داخل خيمة القيادة، وسط عبق الخرائط القديمة والحديد البارد، وقف هلال أمام القائد سلام. بينهما كان المرجل الذي يحوي عينة الماء التي تلا عليها أوس. وقف أسد جانبًا، وعيناه مثبتتان على سطح الماء الساكن، الذي بدا وكأنه يحمل كثافة ضوئية غير مرئية - شيء تدركه الروح قبل العين.
لم يكن أوس موجوداً. لقد أُرسل للراحة بعد مجهوده، جاهلاً تماماً بما كان يجري من حوله، غير مدرك أن قطرات الماء التي تركها وراءه قد رجّحت كفة قادة الحرب.
سأل سلام بنبرة حادة وعملية، مشيراً إلى المرجل: "هل غيرتم النص؟ هل استخدمتم آيات أخرى غير تلك التي نعرفها للشفاء؟"
هز هلال رأسه، وعلى وجهه مزيج من الإرهاق والدهشة لم يفارقه بعد: "لا يا سيدي. الكلمات هي الكلمات. النص الإلهي ثابت لا يتغير؛ وقوته كامنة فيه منذ الأزل. لكن... القارئ قد تغير."
عبس سلام وقال: "اشرح".
اقترب هلال من المرجل، وغمس طرف إصبعه فيه، ثم رفعه. تقاطر الماء ببطء، لكنه بدا أثقل وأنقى، وكأنه يحمل ثقلاً وجودياً مختلفاً. "سيدي، نعلم أن الكلام الإلهي هو الدواء الشافي. ولكن كبشر، عندما نتلوه على المادة، فإننا نقوم بعملية "استخلاص". نحاول استخراج القداسة الكامنة في الحروف وبثها في الماء."
نظر هلال إلى أسد وكأنه يسعى إلى تأكيده، ثم تابع بصوت مليء باليقين: "معظمنا، حتى الشيوخ المخضرمين، عندما نقرأ بقلوب حاضرة، نعمل كـ'مرشحات'. الشوائب، وضعف اليقين، والعقول الشاردة... كل هذه الأمور تعيق النزول الكامل للقداسة. لذلك، لا نستخلص سوى عشرة أو عشرين بالمائة من طاقة النص."
التفت سلام فجأة نحو هلال: "وماذا عن الصبي؟"
تحدث هلال بصوتٍ خافت، وكأنه يكشف سرًا مقدسًا: "لم يكن أوس يقرأ كغيره. لقد استخلص أوس القداسة إلى درجةٍ تكاد تلامس الكمال. الماء الذي أمامك مشبعٌ بحقيقة النص الإلهي دون نقصان. لم يُضف أي قوةٍ من عنده؛ ببساطة... لم يحجب الكلمة. كان قلبه قناةً صافيةً سمحت للنور بالمرور بكامل قوته."
ساد صمت ثقيل في الخيمة. تبادل أسد وسلام نظرة طويلة، نظرة أدرك كلاهما من خلالها أن ما بين أيديهما لم يكن مجرد جندي موهوب.
Asad said in his rough voice, realizing the gravity of what this meant: "This means he is not just a trainee... This means he is 'Chosen.' A vessel made specifically to bear the weight of the Divine Speech and pass it into our world."
Hilal nodded in agreement: "Yes... He is an Emissary. His presence among us changes the equation of the war, not just with his sword, but with the 'permeability' of his soul to the Light."
Commander Salam moved slowly toward the large map hanging on the tent wall, contemplating the troop positions and enemy concentrations. Then he turned to them, his tone shifting from questioning to command: "Since that is the case... and since we now possess a means to break their magical corruption, there is no sense in remaining on the defensive."
He struck the table lightly with his palm: "We will enter the next step of the war. We will take the battle to them."
Salam adjusted his military cloak, cast one last silent look at the radiating cauldron, and said as he headed toward the tent exit: "Hilal, Asad... prepare the elite. I will issue the orders to move the front."
It wasn't long before the leaders gathered again to plan the immediate move (while Salam oversaw the army's preparations). Asad stood before the wooden table, his voice filling the space with the seriousness of a veteran commander: "We need to scout the enemy so we do not fight a blind war. The strongest weapon in war is information, not swords alone."
Hilal nodded, though his features still carried the weight of recent events: "True. Therefore, we will organize two teams: a reconnaissance team to advance into the deep, and a support team to position themselves in an advanced location for rapid intervention."
Asad said decisively: "I will remain here to supervise the army and defend the walls. The division will be as follows: The Reconnaissance Team consists of 'Zilal' for his stealth, 'Shams' for her agility, and 'Firas' for the flexibility of his sand control."
