The clock in the hospital chapel struck midnight.
Zahra stood beneath the arched ceiling, the sacred book open before her. Candles flickered around the room, casting shadows that seemed to breathe. She could hear the low hum of the city beyond the stained-glass windows — a city teetering on the edge of something unspeakable.
Arif lay resting in the recovery ward, but Zahra's soul felt no rest. Her dreams were now invaded by visions: a city drowning in ash, a sky cracking with blood-colored lightning, children marked with the seal of death, and a creature with bone-stitched hands dragging bodies through the streets.
The Bone Collector.
She hadn't seen him yet — but his presence wrapped around Lahore like a shroud.
Mufti Rafiq entered quietly, his steps soft against the polished floor. "He's moving again," he said, holding out a torn page — freshly delivered from an old contact in Cairo.
Zahra scanned the ancient script. Her breath hitched.
"A piece of the original Seal of Veil?" she asked.
Mufti Rafiq nodded solemnly. "Destroyed during the Gate's fall. Now his power grows unchecked."
Zahra turned toward the flickering candles, her reflection dancing in the stained glass. "We don't have time. The Circle must reunite — not in secret halls, but on the frontlines."
Rafiq raised an eyebrow. "You're calling them to Lahore?"
"Yes." She closed the book and stood tall. "Let them come."
Elsewhere—The Collector's Den
Deep in the catacombs beneath the Margalla Hills, The Bone Collector stood before a black altar. His grotesque form — sewn from the remains of long-dead warriors — pulsed with vile magic.
Around him knelt seven children, their eyes hollow, their bodies trembling. Each bore the Mark of the Gate — branded flesh with glowing veins. The Collector waved a bony hand, and the children began to chant in tongues forgotten by time.
"The seal must break.
The Surgeon must fall.
The veil must burn."
Behind him, a map of the world had been carved into a wall of human skulls.
One city glowed brightest.
Lahore.
Back in the City—Zahra's Search
Zahra and Mufti Rafiq moved from district to district under the cover of night, guided by whispers and the Book's divine compass. The city's spiritual energy was shifting. Old mosques and forgotten shrines now acted like beacons, glowing subtly to her mystical sight.
In an abandoned haveli in Mochi Gate, they found the second Marked Child — a boy no older than ten, whispering verses of the Book backwards, over and over. His hands were etched with unfamiliar runes, and his shadow moved differently from his body.
Zahra laid her palms over his, chanting prayers of reversal.
But something pushed back.
Dark energy, ancient and malevolent, struck her like a gust of icy wind. Her vision blurred as she was flung against the wall.
"Zahra!" Mufti Rafiq rushed to her side.
"I'm fine," she groaned. "But he's no longer alone inside."
Just then, the boy screamed — and from his mouth, a voice far older spoke:
"Your fire weakens. You are the last flame, but shadows do not fear embers."
And he passed out.
The Call to the Circle
By dawn, Zahra had sent her signal.
Using an ancient relic — a silver disc passed down from the First Guardian — she chanted the Summoning Verse:
Guardians scattered, bound by light,
Answer now the coming night.
Through fire, air, earth, and sea,
Circle close, return to me.
A pulse of divine light spread from Lahore like a ripple in water.
In Istanbul, the Fire-Walker felt the pull.
In Fez, the Wind-Keeper stirred.
In Alexandria, the Earth-Binder opened her eyes after three years of silence.
And in the mountains of Kashmir, the youngest guardian — only fifteen — watched the stars align into Zahra's symbol.
They were coming.
Preparing the City
By evening, Zahra had coordinated with a hidden network of Sufi dervishes, spiritual healers, and ancient mystics — many of whom had gone into hiding centuries ago.
Noor General Hospital became the temporary base of resistance. Its lower floors were cleared, rooms warded, and protection circles drawn in sacred ink.
Mufti Rafiq stood atop the roof, praying silently under the sky now tinged with unusual auroras.
Arif, regaining strength, insisted on joining.
"I can't sit back," he said. "This city needs more than just doctors now — it needs soldiers of the soul."
Zahra smiled faintly. "Then stand with me."
The first of the Guardians arrived just after midnight — a woman cloaked in blue flame, her presence so intense that lights flickered as she passed.
"The Fire-Walker," Rafiq whispered. "The Eastern Flame."
One by one, they came — bearing their own marks of battle, their own legends and burdens.
By 2 a.m., seven of the Twelve had arrived.
The Circle was forming again.
The Bone Collector's Advance
Unseen by the city, a procession of twisted creatures marched through the abandoned Metro tunnels beneath Lahore.
They were the Hollow Ones — spirits once human, drained of soul, now puppets of the Collector. Their eyes bled darkness. Their bodies whispered torment.
The Bone Collector marched at the center, holding a staff made of fused vertebrae. On its tip was a single eye — alive, blinking, and watching.
He paused near the Shahi Qila — the Royal Fort.
"There," he hissed. "The veil is thinnest. The breach will begin."
The Night Before the Battle
Inside the hospital's sacred ward, Zahra stood before the assembled Circle. Candles lit the room, casting a warm glow on the aged walls now covered with spiritual symbols, verses from the Qur'an, and signs of protection.
"The Bone Collector is not alone," she said. "There are eleven more like him — the Twelve Shadowed Ones."
The Fire-Walker spoke. "Then let him come first. Let us test the strength of the flame."
Mufti Rafiq stepped forward. "Remember, this is not a battle of power — but of balance. Light cannot destroy darkness without becoming fire. Fire devours both enemy and friend."
Zahra closed the book, her hands steady now.
"This city is sacred ground. Its saints sleep beneath us. Their silence ends tonight."
Outside, clouds gathered fast, and thunder rolled in unnatural patterns.
The air was charged.
Something ancient was waking.
At the Royal Fort—Midnight
The walls of Shahi Qila, worn by centuries, now stood as a final barrier between the city and the abyss.
The Bone Collector raised his staff, chanting a dirge in a forgotten tongue.
The earth trembled.
Stones cracked.
A gate formed in the air — swirling red and black, dripping shadows like blood.
The Veil had been torn again.
He smiled.
Zahra Stands Alone
Atop the city walls, Zahra appeared — her new silver-crystal staff glowing with soft white light.
Behind her, the other Guardians fanned out, forming a circle around the ancient grounds.
Above them, the Eye — now etched into the sky itself — blinked open.
Zahra raised her staff. "I am the Last Flame."
"And I," the Bone Collector roared, "am your extinction."