When the clamor fades, the true voice finally begins to speak.
After a span of time they could no longer measure
a span that had lost all meaning at the bottom of the chasm
the sounds above began to fade.
There were no more shouts,
no clashing chains,
no thunder of freed jinn echoing through the stone.
A heavy silence settled.
Not a silence of relief, but of deliberate waiting.
A silence where every breath was audible,
and every drop of water falling from above struck like a knock on an exposed heart.
At the bottom, Aram gathered his men.
He did not do so with an order or a call,
but through presence alone.
He drew them together as a leader does when he has no weapon and no exit
except to remain standing among them.
He inspected the wounds one by one.
Tightened bandages with what little cloth remained.
Pressed bleeding with steady hands.
Marana used what herbs she still carried,
crushing them between trembling but determined fingers,
while Solan helped set fractures
supporting, binding, keeping pain from turning into screams.
The others sat with their backs against the cold stone.
Bodies exhausted by battle,
by the fall,
by betrayal.
Some lay where strength finally left them.
Others sat with eyes closed.
And for the first time in a long while…
they surrendered to sleep.
But sleep was not merciful.
As a faint light filtered from above,
water began to fall.
Not all at once.
But in a deliberate spray.
Cold.
Provoking.
Bodies jolted awake at once,
as if the chill pierced straight through bone.
The water rose to their ankles…
then stopped.
Aram lifted his head.
In that moment, he knew:
this was not neglect.
This was calculated waiting.
Then he heard the sound.
A laugh.
A laugh he knew all too well.
The voice came from above clear, confident, filled with the pleasure of control:
"Good morning, Aram."
His body stiffened.
Blood went cold in his veins.
It was Ronen.
The voice continued, carrying the intoxication of a man who no longer feared consequence:
"You know… you've done me a great service without even realizing it."
A lethal silence filled the chasm.
Even the water seemed to still, listening.
Ronen said:
"Because of you because of your noble naïveté I have seized power from your wife's father.
The king is now in the dungeons… he and the queen."
Faces tightened.
Hands clenched.
No one spoke.
Ronen continued, as though telling a story that did not concern him:
"Yes, Aram… I am Minister Ronen.
For years I tried to convince him that we should conquer the world with the power of the jinn we possess.
But he was weak.
He feared what lay beyond Saba's walls.
He imprisoned the jinn's power within the city alone.
He rejected glory…
and so he deserved to fall."
He paused briefly,
then continued in a colder voice:
"And when he learned he would have a grandson
a true heir
he sent a messenger and a letter to you,
calling you to come and claim the throne in time."
He laughed a short, sharp laugh.
"That was when I understood my own end was near."
Aram struggled to breathe.
Each word was torn from his chest.
Ronen went on:
"I seized the messenger.
I read the letter.
Then I allied myself with the western tribes.
I promised them gold…
emeralds…
and the power of the jinn…
in exchange for your death."
Aram's fist clenched until blood nearly stopped flowing through his fingers.
Ronen continued, as if the wound itself were insufficient:
"And your right hand…
was my greatest ally.
He rushed you to the seer.
He drew you away from your tribe.
And in your absence…
we destroyed it."
A muffled murmur passed among the men.
The sound of choking breath.
The sound of understanding arriving too late.
Then Ronen said with lethal calm:
"And your son…
and your wife…
are on their way to us now.
To the altar of Saba.
The only heir will be slain.
I will take the throne.
And then…
I will conquer the world."
A crushing silence followed.
Not empty
but filled with internal collapse.
Then…
something broke inside Aram.
He did not scream.
He did not beg.
But his eyes ignited,
as though a fire had been lit behind them and would never go out.
Ronen spoke again, in the tone of a man who believed the end was decided:
"As for you…
you will not die quickly.
No.
I have ordered this chasm to be filled with water slowly.
So you will not sleep.
So you will not rest.
So you will fade… gradually."
The water rose again
to their knees.
Then stopped.
The voice withdrew.
Only droplets continued to fall from above,
one…
two…
like a merciless counter of time.
The men looked at one another.
Pale faces.
Eyes weighted with shock.
Najjar spoke softly broken, but lucid:
"He does not want to kill us…
he wants to break us."
Solan watched the water and said:
"And it will return."
Aram drew a deep breath.
Deep enough to keep the rage alive without letting it consume him.
Then he said, quietly
but as solid as stone:
"We will not die here."
He lifted his gaze into the darkness that had swallowed Ronen.
"You heard him.
Now we know the whole truth.
And now… we must find a way
even if it lies in the heart of this hell."
And as the water touched their legs,
and time worked against them,
something else began to work as well…
Minds began to think.