The valley, hushed under the weight of twilight, seemed to whisper secrets too ancient for mortal comprehension. Zoya clutched her recorder tightly, her footsteps faltering on the uneven path that led deeper into the ruins Arsalan had warned her about. The warrior strode ahead, his armor glinting faintly under the growing moonlight, an unspoken promise of protection in every step.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Arsalan muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of irritation and concern.
“And you shouldn’t exist, yet here we are,” Zoya shot back, her defiance masking the tremor in her voice.
The ruins stretched before them, a labyrinth of crumbling walls and intricate stone carvings. Each pillar bore verses of Persian poetry, blending Islamic calligraphy with Kashmiri craftsmanship. The air shimmered faintly, carrying a presence that felt almost alive.
“Is this where it began for you?” Zoya’s question cut through the silence, her curiosity relentless.
Arsalan halted, his broad shoulders stiffening. “This place… it is where souls are bound, where curses are sown.”
Zoya sensed his hesitation but pressed forward. “What kind of curse?”
Arsalan turned to face her, his face etched with torment. “The kind that leaves you walking among men yet never truly alive.”
A Shadowed History
As Arsalan recounted his tale, Zoya felt the weight of centuries pressing down on her. In the 1600s, this valley had been a battleground—not of armies but of faith and power. The Mughal emperor, seeking to consolidate his reign, had ordered the erasure of dissent, targeting those who defied his authority. Among the rebels was a mystic known only as Yasin.
Yasin’s defiance wasn’t rooted in politics but in spirituality. He had unearthed an ancient relic said to hold the key to understanding the Djinn. This relic, a stone inscribed with Sufi verses, had been hidden within the ruins they now stood in. Yasin’s disciples, a mix of Kashmiri and Punjabi rebels, had fought valiantly to protect the artifact, but betrayal had doomed them.
“Yasin’s last act was to curse those who sought power over faith,” Arsalan explained. “His curse was indiscriminate, and I… I was one of its unintended victims.”
The Djinn’s Warning
The air grew colder as they ventured deeper into the ruins. Zoya’s breath hitched as she caught sight of faint etchings glowing on the walls. Arabic inscriptions intertwined with symbols she didn’t recognize.
“This is no ordinary place,” Arsalan murmured, his voice reverent. “The Djinn once resided here.”
Zoya froze. Her rational mind rejected the idea, but the eerie aura of the ruins defied explanation. “Are you saying this place is haunted?”
“Not haunted,” Arsalan corrected, his tone grim. “Guarded. The Djinn are not to be trifled with. They are watchers, and they do not forgive.”
A sudden gust of wind sent shivers down Zoya’s spine. She turned sharply, feeling the weight of unseen eyes on her. “Why would the Djinn guard this place?”
“Because mortals cannot be trusted with what lies here,” Arsalan replied.
The ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble echoing through the ruins. A chill ran down Zoya’s spine as she noticed shadows shifting unnaturally, forming shapes that seemed almost human.
“We need to leave,” Arsalan said urgently, grabbing her arm.
But Zoya’s gaze was fixed on the shadows. One of them seemed to solidify, taking the form of a cloaked figure. Its face remained hidden, a void of darkness that defied the moonlight.
“Who dares disturb this place?” The voice was neither male nor female, echoing with an otherworldly resonance.
Arsalan stepped forward, shielding Zoya. “We mean no harm. We only seek answers.”
The Djinn tilted its head, the motion unsettlingly fluid. “Answers come at a price, cursed one. Are you prepared to pay?”
Arsalan’s silence spoke volumes.
The First Trial
Without warning, the ruins seemed to come alive. Stones shifted, and the walls closed in around them. Zoya clung to Arsalan, her heart racing. The Djinn’s voice echoed again, its tone merciless.
“To pass, you must prove your intent. A lie will cost you your soul.”
“What is this trial?” Zoya demanded, her fear giving way to anger.
The Djinn’s laughter was cold and hollow. “Mortals always ask questions but never understand the answers. Step forward, and you shall see.”
Arsalan hesitated but took the first step, his hand brushing against the glowing inscriptions. Zoya followed, her journal clutched tightly. Whatever lay ahead, she knew there was no turning back.
Next Chapter: The Djinn’s Bargain →
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