"Who was Mahavan?"

Nahal paused from crushing herbs for the morning spice. The sound of the knife on stone stopped.

"Arash dear, I don't know who Mahavan was. Only his belt showed he was from the noble House of mithra."

A heavy silence settled between them. Nahal lifted her eyes from the herbs.

"How did you meet him?"

Arash gave no answer. He gazed somewhere distant, as if searching for something he could never find.

"How much longer do you think my sister will get better?"

"Don't worry yourself, Arash. I treated her wound as best I could. Only her broken leg remains, which will keep her bedridden for a while."

Nahal lowered her voice, as if afraid of the walls.

"But Arash... what was that ash? Ordinary ash can't seal deep wounds like that. It seemed... it seemed alive."

Arash turned his head. His eyes had grown cold.

"It was ash from burned wood. Nothing more."

He said nothing else and left the room. Nahal watched him until Arash disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

|

How peaceful. If only it were always like this. The reflection of light from the window on Azar's pale skin, his sister's completely black hair—an eternal contrast, like himself. Like the ash that flowed in his veins.

Arash sat beside the bed. Azar murmured in her sleep. Incomprehensible words, as if talking to someone not of this world.

We are both cursed. I with ash, she with dreams I don't understand.

The sound of Nahal's footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Cautious, as if afraid to wake them. She didn't want to disturb them. They had difficult days ahead.

Here too, the same conditions as before. Even worse. I know nothing of these people. Mahavan and Hirbad said this was a forgiving land. I hope it remains so.

"Azar, wake up! Breakfast is ready."

Nahal kept her voice gentle, but there was a tremor in it. She looked around. Arash was nowhere to be seen.

"No... no, no, no," she murmured under her breath. "Why did he go outside? He's not ready yet."

Her hands were shaking. She knew if someone saw him now, if they discovered who she was sheltering... She wasn't worried for herself, but for Arash.

|

The covered bazaar in the early hours was filled with the colors and scents of spices. Arash walked among the crowd, feeling as if lost in a pleasant dream. The sound of children's laughter, the smell of fresh bread, merchants' banter...

But gradually, it seemed a shadow was weighing down on the bazaar.

The stares. At first he didn't notice. But now he could see. People were looking at him and quickly turning their gaze away. Whispers that stopped when he approached.

"Come, young man! I have stones of power, real ones!" the old man said!

 An old man in a worn cloak, his torn robe pulled down to his ankles, with a piece of woven cloth spread before him. On it was scattered a pile of various stones: some black volcanic stones, some streaked with limestone lines, and several pieces of raw marble.

The stone-seller by the wall. As if waiting for him.

Arash approached. The stones gleamed under the sunlight, but seemed to have a cold light.

"Look, this green marble brings luck. Only ten coins. This one's much better! Black marble stone, it is a Div stone, Demonic power lies within it. It's still young—take it and bring it to hand. It will give you power and strength!"

Meanwhile, a boy in fine clothes approached. His face was pale.

"Do they... do they really work?" the boy asked.

The old man smiled in a way that made Arash uneasy. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Of course, my boy. But I have something better for you."

From under the cloth he drew out a stone that seemed to devour light.

"A color stone. If you're afraid you won't be chosen in the sacred fire... this will set you right. One hundred gold coins, but your honor is worth more. This color stone changes the color of the fire and won't let anyone notice you weren't chosen. But if you are chosen, well, it just reduces the risk. No one will notice your non-selection anymore. You're buying your honor."

The boy looked at him with wide eyes.

"I... I'm so afraid. My family, if I'm not chosen... They cast out my sister because she became ashborn and everyone found out. They said she brought shame to our family."

"How old are you, my boy?"

"Fourteen. The ceremony is next week."

Arash felt as if ice was melting in his stomach. They still hadn't held the fire ceremony here?

"Buy it. Don't worry."

The boy paid with trembling hands and took the stone. Then he hurried away.

As Arash was about to leave, the old man's voice stopped him:

"What about you? Aren't you buying a stone?"

The old man laughed deeply.

"No, you don’t want a stone. You’re already one." His voice dropped. "Nameless ash?"

Arash felt as if the world was spinning around him.

"You... how do you...?"

"Who are you?"

But the old man seemed to dissolve into air. The crowd enveloped him and he vanished.

Arash was left alone, with a heartbeat that felt like a mountain weighing on his chest.

|

The sound of screaming and shouting came from ahead, outside the bazaar. Arash moved toward the sound.

A circle of people had formed. In the center stood a table with two people seated behind it. A stone in the center of the table moved gently.

"Stone game!" someone shouted. "Khurvan against Mitra!"

A middle-aged man was competing against a young boy. Both had placed their hands on the table and were staring at the stone with intense concentration.

The stone moved toward the middle-aged man. The crowd cheered.

"Winner, Master Kamyar of the Khurvan House!"

The young boy hung his head and stood up. Tears could be seen in his eyes.

"Who wants to compete?" Kamyar shouted.

Arash waited for someone to come forward, but everyone was silent.

Then a girl separated from the crowd. She appeared to be around sixteen, with sleek black hair framing her face and a belt adorned with intricate designs around her waist, Despite appearing older, she was about the same height as me. 

The crowd groaned.

