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CHAPTER FORTY

ZAHRA

Z ahra walked quickly, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. Every step felt louder, every sound around her amplified, the scrape of boots, the distant creak of wood, the faint murmur of sea chantings sung by Egobor and the crew in the hold. Since leaving Tulindor, the crew had sailed in peace, joyous even, a rare triumph as they celebrated finding the new fragment. But for Zahra, there was no peace. No victory.

She moved through the shadows of the ship’s hold, weaving between the crew members, their laughter grating against her nerves. She avoided their glances, her pulse throbbing in her ears, louder than their songs. Ahead, the stairs loomed steep and shadowed, and she took them two at a time, her breathing short and uneven.

In that moment, Zahra knew her life depended on every step. No—more than her life. The fate of all of them rested on her shoulders, and the weight of that revelation threatened to crush her.

Near the rail, Edwina noticed her and stepped forward, her hand outstretched, concern etched into her face. Zahra’s chest tightened, but she averted her gaze, brushing past. Zahra's guilt twisted sharply inside her like a blade. She couldn’t stop. Not now. Her skin burned, sweat soaking her clothes, the suffocating heat clinging to her.

Crossing the main deck, a bitter thought slashed through her mind: This heat must be a taste of the hell waiting for us all. She swallowed hard and muttered silently to herself, God, let my sins consume me if it will save the innocent. But deep down, she knew her prayers would stay unanswered. For the heavens would always turn away from those about to unleash ruin.

The parchment she clutched in her palm burned against her skin. She dared not glance at it again, as if the words, once unleashed, might ignite the air, might darken the entire world under the weight of their curse. What she had deciphered… she could not keep it to herself. It was too heavy a secret, a truth so dark she felt her soul tremble with every thought that escaped it. She could feel the words slithering in her mind, venomous and alive, coiling tighter around her heart with every step. Her fingers curled instinctively around the fragment, as if holding it tighter might contain its power. This fragment didn’t just hold their future. It held their doom.

When she reached the cabin, Zahra threw the door open with a sharp motion. Her abrupt entrance reverberated through the room, cutting off the conversation inside. She didn’t pause at the door but strode forward, stopping at the long table. With a swift movement, she slapped the parchment onto the surface, the sharp sound drawing everyone’s attention in the cabin.

“We have to stop. Now.” Zahra’s voice cracked, betraying a deep, soul-crushing fear—the kind that comes once in a lifetime, born from the sense of damnation closing in.

Irene, standing at the far end of the table, turned slowly. Her brows knitted, and her gaze was cold and sharp.

Javier, at her side, watched Zahra with a mix of worry and curiosity. His dark eyes studied every detail of her face, as though searching for an explanation for this sudden frenzy. Zahra felt the weight of his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, her resolve faltered.

“Excuse me?” Irene spat, her tone dripping with scorn. She eyed Zahra, a mocking smile twisting her lips.

Zahra took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She stepped forward, and repeated in a firmer voice, "I said, we must stop everything."

Irene let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I heard you the first time. I just wanted to see if you were stupid enough to say it again."

The words pierced Zahra like poisoned arrows, but she held her ground. Silent tears traced paths down her cheeks as she ran a hand through her loose hair, forgetting in her fear to braid it as she usually did. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, locking her gaze on Irene, determined not to yield. "We set our course for Meregoth Island yesterday, on your orders," Irene said, pointing an accusing finger at Zahra. "And now you dare to call it off?" She scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Not a chance."

A heavy guilt pressed on Zahra’s shoulders. Yes, she had given them that heading. She’d been proud—too proud—after finding the next fragment with Egobor.

Lady Death’s words had been crystal clear:

"Where the last fragment lies, hidden in plain sight, whispering to those who know how to listen. Sail to the island where the lovers waged their first war, where, centuries later, the usurper crushed his enemies. Seek the cave that sings beneath the breath of the sea. Break the stone, and beneath the dust, you will find my mark, carved for eternity."

Zahra began to pace, tormented, her trembling voice cutting through the tense silence. "We can’t go to Meregoth!"

Javier stepped forward, his expression softening, but Zahra raised a hand to stop him. She couldn’t let him near her—not now. She needed control over her words, her thoughts. He had that effect on her, the way he could unravel her defenses with nothing but a glance.

"We have to stop this damn ship, now!" she shouted, her desperation spilling out.

