Kinan's eyes went fully wide.
He felt as though he was standing before a gate to a world he hadn't known existed. The sentence Sarem had just said — said with such ease, such plainness — his mind refused to process it. "How does he say something like that so simply? Does he think I'm foolish enough to believe it?"
From behind, Anwar entered and leaned against the outer door frame. He had come to do what he always did — move the boy's thinking, steer it quietly toward wherever it needed to go.
"I know what's going through your head right now. You're asking yourself — 'what is this man saying?' Don't worry. I'll answer you honestly. But first — sit in that chair and listen carefully."
Kinan moved to the chair and sat. He glanced at Anwar, then turned his eyes back to Sarem.
"You just told me you're my true guardian. What do you mean by that? And if that's true — then who is Amro?"
Sarem took a slow drink of water before answering.
"To begin with — I know you won't believe me easily. But I'll tell you what I know. As you can see, you've been comfortable here since you arrived. You've seen nothing bad from us. In any case — as I said: I am your true guardian. Amro is my assistant. My companion in this mission."
Kinan narrowed his eyes.
"Your assistant?"
"Yes. But something happened between us — a separation. Someone tried to harm you. Someone wanted you dead. Amro, being the brave man he is, rescued you from that person's hands. While I went after the one who fled, taking with him the inheritance your father left for you."
Kinan's entire body shifted at the word father. That single word — the one he had spent years longing to hear said to him directly — hit him somewhere old and deep. He was on his feet before he'd decided to stand.
"My father? My father left me an inheritance? What does that mean? Where is he now?"
Sarem glanced at Anwar with something like genuine surprise. Anwar returned the look. Then Sarem turned back to the boy.
"You don't know what happened to your father?"
The enthusiasm drained from Kinan's face.
"No. What happened to him?"
Sarem exhaled slowly, with the weight of someone carrying difficult news. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I don't know how to say this, Kinan. I assumed Amro had told you. But the truth — the truth I think you've been wanting — is that your father, and all of your family, are dead."
Silence dropped over the room like something heavy being set down.
Sarem showed nothing. Anwar stayed where he was, watching — waiting for the wave of grief or shock that should have come. But Kinan's face didn't change. No tears. No flinching. Nothing that looked like a person receiving devastating news for the first time.
Anwar stared at him.
"You don't look surprised, boy. Did you already know — or were you pretending to be eager just now?"
Kinan pressed his hands together and spoke with the quiet resignation of someone putting down something they'd been carrying for a long time.
"I wasn't pretending. I was holding onto a hope. I'd had a feeling about this for a long time. It was there in Amro's answers — in his hesitations. Every time I asked about my family he would deflect, and the thought crossed my mind more than once that they might be gone and he was keeping it from me. But because he never answered directly, I held onto the possibility that he simply wasn't certain. And now — you've confirmed what I already suspected."
Sarem patted his shoulder gently.
"Don't grieve. The time for grieving has passed. Live your life as you have been, and—"
"I think I just need..." Kinan's voice came out quieter than he intended. "I just need to sit with myself for a little while."
"Of course. And whenever you want to know more — don't hesitate to come to me. Agreed?"
Kinan nodded. He stood and walked toward his room with the heavy steps of someone who has survived something and doesn't yet know what comes after.
Then Anwar caught him by the injured wrist.
Kinan stopped, jaw clenched against the pain.
"Let go — it hurts."
Anwar released him, but his voice didn't soften.
"Didn't you say you wanted to know the truth?"
Kinan lowered his head.
"Then go back. Sit. Ask every question that's in your mind — and receive the answers as they are. Don't wait for the answer you want. Wait for the answer that lets you see things clearly."
Kinan turned those words over. Then he looked back at the chair, steadied himself, and returned.
"Good," Anwar said quietly. "Now ask what you came here to ask."
I.
Kinan felt the weight pressing on his chest. A faint headache had begun at his temples from the accumulation of everything. But he held himself up and raised his head.
"Since you've told me my family is gone — I want to know more about them. Who were they exactly? What were their names? And... how did it end for them?"
Sarem folded his hands.
"I'll answer all of that. Your family, Kinan, descends from one of the Ten Great Tribes. Your tribe was called — the White Hands."
The name caught something in Kinan immediately. His expression shifted from quiet resignation to something sharper — attention, then wonder.
Sarem continued after a pause.
