Omar stood silently before his brother's grave, now renovated with white granite, a testament to his respect and love. At the head of the grave, a polished granite tile bore the inscription: "Hassan Azdar, the great Axen 1996-2020." In his hands, Omar held a bouquet of white flowers, a symbol of peace and remembrance. Beside him, Ammarah stood, her purple robe fluttering gently in the breeze. A short distance away, his car sat idle.

Omar knelt and placed the bouquet gently on the gravestone. His voice was low, filled with resolve. "I’m glad you believed in me, brother. I promise, I won’t be like the others they’ve hunted. Rest in peace."

Ammarah's gaze shifted from the grave to Omar. "What’s the next step?"

Omar rose, his eyes narrowing with determination as he turned toward her. "You mentioned they are Harzams, and the man who entrusted both stones to my brother was also from the Harzam family. But they use another surname now. We need to find out which one. They must be powerful business tycoons—either working behind the scenes or right in front of us, hidden in plain sight."

"And how do we find that out?" Ammarah asked, her voice steady but curious.

"We start by locating their puppets. This will help." Omar said, retrieving two envelopes and a small USB from the pocket of his long coat. He placed them in her hand. "But before anything else, you’ve got another task."

Ammarah met his gaze, sensing the gravity of the mission. "Are you sure about this?"

Omar took a deep breath. "Yes. Do it. And stay vigilant. Maybe you’ll spot one of their puppets while you’re at it—they’re everywhere."

Ammarah nodded, slipping the letters and USB into her cloak. Just then, Omar’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his coat and glanced at the screen, his expression softening for a moment. As he walked toward his car, he answered the call, his voice warm. "Good morning, Mom."

"Good morning, sweetheart," came the reply. "Are you coming home? I’ve made breakfast."

Omar smiled faintly, starting the engine. "Thanks, Mom, but I’m heading straight to college. Don’t go to the boutique today. Come with Dad, and we’ll meet there."

"Alright, see you soon," his mother said before hanging up.

Omar slipped the phone into his pocket and glanced back at Ammarah. "See you soon, Fairy."

She smiled in return, a knowing look in her eyes, and nodded. With that, Omar drove off.

Noor and Anum walked silently across the college grounds, the early morning air cool and crisp around them. Suddenly, Noor broke the silence.

"It's good he’s not coming to college," she said, her voice low but firm.

Anum raised an eyebrow. "Who are you talking about?"

Noor rolled her eyes. "Your stupid friend."

Anum narrowed her eyes in playful confusion. "My stupid friend? Who?"

Noor snapped her fingers, as if trying to recall something unimportant. "Ugh... I forgot his name... Omar, I think?"

Anum couldn’t hold back a chuckle. "You mean Omar? You don’t like him?"

"Not at all," Noor shot back, folding her arms across her chest. "I’m glad he hasn’t shown up for the past ten days."

"Oh, okay..." Anum responded casually, though her lips curled into a teasing smile.

After a moment of quiet, Noor glanced at her friend. "Do you know why he isn’t coming?"

Anum shrugged. "Nope."

Noor let out an exaggerated sigh. "What kind of friend are you?"

Anum tilted her head, still smiling mischievously. "Are you sure you don’t like him?"

Noor’s face became serious, almost too quickly. "Yeah, obviously."

Anum couldn’t hold her laughter any longer. "It’s so obvious. I’m his friend, and even I didn’t keep track of how many days he’s been gone. But you’ve been counting."

Noor slapped Anum playfully on the arm. "I’m serious! It’s just that... those ten days were peaceful."

Before Anum could respond, Zain passed by. Noor spotted him and gestured toward him. "Look, there’s his assistant. He must be feeling so alone."

Anum glanced at Zain and called out, "Hey, Zain!"

Zain stopped and walked toward them. "Hello," he greeted.

Anum looked at him curiously. "Where’s Omar? Did he change colleges or something?"

Zain gave Noor a brief look before responding. "No, he was out of town."

Anum frowned, recalling something. "That day, he said, ‘Loss changed me.’ Did something happen?"

Noor, in her usual dismissive tone, said, "He probably lost a girlfriend."

Zain’s expression grew serious. "He lost his brother."

