In a dark, underground chamber, the air was thick with tension. Axen sat in a worn wooden chair, gripping something tightly in his hand. A single, dim light swung gently overhead, casting flickering shadows across the room. Axen’s gaze was fixed on the television, where the same news report played silently. 

Beside him stood Ammarah, her purple hooded robe pulled low over her head, her striking violet eyes, with vertical pupils, filled with concern as they flicked between the screen and Axen. 

Axen finally broke the silence, his voice low and strained. “Ammarah... at least you know the truth,” he said, turning to meet her eyes, “This is another illusion. Created by them. I haven’t even left this room for hours.” His voice faltered, a rare sadness slipping through his usually firm resolve.

Ammarah nodded, her expression soft with empathy. “I know,” she whispered. “But the people of Remaan don’t know that. They’re trying to destroy you—to turn the city against you.”

For a long moment, Axen said nothing. His red eyes flickered with determination as they settled on the massive bluish-purple diamond embedded in his palm—the Guardian stone. The crystal shimmered with an ethereal glow, his fingers tightened around it as he spoke, “They’ll do anything to get this stone,” he muttered. “Anything to make me fall. But I won’t let them win. They’re the real criminals. And I’ll expose them, one way or another.”

Ammarah's eyes remained on the screen, her worry growing. “But they’re dangerous, Axen,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “You only have the black diamond Circe and the Guardian stone... but they hold the other seven.”

Axen inhaled deeply, "I know," he admitted quietly. "They're getting closer. Soon, they'll find me. But until then, my mission stays the same—protect the Guardian stone. If they get their hands on it... if they unite all eight Circe stones, it will mean the end of everything. They'll be unstoppable."

He smiled, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "They're powerful, yes, but they don’t have what they need—the Guardian stone. And even if they do get it, they'll never use it. The secret to its power dies with me."

Ammarah stepped closer, her purple eyes searching his face. “They control everything, even the government. They’ve planted their claws deep into this city. If they got the Guardian stone, they'll find a way to it's powers.”

He nodded, his expression resolute. “That's not going to happen, don't worry." He sighed before continuing, "They’ve already painted me as a villain, and I could do the same to them. I could use their own tactics—create illusions, show the world fake crimes committed by them. But that’s not who I am." His voice was firm now, unyielding. “I’ll expose them for what they truly are. I’ll reveal their real crimes. And I’ll protect the Guardian stone, no matter what it costs me.”

Then, with a deep breath, Axen commanded softly, “Sleep, Axen."

A sudden, intense red flash illuminated the room as his form began to shift. The transformation was swift and seamless. His powerful body, clad in a black hooded costume, dissolved, and in its place emerged a young man, no older than his early twenties. His dark, short hair contrasted with the striking green eyes that now glimmered in the dim light. He wore a simple black shirt and jeans.

Hassan exhaled, his voice low yet commanding. “I told you to keep an eye on my brother. If anything happens to me, I want him to succeed me.”

Ammarah’s brow furrowed. “But... he's arrogant, irresponsible, a bully. I don’t think that’s a good decision.” She hesitated before adding softly, “And besides, nothing's going to happen to you. No one's succeeding anyone.”

Hassan smiled faintly, his exhaustion only sharpening the wisdom in his eyes. “I was just like him once. The weight of this responsibility... it’ll change him. It changed me.”

Ammarah sighed deeply, her thoughts swirling as she contemplated his words, unease settling in her chest.

Omar sauntered into the classroom, arrogance woven into every step. His confidence radiated off him in waves. The moment he entered, all eyes turned to him, some with awe, others with irritation.

Standing at the front of the class was a strikingly young teacher, Ms. Ayesha, her face set in an expression of barely contained fury. “Teacher of manners has no manners? Next time, ask permission before entering my class,” she said, her voice sharp.

Omar paused mid-step, turning his head slowly toward her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes sweeping from her face to the rest of her figure. “Teacher of manners?” he repeated mockingly.

She folded her arms. “Yes. If I’m not mistaken, you were the one teaching your seniors manners yesterday. That’s why you’ve been missing my class, isn’t it?”

With a small, step forward, Omar’s smile widened. “You're quite young for a teacher... If I’d known you were ours, I wouldn’t have missed a single class. Who knows, maybe from now on I’ll start missing you instead.” His voice dripped with flirtation.

