The hunger was a living thing.
It lived in Ayon's belly, a cold, gnawing creature that woke up before he did. It
Ayon opened his eyes. The morning light was harsh, filtering through the cracks in the roof like spears. He sat up, his head spinning
Pain is just information, he told himself, repeating the mantra of centuries. It tells me the vessel is empty. It does not mean the spirit is broken.
He stood up, drank a cup of water from his earthen pot—water was the poor man's feast—and walked out into the blinding day.
He had no cart. He had no vegetables. The Warden had destroyed his trade. The contractor had fired him. Today, he was not a merchant or a laborer. Today, he was just a man walking through the dust, looking for a reason to exist.
He walked toward the river, intending to wash his face, to wash away the dust of a sleepless night.
From the high branch of a banyan tree, a shadow watched him.
Princess Sumayra sat invisible, her legs dangling, her eyes narrowed in calculation. She had watched him give away his bread. She had watched him heal the bird.
Anomaly, she thought. He defies the data.
She had spent the night formulating her strategy. Humans were simple biological machines. They required fuel. T
If I offer water to a man dying of thirst, he will drink, she reasoned. If I offer a kingdom to a beggar, he will kneel.
It was time for the First Test. The
She closed her eyes. The air around her shimmered, bending to her will. She pulled threads of light and shadow, weaving them into a disguise. The ethereal glow of the Jinn vanished. The silver hair turned a deep, lustrous black. Her clothes morphed from woven smoke into the fine, expensive silk of a noblewoman.
She dropped from the tree, landing silently on the path ahead of him.
Ayon was walking with his head down, counting the cracks in the dry earth to distract himself from the hunger pangs, when he saw the hem of a dress.
It was blue silk, embroidered with silver thread—the kind of fabric that cost more than his life.
He stopped.
"Excuse me, traveler."
The voice was melodic, cultured, and laced with a subtle, demanding authority.
Ayon slowly lifted his head.
He saw a woman standing under the shade of the banyan tree. She was breathtaking. Her beauty was sharp, polished, and demanding of attention. She looked like a queen who had lost her way in a peasant's world.
For a second, Ayon's breath hitched.
It wasn't the beauty that struck him. It was the familiarity.
The tilt of her head. The fire in her eyes. It was a cruel echo of the face that haunted his nightmares. Ilma.
The pain was sudden and sharp, like a needle in his heart. He immediately lowered his gaze, staring at her expensive shoes. He couldn't look at her. It hurt too much.
"Yes, my lady?" he whispered, his voice rough.
Sumayra smiled internally. He looks away, she thought. He is intimidated. He knows his place. Good.
"I seem to have been separated from my caravan," Sumayra lied, her voice smooth as oil. "I am looking for the main bazaar. My servants... they are incompetent fools. They left me behind."
"The bazaar is straight ahead, lady," Ayon said, keeping his eyes on the dust. "Cross the old bridge. You cannot miss it."
"It is a long walk," Sumayra sighed, stepping closer. The scent of ozone and jasmine drifted from her—a scent that didn't belong in a dusty town. "And I am afraid to walk alone. These streets... they look dangerous. Would you escort me?"
Ayon hesitated. His body was weak. Every step was an effort. But the code of the Guardian—the code he had buried under layers of clay—demanded that he help the lost.
"I am not a guard, lady," he said softly. "But I will walk with you to the bridge."
He turned and began to walk. She fell into step beside him.
"You look tired," Sumayra observed, her tone probing. "And thin. Do you not eat well?"
"I eat enough," Ayon said.
"Enough to survive? Or enough to live?" She paused, letting the question sink in. "I see your clothes. They are rags. I see your hands. They are scarred. You work hard, yet you have nothing. Does that not make you angry?"
Ayon kept walking. The sun beat down on his neck.
"Anger burns energy, lady," he replied. "I cannot afford to waste it."
"That is a coward's answer," Sumayra challenged, testing the limits. "A man should fight for his share. The world is a banquet. Why are you satisfied with the crumbs?"
Ayon stopped. He took a slow breath.
"The banquet you speak of," he said, his voice distant, "is often served on plates of bone. I prefer my crumbs. They digest easier."
Sumayra frowned. Riddles again. This man spoke like a philosopher, looked like a beggar, and smelled of river mud. It was infuriating.
She decided to escalate.
She stopped walking. They were in a quiet alley, shadows stretching long against the walls.
"Wait," she commanded.
Ayon stopped, but he didn't turn.