"Vashna?" Kamyar asked in surprise. "You've never played before."

"Today I will."

Her voice was cold and decisive. Vashna sat behind the table.

The game began. But Vashna seemed to be a beginner. She lost the first round. Anger flared in her eyes.

The second round began. This time both tried with all their might. The stone moved between them, sometimes this way, sometimes that way.

Suddenly, it was as if there was an explosion. The stone flew from the table and came straight toward Arash.

Everyone looked at him.

Arash picked up the stone. In that moment, a strange feeling overcame him.

He threw the stone back toward the table.

But the stares didn't stop. Everyone was staring at him.

Vashna stood up from her place.

"You..." "Who are you?"

"Nameless..." "Has no belt..." "Where did he come from?"

Arash felt as if trapped in a cage. All those stares, all those whispers.

"What is your name?" Vashna asked.

"Why does it matter?"

"Why does it matter?" Vashna repeated in amazement. "You... don't you know where you are?"

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Everyone in this land has a name. Has a belt. Has identity." Vashna came closer. "What are you? A shadow? A ghost?"

Arash felt anger boiling within him.

"Whatever I am, you have no right to speak to me like this."

"He speaks like this to a rashnav’s daughter from house of khurvan?" "What rudeness is this?" "Hasn't anyone taught him manners?"

Vashna took a step forward. Her face had turned red.

"You're nothing more than some girl... "

Arash hadn't finished his sentence when Vashna's hand struck his cheek. A hard slap whose sound echoed through the bazaar.

A deathly silence fell everywhere.

Arash slowly placed his hand on his cheek. Then he looked at Vashna.

"You made a mistake."

With a quick movement, he stomped his foot on Vashna's foot. The girl screamed and fell to the ground.

Arash looked down at her from above.

"Whoever you are, you cannot raise your hand against me."

The crowd seemed to explode. Angry voices, cries of protest.

"Arash! Arash, where are you?"

Nahal appeared through the crowd. When she saw the scene, her face went pale.

"Arash! What have you done?" She ran toward Vashna. "Forgive me, lady! He is sick! He has a mental disorder! He didn't know what he was doing!"

|

The court of the house khurvan was stone and cold. High walls, stone columns, and thrones that seemed carved from stone.

Nahal and Arash stood in the center of the hall. Around them, guards in scale armor and metal helmets stood motionless like golden statues of silence.

Vashna sat on a small throne, her foot wrapped in cloth. Her father, Governor Rashnav, stood beside her.

"So this is that... person?" the governor looked at him with disgust. 

"Yes, father. He struck me. In front of everyone."

"Nameless, without lineage, without identity." The governor approached. "You don't even know where you are, do you?"

Arash was silent.

"In the land of Mithra, everyone has a place. Everyone has a name. Has a belt that shows their lineage. You... you are nothing."

The governor turned to Nahal.

"Who are you, woman?"

"I... I am someone who care for him. He is orphan."

"Orphan?" Vashna stood up from her place. "Father, orphans have names. Have clans. he... he’s something else."

The governor nodded.

"Yes. he smell of misfortune."

He turned to Nahal.

" Four hundred gold coins. The silence fine. So everyone forgets what happened."

Nahal bowed her head.

"I accept, my lord."

"No." Vashna intervened. "This woman has done no wrong; she is doing what is our custom."

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

"What do you want?" her father asked.

Vashna smiled coldly.

"I want him to know his name. I want everyone to know what he is."

She looked at Arash.

"From now on, you are 'Arash the naecish.' Anyone who sees you will know you are nobody. You belong nowhere."

She paused.

"Your name will be 'Arash the naecish.' Meaning Nameless, No one, Nothing but Curse. And then no one has the right to give you water, give you bread, or even look at you."

A heavy silence filled the hall.

Arash slowly raised his head and looked into Vashna's eyes, then at Governor Rashnav.

"Arash the Nameless," he said quietly. "I accept."

Arash accepted the governor's words with the same cold calm he always possessed. The name placed upon him was like a stone that hadn't struck his bone—superficial and insignificant. Position, name, honor... these were nothing to him but hollow words that the elders had created for themselves.

But Azar... his little sister who was now at home with her broken leg, alone and worried. This thought pierced his heart like a thorn. Now that his name had been taken, this was the law—he could no longer return home unless, as they had said, with proper conduct and worthy compensation, he bought back his honor.

But for Arash, just the thought of doing such a thing was like drinking poison; the poison of humiliation.

His gaze fell on Vashna—a girl who, despite all her pompous words, was still afraid of Arash's calm stare.

Arash spoke only one sentence in his mind: "Now that I am no more... how will Azar bear it?"

Vashna shrank further into herself. She had expected screaming and pleading, not this cold silence.

How foolish, she thought. All these ceremonies and ancient laws for what? Now that they had placed this cursed name upon him, no one had the right to give him water, give him bread, or even look at him. So how was he supposed to take care of Azar?

The governor was still talking about compensation and rebuilding honor, but Arash was no longer listening. He only thought of his little sister—the only one who truly mattered to him.

He broke his silence and said in a voice that held no tremor: "I understand." No pleading, no anger, not even the slightest sign that this judgment had affected him.

This was not a good beginning.

No honor, no forgiveness—only the poison of namelessness poured into his mouth.