The class erupted into laughter, the chaotic sound filling the room. Ms. Ayesha’s patience snapped. She slammed her hand on the desk, “Enough!” She glared at Omar. “How dare you speak to me like that?”

Omar, unfazed, leaned back slightly, his grin still in place. “What’s your name? Maybe you could give me your number,” he said, his tone casual but teasing.

Ms. Ayesha’s face reddened in anger. “Principal’s office. NOW!!”

Omar sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why would I go there?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. “The principal should come here.” He glanced at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And why the principal? Here, talk to Mr. Azdar directly,” he said as he dialed the number, then extended the phone toward her, the word "Dad" visible on the screen.

She recoiled slightly. “Why would I talk to your father?”

“Hm. No worries,” he said as the call connected. “Hello, Mr. Arham Azdar. We’ve got a big problem here in my class. Can you come deal with it?” Without waiting for a response, he hung up. “He’ll be here soon.”

Ms. Ayesha let out a slow, frustrated breath. “You’re disrupting the class. This isn’t a drama rehearsal, get out please.”

Omar chuckled softly. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. Otherwise, you’d be the one leaving this class, not me.”

Just then, the door swung open, and Arham entered the classroom, his face a mix of concern and exhaustion, glancing between his son and the teacher. “What’s going on here?”

Ms. Ayesha, who hadn’t expected Mr. Azdar to show up for real, looked at him in confusion. “Good morning... Sir... I didn’t know he’s your son,” she muttered.

Omar, eyes glinting with amusement, turned to his father. “I asked for her number, and she told me to leave. Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

Arham closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to the teacher. “I apologize for the disturbance. Please, continue your lesson.”

He turned to Omar, his expression hardening. “Come with me.” Without waiting, he walked out of the room. Omar followed, a smirk still playing on his lips. Behind them, Ms. Ayesha exhaled in relief, quickly regaining her composure.

Outside, in the quiet hallway, Arham’s frustration boiled over. He rubbed his forehead, his voice strained. “What are you doing, Omar? You’re humiliating me.”

Omar’s smirk faded as he looked at his father, his tone now measured. “These are the consequences I warned you about.”

Arham shook his head, “Why are you disrespecting me like this? Don’t you love me?”

Something shifted in Omar’s eyes, a rare vulnerability showing for just a moment. “Of course I do,” he said, stepping closer.

Arham placed his hands on Omar’s shoulders, his voice softening. “Then stop this. Please.”

Omar looked away, his jaw tight. “I’m not going to stop for nothing.”

Arham’s face hardened, his grip loosening. “What do you want?”

Omar’s smirk returned. “Ten times my usual pocket money. Give it to me now.”

Arham’s brow furrowed. “I just gave you money two days ago.”

Omar shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Your call. I can keep this up if you like.”

Arham sighed in defeat. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out the cash and handed it to his son. “Please, Omar... don’t be like your brother. We can’t lose you too.”

Omar accepted the money, his hand briefly brushing his father’s as he winked. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He turned and walked back toward the classroom. He knocked lightly on the doorframe, his expression now calm. “May I come in?” he asked, his voice surprisingly polite, yet teasing.

Ms. Ayesha nodded, looking anywhere but at him.

As Omar returned to his seat, his eyes glinted with mischief. The game, for him, was far from over.

The crisp winter morning air bit at Noor’s face as she hurriedly entered through the college gate, her breath coming out in short, visible puffs. Her short, dark brown hair barely brushed her shoulders, framing her striking blue eyes, which were now wide with urgency. Clad in a fitted navy-blue coat that cinched at her waist, over a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, and black skinny jeans tucked into ankle-high leather boots, she carried a stack of textbooks against her chest, her hands gripping them tightly. She glanced up at the massive analog clock looming over the campus entrance. The black hands of the clock read 9:30.

"Oh no, no, no, no..." she murmured to herself, her voice tense.. "I'm an hour late."

She picked up her pace, the sound of her boots clicking sharply against the stone pavement as she sped toward the main building.