Sumayra moved with supernatural speed, appearing directly in front of him, forcing him to stop.
"You are a strange man," she said. "You help a stranger without asking for a reward. You starve, but you do not beg."
She reached into the folds of her silk dress.
"Let me help you," she said softly. "Let me change your life."
She opened her hand.
The alley seemed to explode with light.
Resting in her palm was a diamond.
It was not a normal gem. It was the size of a pigeon's egg, cut with a thousand facets that caught the sunlight and shattered it into a rainbow. It pulsed with a cold, inner fire. It was perfection frozen in time.
It was worth a kingdom. It was worth a thousand carts. It was worth enough to buy this entire town and everyone in it.
"Take it," Sumayra whispered. Her voice was the hiss of the serpent in the garden. "Sell it. Buy a mansion. Buy servants. Buy the power to crush the men who hurt you. With this stone... you will never hunger again."
She watched his face closely. She waited for the widening of the eyes. The lick of the lips. The trembling hand reaching out. She knew the look of greed; she had seen it on the faces of kings and sultans.
Ayon looked at the diamond.
The light reflected in his dark pupils.
But he didn't see wealth.
He saw the Pearl City. He saw the glittering towers of his childhood home, the city that had been so beautiful, so rich, so full of light. And he remembered how that beauty had blinded them to the judgment coming from the sky.
He remembered that the brightest things cast the darkest shadows.
Wealth is not a cure, he thought, a wave of nausea rolling over him. It is an anchor. It drags you to the bottom.
He looked up. For the first time, he met Sumayra's eyes fully.
Sumayra flinched.
There was no greed in his gaze. There was pity. A deep, terrifying pity.
"It is a beautiful stone, lady," Ayon said. His voice was steady, devoid of desire. "But it is very heavy."
"Heavy?" Sumayra frowned. "It weighs nothing."
"It weighs a lifetime of worry," Ayon corrected her gently. "If I take this stone, tonight I will not sleep. I will worry that thieves will come. I will worry that I will lose it. I will worry about how to spend it. I will build walls to protect it."
He stepped back, creating distance between himself and the temptation.
"Right now, I have nothing," he said, a strange lightness entering his voice. "And because I have nothing, I have nothing to lose. My door is open to the wind. My sleep is deep."
He shook his head.
"Keep your stone, lady. It is a piece of cold earth. My life is sustained by breath, not by rocks."
He bowed, a gesture of genuine respect, not submission.
"The bridge is just ahead. You can find your way from here."
And then, he walked away.
He walked past the diamond that could buy a nation. He walked past the beautiful woman who offered him the world. He walked back toward his hunger, his poverty, and his peace.
Sumayra stood frozen in the alley. The diamond in her hand felt suddenly cold, like a piece of dead ice.
She stared at his retreating back. Her mind, the brilliant, logical mind of a Jinn scholar, was crashing.
He refused.
He didn't even hesitate.
"What are you?" she whispered to the empty air. "You are starving. You are broken. Why do you reject the cure?"
She looked at the diamond. For the first time in her life, the glitter seemed vulgar. Cheap.
She clenched her fist, extinguishing the light.
"You think you have won, Clay Doll," she hissed, her pride stinging like a slap. "You think you are above the laws of nature."
Her eyes flashed with a dangerous, storm-grey light.
"You rejected Greed. Fine."
The air around her began to swirl, picking up dust and debris. The shadows in the alley lengthened, turning jagged and sharp.
"Let us see," she whispered, her voice dropping to a growl, "how you handle Fear."
She dissolved into the wind, leaving the alley empty.
But high above, the sky began to darken. Clouds, unnatural and heavy, began to gather over Ayon's hut.
The Queen of the Jinn had lost the first round. And she was a woman who did not know how to lose.
Ayon reached the riverbank. He sat on his rock. His stomach growled, a painful, twisting knot.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the seven copper coins. He counted them again.
He smiled.
"Still seven," he whispered.
He hadn't traded his peace for a diamond. He was still poor. He was still hungry.
But he was still free.
And somewhere, in the ghost-memory of a burning city, he felt a girl with starlight eyes smile at him.
Well done, Ayan, the memory whispered. Well done.
But the wind was picking up. The river was getting restless.
Ayon looked at the horizon. He felt the shift in the air pressure. He smelled the ozone.
"She is not done," he said to the river.
He closed his eyes and prepared himself.
The night was coming. And this time, it would bring monsters.