The ship cut through the sea with a heavy, mournful weight, carrying dozens of children on its back—each one had buried a city in their heart, and each pair of eyes still clung to the smoke they had left behind.
Azamir sat in the corner, hugging himself, staring into the endless stretch of grey waves. In his pocket, the stone he had used to kill a soldier was still there… heavy, as if it were a memory flowing in his blood.
On the other side of the deck, a small boy wept, his face split by grief. Beside him sat a girl no older than ten, hugging her knees to her chest, singing in a broken whisper. They were siblings, as he later learned—Rafiq and his sister Salma—who had lost their parents on the first night of the massacre.
Azamir approached them, sat silently beside them, and then spoke softly:
Azamir:
"Nothing is lost with God… not even tears."
Rafiq looked at him, his eyes filled with bewilderment.
Rafiq:
"Why didn't anyone help us? Why did they leave us?"
Azamir:
"Because this world is not a home of justice… it's a place of trial. And… everything we lose here, we'll find again with a Lord who never forgets."
He reached out his small hand, patted the boy's shoulder, and said:
"Be patient… for after hardship comes ease… a promise from God, not from men."
Salma quieted down a little, then whispered:
Salma:
"I used to hear my father pray at night… does he still hear us?"
Azamir (with tearful smile):
"Whoever is prayed for hears us… and He is more merciful to him than we are."
That night, aboard the ship, Azamir gathered as many children as he could. They spread out some old cloths, made ablution with what water remained, and then stood to pray—children deprived of childhood, yet clinging to the remnants of light.
Azamir bowed, his voice low, but each takbir grounded their feet more firmly on this earth that was no longer theirs.
Suddenly—
The sound of military boots thundered.
An imperial soldier had spotted them.
Soldier (angrily):
"What are you doing here? Magic? Conspiracy?!"
He strode towards them, kicking Azamir to the ground, then slapped Rafiq and began shouting.
Soldier:
"You are slaves, slave children! No prayers here! No gods here! This is the Empire, where the gods are worshipped only in the palace!"
He raised his wooden staff, striking Azamir across the back, then shoved him down.
Azamir (murmuring through the pain):
"Lord… we have no one but You…"
Before the soldier could do more, a higher-ranking officer appeared, gesturing for him to stop. The officer looked at the children with disdain.
"Leave them… the system will crush them soon enough."
Arrival at the Port City
After two days at sea, lights began to appear on the horizon—not the fires of their cities, but skyscrapers, towers, and metallic walls glowing with a fiery blue light.
The city of Velkaran, one of the Empire's port strongholds—a city that never sleeps, built on the edge of the cliffs, guarded by stone statues of the Empire's kings, with an iron train passing every two hours carrying soldiers, fuel, and weapons.
Massive warships crowded the bay like iron sharks, while watchtowers rotated with red eyes that followed every movement.
As their small ship approached, the contrast felt like the gap between ash and flame.
Azamir looked at the city and said:
"When injustice is built… it seems invincible."
The children were unloaded onto the docks and dragged to an underground inspection center. They were not asked for their names—only given numbers.
A broad-shouldered officer named Varros, a man addicted to orders, spoke with a dead voice:
"Everyone who survived Naran… is to be shipped to the capital. They are not refugees… they are resources."
Azamir didn't understand every word, but something in his heart trembled.
They were nothing but numbers. Cargo. Without a future.
In the corner of the port, other ships were being prepared—grey ships bearing the imperial crown insignia, designed for transporting human containers.
Azamir was separated from Rafiq and Salma.
The soldier told him:
"You'll be shipped tomorrow."
Shipped where?
No one answered.
The Port of Cenca
At dawn, the ships loaded with soldiers and civilians docked at Cenca, the light glimmering over its clean waters as if the sea here had never known the color of blood.
Qays stood at the bow, staring at the city sprawling before him… white marble buildings, ivory-paved streets, open markets scented with bread and saffron, children running in the lanes, and laughter rising from cafés overlooking the sea.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and saw in his mind Naran—the towers devoured by flames, the mothers burying their children beneath the stones, and the blood mixing with water along their burned shores.
Qays (with a lump in his throat):
"How can they laugh… when we carry the ashes of our brothers?"
Seran walked beside him, silent as always, while Larem carried the child he had rescued, clutching him as if all that remained of his honor had been condensed into this small body.
They passed through the great gates where soldiers saluted their officers, and the markets bustled with imported imperial goods—life in the city, silence in their veins.
Qays did not smile.
Seran (grimly):
"Soon… they will ask us to bury our voices."
The sea breeze was cold, and the stars faint above the rippling surface. Qays sat at the stern, his head resting on his arms, staring at the horizon—as if something burned within him hotter than Naran's flames.
Larem approached quietly, carrying a cup of water, and sat beside him without a word.
Qays (softly):
"Do you think they regret it? Those who left Naran to die?"
Larem (after a pause):
"Regret doesn't bring back what's burned… nor who's gone."
Qays (turning to him suddenly):
"My father… why didn't I see him on the ships? Why didn't I hear his voice? He was leading the second supply run… wasn't he?"
Larem froze, as if his chest had tightened.
Larem (voice breaking slightly):
"Qays… your father is dead."
He fell silent, then added more softly:
Larem:
"He was trying to break the siege to bring in food and medicine… they cut him off. He fought to the end, covering his men's retreat until no one was left… then he fell, his sword still raised."
Qays didn't reply. He only turned his face to the sea… his eyes glistening without a tear.
Qays (whispering):
"He died… and I didn't say goodbye."
Larem (placing a hand on his shoulder):
"But he died as he wished… standing, like the trees."
The two sat in silence, while the sea continued its mournful song.
At the Central Court Square,where the Sultanate's emblem rose atop a pillar of black iron, they were met with a scene none of them had expected.
Helcar — in full regalia, standing before a row of guards, chin lifted like a rooster that had found a new arena to crow in, his eyes brimming with undisguised malice.
Helcar (in a booming voice):"By order of the High Command, QAYS AL NAR and his companions are hereby placed under arrest… on charges of defying military orders, stealing a vessel designated for safeguarding supply lines, and inciting soldiers to disobey their command."
QAYS gave no answer, lost in his own world — from the news of his father's death to the fall of NARAN, and now, branded a criminal.
But LAREM spoke up:"They were trying to save us."
Helcar (with a cold smile):"And that does not grant him the right to break the law, does it, Ashen Hero?"He turned his mocking gaze toward QAYS.
LAREM (stepping forward):"We were under bombardment… there was no time for your pointless deliberations."
Helcar:"There was time for discipline… and now there is time for punishment."
Soldiers closed in around them.
SERAN's hand moved to his sword, but QAYS stopped him.
QAYS:"No blood here… not now."
Their hands were bound with cold iron chains, amid the silence of bystanders — and a few hushed whispers: Who are they? Why arrest those who fought on the front lines?
They were dragged through the city's streets, past manicured gardens and dancing fountains, until they reached the inner fortress of Cenca.
They were thrown into the first cell — a stone chamber without windows, the stench of iron and sweat thick in the air, the floor tiled with cold stillness.
QAYS sat in the corner, his breathing heavy, before muttering bitterly:"We saved a city… and were imprisoned in another."
LAREM (under his breath):"If this is the price for what we've done… I'll pay it without regret."
SERAN (quietly):"But this… isn't over yet."
Outside, the trial documents were being prepared, but within those walls… the seeds of a new rebellion were quietly being sown.