Inside the classroom, Mr. Eris, a stern man with thinning hair and a perpetual scowl, was deep into his lecture on the political history of the region, his voice droning as he scribbled something unintelligible on the board. Omar, sitting near the back of the class, leaned back in his chair with a bored expression, tapping his pen against his desk. His best friend, Zain, sat beside him, trying his best to suppress a grin, knowing that Omar was about to stir up trouble—again.

Omar raised his hand, a casual smirk already tugging at his lips. "Sir, may I leave for a moment?"

Mr. Eris paused mid-lecture, his gaze snapping to Omar with thinly veiled irritation. "No, Omar. You’ve already been out twice this morning. Stay in your seat and pay attention."

Omar leaned back in his chair, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he turned to Zain, clearly amused by the situation. "But, sir," he began, his voice dramatically serious, "it’s a matter of life and death."

Mr. Eris pinched the bridge of his nose, "What on earth are you talking about?"

Omar straightened in his seat, putting on his best act of solemnity. "The cafeteria, sir. They’re serving biryani today, and if I don’t get there soon..." he paused for effect, lowering his voice to a whisper, "...I might miss it. And we both know how fast it goes."

The room erupted in stifled laughter, Zain nearly choking on his own amusement. Mr. Eris’ face flushed red with mounting frustration. "Enough!" His voice echoed through the room, silencing the laughter. "I don't care if they're serving gold. If you're that desperate to leave, then leave permanently. OUT! And don't come back today."

Omar’s face brightened with mock enthusiasm. He stood, making a theatrical show of adjusting his jacket, tugging at his sleeves, and smoothing out his collar. "With pleasure, sir," he quipped, his voice laced with sarcasm, before throwing a wink in Zain’s direction.

He strutted toward the door, deliberately slow, each step an irritating reminder of his triumph as muffled giggles spread through the class. Just as he reached the door, he turned back dramatically. "Sir, would you like to eat some?" he said teasingly.

Mr. Eris pointed outside. "LEAVE!!" he said aloud.

Omar gave Mr. Eris a mock salute and said, "Enjoy the boring lecture, everyone."

Mr. Eris standing at the front, seething, his knuckles white around the chalk he was holding. "Unbelievable..." he muttered, shaking his head as he tried to regain control of the room. His eyes followed him with frustration, but he couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as Omar exited the room.

As Omar sauntered down the hallway, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, he was about to round a corner when he collided head-on with Noor. The force of the impact sent her textbooks tumbling to the floor.

"Ow!" Noor snapped, her voice sharp with irritation. Her blue eyes, now blazing with fury, shot up to meet Omar’s gaze. "Are you blind?"

Omar, unfazed by her anger, smiled lazily, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let’s say yes," he replied smoothly. "But what’s wrong with your eyes? You didn’t see me either."

Noor’s lips tightened, her irritation flaring as she pointed toward the fallen books. "Pick them up. Now."

Omar raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Anything for a pretty girl." He crouched down, gathering the scattered books with deliberate slowness, his eyes flicking up to meet hers every so often. Once he’d collected them, he stood and extended them toward her, the smirk still playing on his lips.

As Noor reached for the books, Omar pulled them back at the last second, his tone shifting to something more playful, yet challenging. "You know, no girl talks to me like that."

Noor’s jaw tightened as she shot him a withering glare. "Why? Do you own this place or something?"

Omar chuckled, his smile broadening. "Yeah," he said, his tone casual.

Noor scoffed, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I don’t care even if you do." She snatched the books from his hands with a firm tug. "Now get out of my way. I’m already late." She turned sharply, brushing past him with enough force that her shoulder clipped his.

But before she could walk away, Omar’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing her arm. He pulled her back toward him, their faces inches apart. The mischievous gleam in his eyes intensified as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a soft whisper, laced with teasing charm.

"Just wanted to let you know..." His breath brushed against her ear, sending an unintentional shiver down her spine. "Your eyes... they’re beautiful."

Noor’s eyes widened for a brief moment, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. Then, with a sharp push, she shoved him away, her expression shifting from surprise to anger. "Stay away from me," she snapped, her voice low but filled with warning.

She turned on her heel, storming off down the hallway without a second glance. Omar stood there for a moment, watching her retreating figure, disappear around the corner.

"Woah..." he muttered to himself, his eyes still lingering on the spot where she had vanished. "She’s beautiful."

Omar chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he made his way out of the building, a new sense of intrigue lighting up his mind.