In this gray world, being cast out from one's clan was something beyond shame. A shame that settled like a festering wound upon one's soul and name, never to heal. Death had an end, but banishment... banishment was life in the hidden layers of hell, an existence where every breath tasted of the bitter flavor of namelessness and homelessness.

They still knew nothing. They were merely two children torn from the family tree—their roots left in the soil, but their trunks suspended in air, restless before the storm that was approaching. And in this world, this was the worst fate that could cast its shadow over anyone. Banishment meant disgrace, meant every step of the journey would be difficult, every effort doomed to failure, every hope strangled in its cradle.

"Oh Arash... it hurts."

Azar's voice was like a blade slowly penetrating Arash's bones. He opened his eyes. The frost in his gaze—the same frost he had built over years after the incident with their parents to protect himself—melted for a moment.

"Hold on, Azar."

His words were cold, but his hands trembled as he unwrapped the cloth from around Azar's leg. No one could see this trembling. No one understood that beneath this icy shell, a heart was beating at the speed of light.

The wound had reopened. Fresh blood over dried blood. Arash turned his gaze away from the wound and looked at Azar's pale face. His sister's eyes—those same eyes that were once full of laughter—had now become two deep wells of pain.

Arash slowly raised his hand. Using his innate gemstone, his fingers trembled in the air, and gray particles—particles that came from the depths of his soul—began to appear. Like the small breaths of gods, calm and sacred.

"What is this, Arash?"

Azar's voice was amazed. Her eyes, which held the blinding flash of pain, now sparkled a little with wonder.

"Ash."

One word. A word that contained his entire identity within itself. Ash. What remains of fire. What remains of burning. What remains of everything that was once beautiful and alive.

That night, the sound of the carriage wheels on the gravel path was like the heartbeat of the earth. Arash stayed awake. He always stayed awake. Sleep was something for those who had security. He had no security. He only had responsibility.

He fixed his gaze on Azar, who had fallen into a troubled sleep. Even in sleep, her face was contracted. As if even her dreams had become painful.

Responsibility. This word was like a chain wrapped around his neck. But a chain he had chosen himself. A chain that gave meaning to his existence.

Before this, Arash was just a cold and isolated boy. One of those children who had learned too early that life wasn't fair. But now... now he was something else. A guardian. A protector. A brother.

When morning came, Arash brought Azar under the shade of a tree. It was an ancient tree with a thick trunk and branches that embraced them like a mother's arms.

An old woman who had become their fellow traveler—a woman with kind eyes and a face wrinkled from many years of life—agreed to watch over Azar.

"Take care of my sister. I'll be back soon."

His voice was cold, but his gaze pleaded. The old woman understood. She had been living for years and had seen many things. She understood how frightened this boy was.

"Go, my son. Your sister will be safer with me than with herself."

Arash left. In the small town market, among the smell of spices and the fragrance of fresh bread, he bought silk cloth. He also got some honey—honey that was golden and clear like sunlight dissolved in water.

His money was running out. Every coin he spent was like a drop of blood leaving his veins. But for Azar, Arash was willing to give all his blood.

The journey continued. The summer sun was merciless and scorching, but the shade of trees along the way provided solace for weary souls.

From the back of the carriage, Arash looked at the path they were leaving behind. Everything was getting smaller. Their home, their clan, their past. Like an image moving away from a mirror.

This feeling was strange. As if he was emerging from his old skin. Skin he had lived in for years, but had never truly belonged to him. Now new skin was growing. Skin made with thorns and wounds.

The past was quickly fading, like paint spreading in water. But the future... the future was approaching very slowly. Like a shadow that grows taller with sunset.

At night they reached a city near the Wall. The Great Wall—the same wall that separated the known world from the unknown.

Arash didn't sleep that night. He sat in the small courtyard of the inn and looked at the stars. Stars that were like small holes in the black curtain of the sky. As if from the other side of the curtain, a light was shining that he couldn't see.

Did gods really exist? Did they see them? Did they care about two banished children waiting for morning in the small courtyard of a lost inn?

When they passed through the Wall in the morning, Arash held his breath. The Wall was something beyond imagination. Gigantic, endless, like a hand that had separated earth from sky.

On the Wall, images of ancient kings were carved. Great wars, conquests, defeats. The history of the entire world was etched on this wall. Arash felt how small and insignificant he was before this grandeur.

But at the same time, something within him gained strength. He was part of this history. The blood of these same kings flowed in his veins. Perhaps he was banished, but his blood didn't lie.