There was a sudden, awkward silence. Noor’s face paled, her earlier words hanging heavily in the air.

"What?" Anum asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

But before Zain could answer, Omar appeared in the distance. Seeing him, Noor quickly grabbed Anum’s arm, and the two walked away, leaving Zain to greet his friend.

Zain approached Omar, pulling him into a quick hug. "How are you now?"

Omar pulled back, offering a small smile. "I’m good."

A teasing glint appeared in Omar’s eyes as he glanced toward Anum and Noor walking away. "When did you start talking to girls?"

Zain chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s not like that. They were asking about you."

Omar’s smirk grew. "Oh, really?"

Zain nodded, his smile fading slightly as he looked down. "But... I might have made a mistake."

Omar’s eyebrows rose. "What mistake?"

Zain hesitated before saying, "I told them about your brother."

Omar’s expression softened, and he patted Zain on the back. "It’s fine. Everyone will hear the news soon enough." With that, he walked away, Zain following closely behind.

Ammarah, now disguised as a young man with her shape-shifting abilities, walked into the City Post Office. She wore a black hood, slacks, glasses, and a face mask to complete the look. The disguise was flawless—no one would suspect who she really was.

Approaching the counter, where a female and two male employees sat behind their computers, Ammarah stepped forward.

The female employee looked up. "How can I help you?"

"I need to send these two letters to Omar Azdar. It’s urgent and confidential," Ammarah said loudly, extending the envelopes toward her.

The mention of Omar’s name seemed to catch the attention of one of the male employees, who subtly observed Ammarah throughout the entire transaction. His gaze lingered, and Ammarah took notice.

After completing the procedure, Ammarah thanked the woman and left the building, her steps quick but calm. Once outside, she transformed herself invisible and slipped back into the building, following the male employee who had shown too much interest.

The man stood from his desk and grabbed the letters Ammarah had just sent. "I’ll handle these for delivery," he said casually before walking toward the back room. Ammarah trailed behind, her eyes narrowing.

As he walked through the dimly lit corridor, the employee retrieved his phone, opening the envelopes carefully. He unfolded the letters inside and quickly snapped pictures of their contents while continuing down the hall.

Ammarah watched him silently, her suspicions confirmed. With a final nod to herself, she slipped out of the post office unnoticed, disappearing into the city streets.

The game had just begun.

Omar entered his father’s office during lunch break, immediately struck by the familiar scent of polished wood and leather. The room was a spacious yet inviting space, with rich mahogany furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. A large LED screen hung on the far wall, quietly displaying the latest news. A well-used desk sat near the center, cluttered with papers and a laptop, while a seating area with plush leather chairs offered a more comfortable spot for meetings.

Elif, Omar’s mother, was seated in one of the chairs, her soft, worried eyes lighting up as she saw her son. She stood up immediately and wrapped him in a tight embrace, as if afraid to let him go.

"I’ve missed you, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Omar hugged her back gently. "I missed you too, Mom."

Arham, stood from behind his desk, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Good to see you, son," he said, walking over to embrace Omar. His tone was warm, but Omar could sense the underlying concern in his father’s voice.

After the brief hugs, Arham gestured toward the leather chairs. "Sit down. Let’s talk."

Omar nodded and sat beside his mother, feeling the heavy tension in the air. His father sat opposite them, his usually sharp eyes now clouded with worry. His mother’s face was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she looked at her son.

"How are you feeling?" Arham asked after a moment of silence, his gaze never leaving Omar’s face.

Omar hesitated. "I’m managing," he replied, avoiding their direct gaze.

His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching his face for answers. "That thing you said about your brother… was it true?"

Omar’s breath hitched as he glanced at his parents. "Yes, Mom. It’s true."

Arham’s brow furrowed deeply. "You’re sure? Hassan—he’s not a criminal, right?"

Omar shook his head. "No, Dad. He wasn’t. I met him eleven days ago. He was… He was in no condition to lie."

Elif gasped softly. "You saw him? How was he? What happened?"

Before Omar could answer, the LED screen in the office flickered, and the news feed shifted suddenly to a dark, grainy video. A figure in a black hood, wearing glasses and a mask, appeared on the screen. The background was pitch black, only adding to the ominous atmosphere.