"Your father was the leader of that tribe — and the successor of your grandfather. You could say you are the descendant of a distinguished line of chieftains. Your father's name was Qaydar. He was known as Qaydar the Conqueror. As for your mother — she was initially a servant in your father's household, but he..."
"A servant?" Kinan interrupted, genuinely curious. "What does that mean — a servant?"
Anwar looked at him with mild exasperation.
"God help us — do we have to teach you everything? Amro clearly spent too much time on the trade and not enough on the basics. A servant is essentially someone who works in a household — often a captive, something like a... yes, a human prize. Ha."
Kinan's mouth stayed open for a moment. Then he turned back to Sarem.
"All right. My mother was a servant. Continue."
"Your mother was a servant, yes — but your father took her as his wife after she bore you. To be precise, she was about nine years younger than him. I don't know her name, truthfully — I never met her face to face. What I do know is that he married her because his first wife was barren. So you are his only son."
"His only son? I had no siblings?"
"You were born only a month before he died."
Kinan thought for a moment, then asked the question that had been sitting heaviest.
"Tell me — how did they die?"
Sarem exhaled.
"Your father died bravely. A month after your birth, a group of riders from a kingdom called Kwasta descended on your tribe and killed everyone. But your father had sent you away with us beforehand — he entrusted us with you, and with your inheritance."
"My inheritance?"
Sarem took another slow sip of water.
"Yes. Your father died for you — leaving behind something specific meant to make you... powerful."
Every hair on Kinan's body stood at that word.
Powerful.
His mind took off immediately, building its own images — what this inheritance might be, what shape it took, what it could mean — until Sarem interrupted them all with three quiet words:
"But unfortunately — it's been lost."
Kinan lurched forward.
"Lost?"
Sarem's right eyebrow twitched briefly with something he kept contained.
"Do you remember the man I told you tried to kill you when you were an infant? He is the one who stole your inheritance. That is why I followed him."
Kinan settled back into his seat.
"Who is he? And what does he need from my inheritance?"
"In truth — your inheritance is not a weapon or anything you might first imagine. It is an ancient manuscript. It contains symbols — and if recited, they grant power."
Sarem said it with a strange flicker in his eyes. Anwar caught it. He understood exactly what it meant.
II.
Kinan scratched his chin and smiled with the helpless look of someone who has been given more than they can sort through at once.
"Honestly — there's too much now. I can't quite bring myself to disbelieve you, but I can't fully believe you either. What I do feel is that what you're saying is real — because it would be impossible for you to lie to me when I'm... here, under your roof."
Sarem smiled.
"Am I to understand from that — you still don't quite trust us?"
"Not exactly. But being here makes me tense. I don't know if it's because I don't usually mix with people, or because I'm far from home with people I don't know."
Anwar stepped in suddenly, directing a question at Kinan like a dart:
"What's this — you've gone quiet? Are you pulling back from your goal?"
"No. Not at all."
Silence settled.
Kinan began to think through everything he'd heard, trying to reach a clear decision. He understood, in the practical sense, that he had two paths: go forward or retreat. But what he hadn't yet fully noticed was that these two men — whatever appearance of free choice they gave him — would never truly allow him to choose retreat. They hadn't done all of this to hand him free information and let him walk away. That was precisely where Anwar's role was designed to operate: creating the feeling of complete freedom, of authentic choice, while using language and emotion to steer the boy exactly where Sarem needed him to go.
Anwar moved closer, until he was beside Kinan, and leaned down to speak quietly near his ear:
"Boy — you have a goal now. Something to reach toward. Think carefully about what Sarem told you. He said your inheritance is gone — stolen. He said your entire family was killed. Doesn't that mean something to you?"
Kinan's eyes began to move — left and right — turning everything over, assembling it.
And then Anwar made his final move.
"I think the path is clear now, Kinan. From today — Sarem and I will walk beside you. We'll be with you on the road to reclaiming your inheritance. And to taking revenge on everyone who killed your family and caused your suffering."
The words lit something in him — a heat that was part fury for a family he had never even met, part something else he couldn't name. He sat with it for a moment. He turned it over.
Then he made up his mind.
"All right. I agree. I want to take revenge on everyone who caused me to lose my family, my inheritance — everyone who broke my life before I even had the chance to live it. I promise you both: I won't hold back. Not once. Revenge will be my goal."
To be continued…