let me ask you something. Since you took the manuscript, have you noticed anything… different about yourself?"

Sayid hesitated.

The whispers in his head. The mark's presence, neither painful nor demanding, yet always there. The strange, lingering awareness in his mind—like something waiting just beneath the surface, waiting to be called.

The moment Nadim said it, it clicked.

Sayid's stomach twisted.

Nadim nodded, reading the shift in his expression. "You feel it, don't you? A knowledge that shouldn't be yours. An instinct that wasn't there before."

Sayid swallowed hard.

He had assumed the manuscript had only taken.

But what if… it had also left something behind?

Mehri's brow furrowed as she looked between them. "Are you saying this thing gave him… what? Knowledge? Power?"

Nadim's smirk faded. "Not power." His voice was quiet, measured. "Understanding."

Sayid's pulse quickened. "Understanding of what?"

Nadim exhaled. "Of things that were never meant to be understood."

The room felt colder.

Sayid glanced down at his wrist, at the ink-dark mark embedded in his skin. It didn't glow, didn't shift, but suddenly it felt heavier.

Like something waiting to be acknowledged.

He forced himself to meet Nadim's gaze. "Then how do I use it?"

Nadim studied him for a long moment before finally speaking.

"By letting it show you."

Sayid exhaled sharply, frustrated. "You're saying I should just—let it happen?"

Nadim nodded.

Mehri scoffed. "And what happens if he does?"

Nadim's expression darkened. "Then we will see if he survives it."

---

The First Step

The fire in the corner crackled softly as Sayid sat with his thoughts. Mehri paced behind him, arms crossed tightly.

"This is a bad idea."

Sayid glanced at her. "I haven't even done anything yet."

Mehri shot him a glare. "Yet."

Nadim sighed. "Would you prefer he spend his life running from something that's already inside him?"

Mehri turned sharply. "I'd prefer he not end up like everyone else on that damn list."

Sayid's grip tightened on his knee.

She wasn't wrong.

Omar's list. The names, all crossed out.

If this power—this exchange—had truly destroyed all those before him, why would he be any different?

He felt Mehri's gaze on him. "Sayid."

He looked up.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure about this?"

Sayid hesitated.

No. He wasn't.

But he needed to know.

So he met her gaze and nodded. "Yes."

Mehri muttered a curse and turned away.

Nadim leaned forward. "Then close your eyes."

Sayid hesitated only for a moment before doing as he was told.

The room faded into darkness.

"Now," Nadim's voice was a whisper. "Stop fighting it."

Sayid took a slow breath.

For weeks, he had ignored the presence under his skin. Treated the mark as a weight, a curse.

But now, he reached for it.

And it answered.

The whisper curled around his thoughts, no longer distant.

No longer foreign.

It was his.

A slow, rising hum filled his mind, and then—

The world shifted.

---

The Library of the Forgotten

Sayid's eyes snapped open.

But he wasn't in the room anymore.

He stood in an endless corridor—walls lined with towering shelves stretching into infinity, filled with books older than time.

The air smelled of parchment, ink, and something faintly metallic.

A library.

But not just a library.

Sayid turned in place, breath uneven. The ceiling arched so high above him it disappeared into shadow. The floor beneath his feet was smooth, black stone, polished like glass.

This place was not built by human hands.

And yet, something about it felt… familiar.

A whisper curled against his ear.

"You have entered the Archive."

Sayid tensed.

The voice—it wasn't Nadim. It wasn't Mehri.

It was something else.

Slowly, Sayid turned.

A figure stood at the far end of the corridor, shrouded in a heavy cloak. Their face was obscured, but the weight of their presence pressed against Sayid's chest.

He swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

The figure tilted their head.

"A Keeper of Knowledge."

Sayid's fingers twitched toward his belt—only to realize he had no weapon.

The figure continued, stepping closer, their voice calm.

"You seek what was taken. But you have not yet asked the right question."

Sayid's pulse pounded. "And what's that?"

The figure stopped a few feet away.

Then, in a voice that sent a chill down Sayid's spine, they whispered—

"Why was it taken?"

Sayid's breath caught.

The question rattled through him.

He had spent all this time asking what was stolen.

But he had never once stopped to ask—

Why?

The figure extended a hand.

A single book appeared in their grasp.

Bound in deep, ink-black leather, its pages glowing faintly with golden light.

"Your story begins here."

Sayid hesitated.

Then, slowly, he reached out—

And took it.

---

The Awakening

Sayid's eyes snapped open.

He was back in the room. The scent of firewood and ink replaced the metallic tang of the Archive.

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

He exhaled sharply, his pulse still racing.

Nadim was watching him carefully. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Sayid looked down at his hands.

The mark on his wrist burned.

But not from pain.

From understanding.

He didn't know everything yet.

But he had taken the first step.

And there was no turning back now.

---

End of Volume 2

Sayid has unlocked his connection to the Archive, an otherworldly library where lost knowledge is stored. But the real mystery remains: why was his memory taken? And more importantly…

What will happen when he finally remembers?

The journey to uncover the truth has begun.

And the cost of knowing may be higher than he ever imagined.