Omar instinctively grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. "I should get to class," he murmured, making for the door. As he stepped out, he quietly closed it behind him. He leaned against the wall in the hallway, taking a deep breath.

Inside, the voice of that figure was slightly distorted but firm, echoing through the quiet office.

Elif’s face turned ashen as she watched, her hand instinctively reaching for Arham’s. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

Elif let out a small cry, tears welling in her eyes. "No… no, it can’t be…"

Arham sat frozen, his jaw clenched tightly. "Hassan… my boy… gone?" His voice wavered, disbelief and pain intertwining.

The figure on the screen continued.

Elif began to sob, her hands covering her face as she shook uncontrollably. "My boy… my Hassan…"

Arham’s hand gripped Elif’s tightly, his eyes glistening as he fought to contain his emotions. His grief was deep, but quieter, more restrained. "Our son…" he whispered.

The figure’s voice grew sharper. "There are those who wanted you to see Hassan as a villain. They wanted you to believe that Axen was a threat. But the real criminals, the real enemies of Remaan, are still out there. Robis, their leader, pulls the strings. The others, his puppets, hide in plain sight, controlling the very government you trust. I know you won’t believe me now, but I will make sure the truth is revealed. I will expose Robis and his puppets. This is a promise to the people of Remaan. You’ve been deceived for too long. Ask yourself—why would a murderer go out of his way to save lives?" 

The figure leaned closer to the camera. "And to those who believe the lies, who say they’ve seen Axen commit crimes in videos—what you saw was an illusion. They can make you see whatever they want. Let me show you."

The figure then shifted, transforming into a young boy, then into an elderly woman, and then into Robis himself. The image of Robis stood menacingly before the screen, then shifted to an illusion of Robis beating someone to death. The illusion vanished, leaving the hooded figure behind. He leaned forward, his voice steady but powerful, "This is how they fooled you. This is how illusion works. It’s all manipulation. But I can use it too. I can show you the truth."

The screen went black for a moment before an image of the two stones—the Guardian Stone and the Black Diamond Circe—appeared in the figure’s hand. Then, the final blow came. An image appeared on the screen—a grave, freshly adorned with white granite. The headstone bore the inscription: Hassan Azdar, the great Axen. 1996-2020. In the middle of the image, the words "We'll remember you" appeared in bold letters, stark against the serene backdrop. The camera lingered on the grave, a silent tribute to the fallen hero.

Elif collapsed into sobs, her body trembling as she clung to her husband. "No… my son… no…"

Arham closed his eyes, his hand pressing hard against his face. Tears slipped from his eyes, but his expression remained hardened, as if fighting the wave of emotions threatening to break him.

Omar stood outside, his heart heavy with the weight of revealing the truth.

Elif’s face paled, her breathing grew shallow, and before she could utter a word, her body gave in to the weight of the truth. She fainted, collapsing onto the chair.

"Elif!" Arham shouted, rushing to her side. His usually calm demeanor shattered. "Someone, call an ambulance!" he bellowed, his voice filled with desperation.

Outside the office, Omar froze as the sound of his father’s frantic shout reached him. He rushed back into the room, and the sight before him made his breath catch. His mother—his strong, resilient mother—lay unconscious, her face ghostly pale.

For a split second, time seemed to stop. His hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone. It slipped once before he caught it, forcing himself to dial. "Ambulance... I need an ambulance!" Omar’s voice cracked, barely holding together as he gave their location.

He knelt beside his mother, his mind spinning in shock, fear, and regret. Arham hovered over her, silently pleading for her to wake up, his fingers trembling against her pulse.

Ammarah and the Hacker

In a dimly lit room, five screens glowed in front of the hacker. Ammarah stood silently behind him, her hand resting lightly on his head. His fingers moved frantically across the keyboard, his eyes unblinking as he absorbed the information flooding in. But his actions were not his own—they were Ammarah's doing.

"It’s enough for today," she whispered, her voice calm but commanding.

She removed her hand from his head, and as if a spell had been broken, the hacker blinked, shaking his head in confusion. By the time he regained full awareness, Ammarah had already vanished, leaving no trace of her presence.