The evening twilight painted the sky in hues of reddish purple and blue as Omar placed two suitcases into the trunk of his father’s car. He turned, seeing Arham and Elif standing nearby, their faces etched with concern and weariness.

Omar approached them and wrapped his arms around both of them in a firm embrace before pulling back. "Take good care of each other," he said, "I'll visit often."

Elif met his gaze, her voice soft but laced with pain. "You knew everything from the beginning, didn’t you?"

Omar closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath. "Mom, please... let’s not dwell on that now. We’re trying to move forward, to heal." He shifted his attention to Arham. "Stay there until everything cools down."

Arham nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Omar's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, son. If you need anything, tell Zain to come to you."

Omar managed a small smile. "Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be fine. I’m not staying here either. I’ve rented a flat in Mersendize. I’ll let Uncle Hashir know, and he’ll take care of the house while you’re away."

Arham nodded approvingly and patted Omar on the cheek. "Good. We’ll keep in touch."

Omar opened the passenger door for Elif. As she got in, she reached out for his hand, and he kissed hers gently. "See you soon, my beautiful mom."

Elif’s eyes glistened, but she forced a small smile. Arham started the engine and waved before slowly driving away. Omar stood watching the car until it disappeared from view.

He turned toward the house and made his way to the mailbox. Inside, he found just one letter.

From a distant rooftop, someone was watching him closely, their presence hidden in the shadows.

Omar went inside the house, made his way to the living room. He muttered to himself, "Ammarah?"

Suddenly, she appeared beside him, "Yes."

Omar handed her the letter. "The plan worked. Only one letter came through. That means there’s a mole in the post office."

Ammarah smiled knowingly. "And I know who he is..."

Omar raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yes. Just as you said, I observed the staff closely, when I mentioned your name. One of them took a picture of the letters and sent it to someone."

A smirk formed on Omar’s lips, walking toward the door. "Good. Let’s head to my flat, and we’ll arrange a meeting with him."

Ammarah followed him, her steps light. "I’ll trail behind, keeping an eye out. If anyone follows, I’ll let you know."

Omar nodded, stepping outside. He locked the door. After securing the house, he made his way to his car. He slipped into the driver's seat, and as Ammarah vanished from sight, he drove off.

Omar drove through the dimly lit streets of Remaan, the city's skyline stretching out ahead of him. Ammarah was somewhere nearby, her invisible form moving swiftly, scanning the surroundings. She flew above rooftops, her senses alert.

A figure, cloaked in shadows, was following them, his attire strange and haunting. He wore a full black mask that gave him a ghostly, unsettling appearance. From the rooftop, he tracked Omar’s every move, gliding across the buildings like a predator stalking its prey. Ammarah spotted him almost immediately.

As Omar navigated the quiet roads, Ammarah suddenly appeared in the passenger seat, "Someone’s following you," she said, her voice calm but firm.

Omar glanced in the rearview mirror, then at Ammarah. "Who?"

"It’s one of the Gwazan. But you know, Harzams are Gwazan themselves."

Omar’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. "So, they’re still not convinced," he muttered. He glanced at her and smirked. "Let’s go on a date."

Ammarah narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brow. "What?"

He winked, a grin forming on his lips. "Go and wait for me at Toran Towers. Act like my girlfriend."

She shook her head, clearly confused by the sudden shift in plans as she vanished from the car.

In her dimly lit bedroom, Noor lay on her bed, her phone illuminating her face. The video of Axen played silently in front of her. At the end of the video, a cold chill running down her spine as she read the name inscribed on the headstone of grave: Hassan Azdar.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Hassan Azdar? He's Omar's brother..." she whispered, her voice trembling. The name stirred memories of Omar’s quiet pain, the way he had once said in class, "Loss changed me." Then there was Zain’s offhand comment: "He lost his brother."

Her thoughts raced, connecting pieces she hadn’t fully understood before. "How did he knew ten days ago... Could it be…?" She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. "No, it can’t be..." But the nagging suspicion refused to leave her.

She reached for her phone again, her finger hovering over her father’s contact. She thought about calling him, but something held her back. Sighing, she placed the phone aside, her heart heavy with confusion and uncertainty.

Ammarah stood beneath the towering structures, her black slacks and grey high-neck sweater fitting her perfectly. The night air was cool, the city alive with the distant hum of traffic. Her eyes scanned the area, cautious but composed.