Irene rolled her eyes, exasperated, and turned to Javier. "Are you going to tell your little saint to lower her voice, or should I rip out her tongue?" she snapped, her gaze flicking to the crew members watching from the half-open door.

Javier didn’t respond. Instead, he strode over and slammed the door shut, locking them all inside. "You don’t understand!" Jannat cried, her voice thick with tears. "There’s a curse!"

Irene’s patience snapped. "We already know that!"

But Zahra wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze, wild and unfocused, darted around the room as she continued, as if possessed: "All of this—it’s a trap! The sapphire… it’s a lure for souls as naive and greedy as ours! Nehalannia… she… she wants revenge… she hates us..."

Her voice cracked under the weight of emotion.

Javier stepped closer and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Breathe," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Look at me, and speak softly."

His presence calmed her for a moment. But the weight of her revelations was too great. She lifted the parchment in a desperate gesture.

"Listen!" she cried, as she began to read: "The peoples of Eryx and Alastor, fallen in the dust of battle, found no rest. Their bodies lay still upon the island when, in a surge of fury, Nehalannia tore them from the peace of death. She cursed them with her breath, sealing their fate within the very heart of the mountain, condemning them to the eternal torment of flame. Thus, they were named… the Forsaken."

Irene shook her head, irritation flashing in her eyes. "This is nonsense."

But Javier placed a hand on her arm, silencing her, his gaze locked on Zahra as she continued.

She continued: "And bear this message to the living: when the signs align by the hand of conspirators, when the sky darkens and the earth trembles beneath the feet of those who have sinned, on that day, the Forsaken will break free from their fiery tomb, surging forth like furious waves to cleanse your lands with ruin and discord. No wall, no army of men will hold back their vengeance, for they will return, fed by a thousand years of suffering and bitterness."

Zahra’s tears fell onto the parchment as she finished, her voice breaking: "Tell them to gather their banners, let the colors of this world blend into one, for the end times will be near. The last days will be written in blood and ash, and the light will fade, for they will finally pay the price of their greed."

A heavy silence fell, thick and oppressive. Javier’s eyes widened, while Irene stared at the parchment with unease. She let out a bitter laugh, rubbing her temples. "This is madness," Irene murmured, stepping toward Zahra, her expression menacing. "Let’s say this prophecy is real. Then what are these ‘signs’ we’re supposed to avoid? Tell us what they are, so we can steer clear of them!"

Zahra’s gaze turned haunted. "I… I don’t know. It wasn’t written…"

A cynical laugh escaped Irene’s lips. "See? Your darling is losing her mind, Javier."

Zahra, teetering on the edge of panic, murmured one last plea: "Perhaps we could beg for mercy from the crown…"

Javier shook his head, his expression saddened but resolute. "It’s impossible."

"Irene let out a bitter, desperate laugh. "Beg the king? And what else, huh? Should I send your heads as a sign of good faith and surrender? Think for a moment—it’s too late!"

Zahra felt her heart sink, as though she were witnessing her own funeral, powerless to change the course of events. She whispered, almost to herself, "We’re all going to die…"

She felt Javier’s hands on her shoulders, his forehead pressing gently against hers in a gesture of comfort. He murmured softly, "Calm down, little saint… We’ve been invincible till now."

Invincible. The word echoed in Zahra’s mind like a dark omen.

Irene, her voice shaking, stepped forward one last time. "Listen to me. You'll forget all of this. Everything you read. Either we die trying to claim the sapphire with some shred of dignity, or we die by the king’s hand. Choose your death. But if you’ve brought us this far, then I choose to take this chance."

Her gaze pierced through Zahra. "Better to live a life of regrets surrounded by wealth than face a quick death in poverty."

Zahra remained still, her gaze fixed and distant. She let out a long sigh and slowly pulled away from Javier, her movements hollow.

Her hand drifted through her hair, her fingers catching in tangled strands in a futile attempt at composure. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, though her face betrayed no emotion. It was blank, lifeless, claimed entirely by resignation.

"Yes, Captain," she whispered, her voice quiet and flat.

Without another word, Zahra turned and left the cabin. As she descended to the hold, a grim certainty settled over her: they would all, inevitably, pay the price for their ambition.

And yet, for the brief moment the sapphire would rest in her hands, she would cling to one fragile hope, a desperate prayer that their sins hadn’t been too great to damn them beyond redemption.