Author's Preface
Yahya had noticed his brother looking worn down lately, as though a restful night had been avoiding him for weeks. Faris walked with a slow, heavy gait, the dark shadows beneath his eyes speaking louder than any complaint.
"Faris, are you all right?" Yahya asked one afternoon as they were walking back from the council, studying his brother's tight expression.
Faris let out a quiet, weary breath, like a man who had finally decided to drop a burden he could no longer carry alone.
"I haven't been sleeping," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the distant dunes. "I keep dreaming about a woman. Fair-haired. Sometimes she's running across the sand, sometimes she's standing right in my tent, sometimes she's somewhere strange—a place that sounds like that Earth realm Halima speaks of." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck in slight discomfort. "I think... I think I've begun seeing the beloved written for me by fate. The way it happened for you."
Yahya stopped in his tracks, searching his brother's face. "You are certain?"
Faris answered with a slow, solemn nod.
A surge of genuine joy stirred in Yahya’s chest, followed closely by an aching memory of his own past. He remembered that feeling all too well—the vivid dreams, the relentless pull of the Sacred Lake, and finally Halima's face emerging from its dark waters. But the waiting that had followed had been an agony of its own: five hundred years of days turning into centuries, questioning every morning whether she truly existed or if his own mind was playing a cruel trick on him.
He placed a firm hand on Faris's shoulder. "Have patience, brother," he said softly. "It is worth every moment of the wait."
"I can already feel the thread burning in my chest," Faris admitted, looking at him with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "I don't know how you endured centuries with this."
Yahya considered his words carefully before speaking. "Because the reward eclipses every year of pain," he said, warmth softening his golden eyes. "Since our wedding, I have known a peace I never possessed before—not even as a young man. Our nikah was the happiest day of my life. Do not fear the wait, Faris. Your soulmate will arrive exactly when Allah decrees the time is right."
Faris nodded, clearly moved, though a quiet smile broke through his tension as he skillfully guided the conversation away from his own heart.
"By the way," he added, "I've been asking your wife about women from Earth lately. Just thought I would prepare myself a little."
Yahya let out a low laugh. "So that’s why you two have grown so close lately! You sly fox." He shook his head, still smiling. "At least you will have some forewarning. I had none. Yet, Alhamdulillah—praise be to Allah—speaking with her and building a life together came more naturally than I ever dared hope. She accepted me. I will never cease to be grateful for that."
Watching the quiet radiance in his brother's eyes, Faris quietly resigned himself to his fate. He had never intended to seek a wife, but if the pages had already been written, perhaps turning into a lovesick fool wasn't the worst destiny.
As they reached the central path of the settlement, Faris gestured toward a sun-baked clay building. "Walk with me to the House of Healers. It's right on our way."
"Is something troubling you?" Yahya asked, concern creasing his brow.
"Just the sleeplessness," Faris replied. "It's been four nights now because of the dreams. I need something to quiet my mind."
Inside the House of Healers, the thick clay walls offered immediate sanctuary from the midday heat. A young apprentice—Basil’s youngest son—was hurriedly shuffling through glazed vessels on a high shelf, clearly struggling to organize his thoughts.
An elder waiting on a nearby bench offered a patient smile. "Give the boy a moment. He is still finding his footing."
The brothers waited in respectful silence until the apprentice turned to them with a nervous bow.
"I need something for sleep," Faris said, leaning slightly against the wooden counter. "A strong draught, if you have it."
The young herbalist considered the request, reaching for a small bundle of dry, silvery leaves that gave off a sharp, medicinal aroma.
"We have this," the boy explained, turning the dried stems in his hand. "Warriors use it to numb severe wounds and bring immediate sleep. But if the brew is too concentrated, it carries a heavy penalty—blinding headaches, a persistent fog in the mind, disorientation. I would rather find you something gentler for a calm, natural rest."
Faris nodded. "Gentler is fine."
Behind him, Yahya went entirely still.
The background sounds of the room—the clatter of jars, the low murmur of patients, the distant rustle of canvas in the wind—seemed to fall away all at once.
A persistent fog in the mind.
A sleep so deep it numbs a man.
A memory, cold and sharp, cut through his mind with agonizing clarity: the morning of his wedding. Salim standing on the dusty path, holding a small black clay vessel.
“Seyyida Halima asked to have it poured out. She said she mixed up the leaves and it came out too bitter...”
And then, the morning after their wedding night. The leaden weight pressing down on his eyelids. The way he had struggled to awaken for the morning prayer—a heavy, unnatural weakness he had never experienced in his entire life, no matter how exhausted he had been from weeks of riding or battle. At the time, he had believed her when she gently suggested it was merely the strain of the celebration catching up to him.
She hadn't mixed up the leaves.
She had deliberately prepared a concentrated draught to put him to sleep. And then, at the last moment, she had panicked and tried to destroy it.
A sudden, chilling question settled deep in Yahya's chest: Why? What was she so afraid of on our wedding night that she felt the need to drug me?
"Yahya?" Faris turned, noticing his brother's sudden, rigid silence. Yahya stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the silvery leaves in the herbalist's palm. "Brother? What is it?"
Yahya snapped back to the present, swallowing the sudden bitterness in his throat and forcing his expression into composure.
"Nothing," Yahya said quietly, his voice dangerously even. "Just a sudden thought. Get your medicine. Let us leave."
Faris frowned, sensing the sharp shift in the air, but Yahya was already turning toward the exit.
They walked back toward Yahya's tent in heavy silence. Faris, assuming his brother was simply preoccupied with council matters, tried to fill the quiet. "You know, you ought to stand firmer during the morning meetings. Stop yielding so easily to the elders on the border patrols—just state your position."
Yahya offered only a brief, dry nod, his mind miles away. Sensing his brother's distance, Faris caught himself and fell silent.
When they reached the entrance of the tent, Salim’s voice called out from the path behind them. "Amir Faris! The council requires you at the western perimeter."
Faris lingered for a moment, checking on his brother. "Will you be all right?"
"Go," Yahya said softly. "I only need a moment to rest."
Faris studied him with a faint frown before turning to follow Salim.
Left alone in the cool dimness of his quarters, Yahya sat down slowly on the low cushions. The physical fatigue of the day was gone, replaced by a dark, relentless clarity. The pieces of the past months were fitting together into a picture he wasn't sure he was ready to see—and the fog of suspicion that had settled over his mind refused to lift.