Moments later, Omar’s car pulled up beside her. He stepped out, his eyes locking onto her figure. "Ammarah?" he called out.

She nodded. "Yes, it’s me." Her gaze drifted toward a nearby building where the masked Gwazan stood, watching them. Without missing a beat, she stepped toward Omar and embraced him, her voice steady. "I’m so sorry for your brother’s loss."

Omar hugged her back, whispering into her ear, "If he’s still following us, I’ve got a plan." He pulled back and spoke aloud, "Thank you." Then, opening the door for her, he waited as she slid into the passenger seat. Once they were both inside, he drove off again.

"Is this your real form?" Omar asked, casting a sideways glance at Ammarah as they sped away from the tower.

Ammarah smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Why? Do you like it?"

Omar chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re pretty."

She laughed softly, teasing him. "Pretty, huh? Well, this isn’t my real face. You weak-hearted fool." Her voice was playful, but there was an edge to it, almost daring him to see beyond the illusion.

Later, they sat across from each other in a quiet restaurant. The dim lighting cast soft shadows over their faces as they shared a meal. Ammarah’s eyes kept flicking to the window, scanning the streets. "He’s still out there. What’s the plan?"

Omar finished his bite, leaning back in his chair. "The plan’s simple," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Can you drive?"

Ammarah raised an eyebrow, a hint of pride in her voice. "If I can control minds, driving a car should be easy."

"Good," Omar said, his tone sharpening. "Here’s what we’ll do: we finish eating, you take my form. Create an illusion of yourself in that girl’s form, the one you’re wearing now. Then, you drive away in my car. He’ll think it’s me and my girl. Meanwhile, I’ll transform into Axen and intercept him."

Ammarah’s expression tightened, "No. What if it’s a trap? I’m not leaving you alone, Omar. I’ll fight by your side."

Omar gave her a reassuring smile, shaking his head. "You won’t. I can’t risk losing you. You’re my top secret agent, and no one should ever see you. Besides, it’s not a trap. They’re just trying to confirm that I’m not Axen."

Ammarah sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "As you wish, Master."

Omar chuckled at her reluctance. "You really don’t like being told what to do, do you?"

Ammarah stepped out of the restaurant, her form seamlessly transformed into Omar’s. The illusion of her own form—the striking woman in the black slacks and grey sweater—stood beside the car, a perfect decoy for anyone watching. The plan was in motion.

From a distance, the Gwazan observer remained unaware of the ruse. His black, featureless mask and dark hood concealed his identity, but his eyes never left them. Ammarah, disguised as Omar, moved confidently toward the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. With a subtle glance toward the rooftop where the Gwazan stood, she started the engine. The illusion followed, climbing into the passenger seat. The real Omar, now slipping away into the shadows, prepared to play his part in the game.

As the car drove off, Ammarah could sense the Gwazan following, his dark figure flitting across the rooftops in pursuit. Meanwhile, Omar’s figure disappeared into an alley, his body morphing in a blur of movement. His clothes transforming into the iconic black robes of Axen. The wind caught the edges of his flowing cloak, his face now concealed, eyes burning with determination. The fallen hero, reborn.

After driving for some time, Ammarah brought the car to a stop in front of an old-fashioned ice cream shop. The fluorescent lights flickered in the evening air, casting a soft glow over the quiet street. She, still in Omar’s form, casually got out of the car, playing her part with perfect precision. The Gwazan watched from a rooftop across the street, his gaze unblinking, unaware of the unfolding plan.

Ammarah bought two ice creams, adding a sense of normalcy to the deception. She returned to the car, and began driving again, all while the Gwazan observed. His focus never wavered, convinced that the real Omar was just ahead.

Unbeknownst to him, Axen was already watching. Perched atop a towering building next to Gwazan, his dark figure blended with the night. His robe fluttered softly in the breeze, his sharp gaze fixed on the Gwazan below. Axen’s presence was silent, a shadow preparing to strike.

As Ammarah continued driving, the Gwazan leapt toward the building where Axen stood, his movements swift and precise. But Axen was faster. He descended gracefully from his perch, landing directly in the Gwazan's path with a soft thud. His hooded figure loomed over the masked intruder, the air around him charged with power.

The Gwazan hesitated, his steps faltering as he recognized who stood before him. "My friend," he said, his voice slithering out, dripping with a sinister charm.

Axen took a deliberate step closer, his voice cold and unyielding. "Friend?" The word rolled off his tongue with disdain.

