The city received us not with a roar, but with a profound, collective sigh of relief. As we walked through the gates—Akram and Aliya on either side of me, the Captain and his guards falling in behind us—the streets were lined with people. They did not cheer wildly. Instead, they reached out, their hands brushing our arms, their faces etched with a gratitude that was deeper and more moving than any celebration. They saw not conquering heroes, but the end of a long and terrible fear. The news of our victory had spread like wildfire, carried on the lips of the former assassins who now moved through the city as protectors. The King was gone. The Legion was leaving. The city was ours.
That evening, the Council of Elders convened in the main hall of the palace, the first time they had done so without the shadow of the King looming over them. The air itself felt different, lighter. Elder Theron, his voice thick with emotion, stood and addressed the assembly of guild leaders, prominent citizens, and guard commanders.
"The city was on the brink of ruin," he declared, his voice echoing in the sudden hush. "Led by a King who valued stone above his people. We were saved by the courage of a few, and the leadership of one." He turned his gaze to me. "Nadim. You have proven yourself not just a survivor, but a builder. A leader. We, the Council, formally ask you to assume leadership of this city. We ask you to be our King."
The word hung in the air, heavy and unnatural. King. A title that tasted of madness and neglect. I looked at the hopeful faces before me, and I felt the weight of their trust, a burden far heavier than any crown.
"I am honored by your faith in me," I said, my voice quiet but clear. "But I cannot accept. The title of King belongs to the royal line. It belongs to the man who stood beside me today, the man who risked everything to bring the truth to light." I turned to Akram, who stood beside Aliya, his face pale in the torchlight. "Akram is the rightful Crown Prince. The city needs continuity, not another upheaval. I will serve the city, and I will serve him, in any capacity he asks of me. But I will not be your King."
A murmur went through the hall. Akram looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else I couldn't quite read. Before anyone could protest further, I bowed to the Council and walked from the hall, leaving the weight of their decision where it belonged.
Aliya found me later on the high rooftop, the same one where I had ambushed Ermias's assassins. The cool night air was a balm on my skin. The city below was a tapestry of flickering lights, peaceful for the first time in as long as I could remember.
"You did the right thing," she said softly, coming to stand beside me at the parapet. "You showed them that this is about the law, not about power."
"It felt right," I admitted. "But it doesn't feel… finished." The grief for Dalia was a constant ache, a hollow space in my chest that no victory could fill.
Aliya was silent for a long moment. "You have built a city where what happened to your sister can never happen again," she said softly. "But there is one more thing you should know. One more thing to make it whole." She turned to face me, and in the starlight, I saw tears shimmering in her eyes. "I lied to you, Nadim. And I am so, so sorry for the pain it caused."
My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"
"The grave," she said, her voice breaking. "The wooden bird. It was all a lie. When we first spoke, I didn't know you. You were a prisoner, a man driven by a grief so powerful I feared it would make you reckless. My first duty was to keep Dalia safe, and that meant absolute secrecy. I was afraid that if you knew she was alive, you would try to reach her, that you would storm the palace and expose us all to Kareem. It was a risk I couldn't take."
I stared at her, my mind refusing to comprehend the words. "Dalia…?"
Aliya said, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. "Lady Hamil took her from the barn that first night, we took her to the palace. We didn't know if she would make it, but thanks to Ishra she pulled through. We hid her. Right under their noses. I hid her in plain sight, as a palace maid. Akram, using his status to move about unnoticed, created a false record for a new servant girl. He gave Dalia a new name, a new identity, and he watched over her. He protected her." Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "By the time I knew what kind of man you truly were, we were in too deep. The city was on a knife's edge. There was never a moment, never a safe time to tell you. Every day the lie continued, it grew heavier. I am sorry, Nadim. For all the grief you carried alone."
I looked at her, at the genuine anguish in her face, and I understood. It was a strategist's decision, a hard choice made in impossible circumstances. And she was right. The man I was back then would have torn the city apart to get to Dalia. I reached out and wiped the tear from her cheek. "You saved her," I said, my own voice thick with unshed tears. "That's all that matters." The world tilted on its axis. The cold, hard stone of Dalia's grave, the certainty of my failure, shattered into a thousand pieces. Hope, a feeling so dangerous I had locked it away, surged through me with a force that made me weak.
"Where?" I choked out, the word a ragged gasp.
Aliya took my hand, her grip firm and steady. "Come with me."
She led me from the terrace, down through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, not to the grand halls, but to the servants' quarters. The air here was filled with the smells of cooking and lye soap. We stopped before a small, plain wooden door. Aliya knocked softly.
The door opened, and a girl stood there, her face thin, her hair tied back in a simple scarf. She was older, taller, but her eyes… they were the same. The same deep, intelligent eyes that had looked up at me with so much trust, so much love.
"Dalia?" I whispered.
Her eyes widened. The scarf slipped from her head as her hands flew to her mouth. For a moment, we just stared at each other across the threshold, a brother and sister separated by a lifetime of pain and lies. Then, her name left her lips in a sob, "Nadim!"
She ran into my arms, and I held her, burying my face in her hair, the familiar scent of her chasing away the pain that had haunted me for so long. She was real. She was warm. She was alive. I held my sister and wept, the grief and guilt of years washing away in a flood of impossible joy. The reunion was the true victory, the healing of my deepest wound.
Later, Akram came to us in the small room. Dalia sat beside me, her hand clutching mine, as if she feared I would vanish if she let go.
"The Council is waiting," Akram said gently. He looked at me, his expression serious. "They respect your decision, Nadim. But they are… uncertain. The city needs a leader, and they do not know me." He took a deep breath. "I have been thinking about what Elias said. About pressure making diamonds. I think… I am not a diamond. I am the carbon. I can be useful. I can be a foundation. But you… you are the one who shines under the weight of it all. You are the one the city needs to lead."
He bowed his head. "I have spoken with the Council. I have formally abdicated my claim. I have told them there is only one man who can rule this city with both wisdom and strength. I ask you, not as a Prince, but as a friend… will you be our King?" He looked up, and his eyes were clear, free of the fog of his former life. "I know my limitations. I would be honored to be your advisor, to help you build the city we all deserve."
I looked at Dalia, her face filled with a fierce, protective pride. I looked at Aliya, her quiet strength the bedrock on which all of this was built. I looked at Akram, a man who had found his own kind of courage. I had not sought this. I had not wanted it. But Elias's last words came back to me: "Trust yourself."
I would not rule with ambition, but with the sober weight of responsibility.
"I accept," I said.
The King and Kareem were taken by the Legion the next morning. They were never seen or heard from again. In the quiet years that followed, as we rebuilt the city not with monuments but with bathhouses, schools, and aqueducts, I would sometimes look at the distant mountains and wonder what fate had befallen them. But the thought was a fleeting one, a thought from a life that was no longer mine. My life was here, with my family, in the city we had saved together.