The relic's soft, ominous glow seemed to pulse in time with Zoya's heartbeat as she followed Arsalan out of the ruins. The night had deepened, and the cold air bit through her coat. Above, the stars were scattered like shards of shattered glass, distant and untouchable.

Arsalan gripped the relic tightly, his knuckles white. His expression was grim, the weight of centuries etched into his features. Zoya watched him carefully, her journal tucked under her arm, her recorder still silently capturing the eerie silence.

“Where do we go now?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“To the next piece of the puzzle,” Arsalan replied, his voice clipped.

“And where is that?”

“North,” Arsalan said simply, though his hesitation betrayed a deeper unease.

A Dangerous Alliance

The journey north was treacherous, taking them through dense forests and along narrow mountain paths. Zoya tried to ignore the strange sensations that accompanied their passage—the whispers on the wind, the flickering shadows just out of sight, and the feeling of being watched.

After hours of silence, Arsalan finally spoke. “We will need help.”

“Help from whom?” Zoya asked, genuinely puzzled.

“A man named Bilal,” Arsalan said, his voice laced with reluctance. “He is… dangerous, but he knows more about this relic than anyone else alive.”

Zoya frowned. “Dangerous how?”

Arsalan’s gaze darkened. “Let’s just say he has a history with the Djinn.”

When they arrived at Bilal’s encampment, Zoya immediately understood Arsalan’s warning. The man who emerged from the shadows was tall and lean, with piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through her. His presence exuded an unsettling charisma, and his movements were as fluid as a predator’s.

“Arsalan,” Bilal said smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Still dragging your curse around, I see.”

Arsalan scowled. “I need your knowledge, not your wit.”

Bilal’s gaze shifted to Zoya, lingering just long enough to make her uncomfortable. “And who is this? Another one of your hopeless causes?”

Zoya bristled but said nothing.

“This is Zoya,” Arsalan said curtly. “She’s with me.”

Bilal raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Well, come inside. Let’s talk.”

A Deal with Bilal

Bilal’s tent was filled with artifacts—ancient manuscripts, relics, and items Zoya couldn’t even begin to identify. It smelled faintly of incense and something metallic, like blood.

“The relic you carry,” Bilal began, gesturing to the glowing box Arsalan held, “is one of three. Together, they form a key to unlock the secrets of the Djinn.”

“And where are the other two?” Zoya asked.

Bilal smirked. “Ah, the seeker speaks. The second lies in the Valley of Ashes, a place where even the shadows fear to tread. The third… well, let’s just say retrieving it will cost you more than you’re prepared to give.”

Arsalan leaned forward. “What do you want, Bilal?”

Bilal’s smirk widened. “Straight to the point. I like that. I want the relic once your little quest is done. You won’t need it after you’re free, and I have… other uses for it.”

Zoya’s stomach churned. “What kind of uses?”

“That’s not your concern,” Bilal said lightly.

Arsalan hesitated, his jaw tightening. Zoya could see the conflict in his eyes. “Fine,” he said finally. “You can have the relic. Just tell us how to find the next one.”

“Excellent,” Bilal said, clapping his hands. “I knew you’d see reason.”

The Valley of Ashes

As they left Bilal’s camp, Zoya couldn’t shake the feeling that they had made a mistake. “Are you sure we can trust him?” she asked.

“No,” Arsalan admitted. “But we don’t have a choice.”

The journey to the Valley of Ashes was even more grueling than the trek to Bilal’s camp. The air grew colder, and the land became desolate, a stark contrast to the lush greenery of the valley they had left behind.

When they finally arrived, Zoya understood why it was called the Valley of Ashes. The ground was covered in a thick layer of gray dust, and the skeletal remains of trees jutted out like jagged scars. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and the sky was a murky, oppressive gray.

“This place is cursed,” Zoya said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not cursed,” Arsalan corrected. “Destroyed. The Djinn do not leave their enemies unpunished.”

The Shadow’s Warning

As they ventured deeper into the valley, the relic began to glow brighter. Arsalan held it tightly, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Zoya followed close behind, her every sense on high alert.

Suddenly, the air grew still, and a figure emerged from the shadows. It was another Djinn, cloaked in darkness, its face hidden just like the one they had encountered in the ruins.

“You seek what you do not understand,” the Djinn said, its voice cold and echoing.

“We seek the truth,” Arsalan said firmly.

The Djinn laughed, a sound that sent chills down Zoya’s spine. “The truth will destroy you, cursed one. And it will break her.”

Arsalan stepped forward. “We’ll take that risk.”

The Djinn tilted its head. “Then face the trial of the Valley. If you survive, the second relic will be yours. If you fail, your souls will be mine.”

Before either of them could respond, the ground beneath them cracked, and the valley erupted into chaos.


Next Chapter: Trial of the Valley →
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