The Gwazan nodded slowly, his voice devilish. "Haven’t you heard? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. We share common foes."

Axen’s red eyes narrowed beneath his hood, a dangerous edge to his tone. "We have nothing in common," he said, his voice like a low rumble of thunder. "You’re a fool if you think you can deceive me."

He paused, studying the figure before him. "By the way, what should I call you? Devor? Alvar? Or perhaps… Lyn?" Axen’s words struck a nerve. The Gwazan’s stance shifted, and his eyes gleamed with sudden rage.

In a flash, the Gwazan attacked, a streak of white thunder cracking through the air, aimed directly at Axen. But Axen barely flinched. With a flick of his wrist, an icy shield materialized before him, absorbing the attack. The ice shimmered for a moment, then glowed with a green hue. The white thunder reflected off the shield and shot back toward the Gwazan, hitting him squarely in the chest.

The impact sent the Gwazan flying backward, his body crashing into the side of a building before falling into a narrow alley below.

Axen moved with lethal grace, leaping down from the building to the alley where the Gwazan lay crumpled. The moment the Gwazan attempted to rise, Axen struck again. A bolt of purple thunder shot from his hand, slamming into the Gwazan with devastating force, knocking him back down.

Axen strode over to his fallen foe and grabbed the Gwazan by the neck, lifting him and slamming him against the wall. The force was enough to crack the bricks behind him. The Gwazan struggled, his feet dangling inches above the ground, but Axen’s grip was unrelenting.

Axen’s eyes blazed with fury. Leaning in close, he whispered into the Gwazan’s ear. "Send a message to your master. Tell him Hassan was a good man. But this Axen…" His grip tightened, and the Gwazan choked for breath. "This Axen is not. I’ll destroy you in ways you can’t even imagine."

With that, he released his hold, letting the Gwazan drop to the ground. The masked figure lay there, gasping, too weakened to move.

Axen, with all the grace of a dark avenger, turned and walked away. His figure melted into the shadows, his robe billowing in the wind.

Robis lounged on his grand throne, a dark, opulent room surrounding him. He swirled a glass of deep crimson wine in his hand, the liquid catching the light from the candelabras flickering around the chamber. A satisfied smirk on his face. The silence broke with a knock.

“Enter,” He commanded.

The door creaked open, and in walked Devor, flanked by Lyn and Alvar. Robis’s eyes flickered toward them, and he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. 

“Master,” Lyn said, bowing slightly. “Devor has news.”

Robis raised a brow and gestured toward Devor with the glass in hand. “Speak,” he ordered, downing the last of the wine.

Devor stepped forward hesitantly, his usual bravado faltering. “As you instructed, I followed Omar. But I must tell you... Omar is not Axen.”

Robis’s gaze sharpened, moving to refill his glass from a blood-red decanter on a nearby pedestal. As he poured, he asked, “And?”

Devor swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Lyn, who took it upon himself to continue.

“He was confronted by Axen,” Lyn blurted out, “and he—well, Axen—beat Devor to a pulp.”

A burst of laughter echoed through the room, sharp and cruel. Robis turned to face Devor, “You? Beaten by Axen?” Robis chuckled, “He’s a child compared to you, Devor. A boy in the shadow of men.”

Devor clenched his fists, but his gaze remained low. “Master, he wields one of the three most powerful Circe stones. He could have killed me. He spared my life.”

Robis raised his glass and took a long sip, “Oh?” he teased, stepping closer to Devor. “And why did he spare your miserable life? Did you beg him?”

Devor stiffened at the mockery, but shook his head. “No, Master. He spared me... to bring you a message.”

“A message?” His voice was deadly quiet now.

Devor nervous, his voice barely above a whisper. “He said... 'Tell your Master... Hassan was a good man, but this Axen is not.'” He hesitated, then finished, “He said, ‘I’ll destroy you in ways you can’t even imagine.’”

Robis drained the rest of his wine, a slow, predatory smile curling across his lips. “Daring,” he murmured, “I like that.”

Then turned, his robes sweeping the floor as he walked back to his throne. “Leave,” he commanded.

Devor, Lyn, and Alvar quickly bowed and exited the chamber, their footsteps fading as they left the room. Robis sank back into his throne, his fingers steepled in contemplation, a sinister grin playing on his lips.

Robis muttered to himself, eyes darkening. “Let's see Axen, how far your imagination goes.”