It took ten full days to reach a small town on the other side of the Wall. When he turned back to look, the Wall couldn't be seen. As if it had never existed. As if it had only been an illusion.

"How can I get to the House of Mithra?"

The man lifted his gaze from his horses and looked at Arash. There was something in this boy's gaze that caught his attention. Something ancient and sad.

Without a word, he pointed toward two hills in the distance. Hills that stood like two sleeping giants against the sky. A narrow, winding path passed between them.

"If you wait, maybe a caravan from Mithra will come. But it's not certain when."

That night they stayed in a small inn. A room with earthen walls and the smell of dampness. Arash counted his coins. One hundred and twenty coins. Half their wealth.

Azar was lying on an old mattress. She had a fever. Her forehead was hot and her breathing shallow. Arash placed his hand on Azar's forehead. Her skin was like fire.

"Azar?"

"I'm cold, Arash."

"I know. Hold on."

That night Arash went to the center of the settlement. Narrow and empty streets. Short and simple buildings. Nothing more than one story. As if this settlement too, like its people, had bowed its head.

Arash approached. The man was tall and handsome. He had sharp eyes that seemed to see everything.

"Can I play with you?"

The man lifted his gaze from the pieces. "Come, boy. What's your name?"

"Arash."

"Arash what?"

Silence. Arash didn't answer. The man understood.

"Alright, Arash. Let's play."

He lost one hand. Intentionally. In the second hand he said: "Shall we make a wager?"

The man became curious. "What kind of wager?"

"If I lose, I'll give you sixty gold coins."

"But if I win, you'll do something for me."

"What?"

Arash won. He hadn't won intentionally. He had truly won. As if the gods had decided to help him.

"Tomorrow you'll take me and my sister to the House of Mithra."

The man gave Arash a sharp look. In this boy's eyes he saw something he recognized. The same thing he himself had years ago. Pain. Loneliness. Responsibility.

"What about your family?"

"Our family... was killed."

Arash's voice was cold even when telling this lie. But the man understood that this coldness was a mask for deep pain.

"God rest their souls. Were you outcasts?"

Arash shook his head.

"Alright, boy. Tomorrow I'll take you."

The man—whose name was Mahvan—came the next morning with his horse. When he saw Azar hanging in Arash's arms, something stirred within him. How could this boy wear such a calm face in a time like this?

"Put her on the horse. We have a long road ahead."

Arash placed Azar on the horse. Azar opened her eyes and looked at Mahvan.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mahvan, little girl. I'm taking you somewhere you won't suffer."

Azar smiled faintly. The first smile she had made in days.

The House of Mithra

The journey was two days long and full of twists and turns. Mahvan walked ahead and Arash beside him. Azar swayed gently on the horse.

"Why are you helping us?" Arash asked.

Mahvan was silent for a while. "Because I was once like you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean life teaches us that the only way to salvation is helping each other."

Arash said nothing. But something within him warmed a little.

When they passed the last hill, a landscape spread before them that took their breath away.

The lands of Mithra were nestled in a vast and green valley. Tall and magnificent mountains, like giant guardians, embraced the valley. Waterfalls cascaded from the heights and a silver river passed through the valley, like a highway of light that irrigated the entire land.

Buildings of white and blue stone were built in stepped formation on the mountainsides. Gardens full of fruit trees and colorful flowers formed green terraces. Large palaces with golden and blue domes reflected the sunlight and created a dazzling landscape.

The valley air was fragrant—the scent of jasmine, roses, and flowing waters. The gentle sound of water and birdsong created natural music that soothed the soul.

People moved about in the cobblestone streets. They wore colorful and beautiful clothes. Children ran and laughed. Markets full of color and the smell of spices and fresh fruits.

Arash couldn't take his eyes off the landscape. For the first time in years, the frost in his eyes completely melted. This place was like heaven on earth. Did such a place really exist? Could they find a home here?

Azar, whose condition had improved a little, squeezed her brother's hand. "Arash, this place... it's like a dream."

For the first time in a long while, a smile appeared on Arash's lips. A smile that contained all the pain of the world, but also hope.

"Yes, Azar. Maybe... maybe we can start anew."

Mahvan looked at them. "This place opens its doors to those who need help, but welcomes those who have good speech, good thoughts, and good deeds."

Arash nodded. For the first time in a long while, he felt that perhaps the future might be something better than the past.

But somewhere in the back of Arash's mind, something whispered—a vague and dark murmur that asked:

"Will everything here really be as it seems?"