He looked at the second group and continued: "The Support Team consists of Aws, Zahra, and finally Hilal. You will wait close to the enemy camp. Hilal will be spiritual support against demonic forces and curses, Zahra for field knowing, and Aws... will be the sword and shield if necessary."
Hilal concluded the meeting with a calm voice: "We move tonight at the dead of night. Please rest and prepare; the battle could start at any moment."
Everyone dispersed to their rooms to prepare their gear. But Aws and Shams went together to their small room in Hilal's house.
Aws closed the door behind them, and a heavy silence prevailed, broken only by the rustle of clothes as they changed from training gear into light, comfortable clothing. They turned their backs to each other out of respect for the privacy of the moment, but the atmosphere was charged with something deeper than shyness.
Aws climbed into bed, stretching out to steal a few hours of sleep. Shams followed moments later, slipping under the cover beside him, her face directly opposite his chest.
She lifted her eyes to him, the glint of tears shining in the dim room light: "I am nervous, Aws... These aren't drills. This is a real mission."
Aws stroked her hair gently, trying to instill a reassurance he lacked himself: "I know... but we are not alone. And remember your abilities; you are strong, Shams."
She whispered in a trembling voice, a painful memory squeezing her heart: "I was happy with how things were developing, I felt like we were in an amazing fantasy story... but when I remembered 'Rose's' death... I realized that death here is real too. Endings here aren't always happy."
Aws found no words to answer her fear, for the truth was harsher than any comfort. He simply pulled her tightly into his embrace, trying to make his arms a fortress against her thoughts. She rested her head on his chest, and amidst the steady beating of his heart, sleep overcame them.
In the last watch of the night, they woke to an internal call, as if the biological clock of warriors had been set with precision. They put on their outer garments, checked their weapons, and headed to the gathering point at the city's rear gate.
Everyone was there, faces partially covered, eyes alert. But Firas was the last to arrive, jogging breathlessly, his hair disheveled as if he hadn't been sleeping in his tent but had been somewhere else. No one asked him; time was tighter than suspicion.
They moved under the wing of night like silent ghosts. When they reached a hill overlooking the enemy camp, Hilal signaled with his hand. He, Aws, and Zahra stopped in a rocky area that provided cover and a view of the camp. Meanwhile, the Reconnaissance Team descended.
Shams moved with stunning grace, leaping between rocks with the lightness of a wild cat. "Zilal" melted into the darkness literally, barely visible even to those who knew where he was. As for Firas, the earth was his ally; since most of the area was sandy, his sliding and merging with the terrain was natural and eerie.
Below, they approached the borders of the camp. Firas kept a very close distance to Shams, his eyes scanning the ground more than the horizon.
Suddenly, without warning, the air split for a black blade flying toward Shams from a blind angle. She wouldn't have noticed it. "Shams!" Firas screamed, and with a swift motion of his hand, the sand moved beneath her feet, shoving her violently aside. The blade passed through the spot where her head had been a fraction of a second earlier.
"Trap!" Shams screamed.
It wasn't a random attack; it was a pre-arranged ambush. The ground split open, and deformed creatures crawled out, while arrows and blades rained down from every side.
Above, at the support point, Hilal sprang to his feet, his eyes wide with horror for his students. "They've been exposed!"
His attention was completely scattered as he watched Shams and Firas trying to hold their ground. He didn't notice the shadow that sneaked behind a nearby rock. An arrow was loosed, not toward Shams, but toward the "Mastermind"... toward Hilal.
"Master!"
It wasn't Aws's scream, but Zahra's. The delicate girl threw her body in front of Hilal. The sound of tearing flesh was louder than any other sound. The arrow pierced her chest, and she fell into the hands of Hilal, who turned too late.
Time froze. Hilal looked at the girl who had been pulsing with life a moment ago, and saw blood gushing profusely from her chest. The girl who reminded him of his wife, the girl who possessed the purest heart... was dying now in his arms.
Hilal's eyes began to empty of life, as if his soul had withdrawn to a dark, distant place. Aws moved instinctively to protect them, raising his sword, "Al-Battar." But the enemy gave him no respite. An agile ape, different from the ordinary monstrosities, dropped from above wielding two broad swords. He clashed with Aws in a rapid, violent exchange of blows. The ape was strong and fast, and Aws fought ferociously to keep him away from Hilal and Zahra.
And suddenly... everything stopped. The fight didn't stop by the will of the combatants, but the air itself stopped.
Aws felt a massive pressure, an unbearable weight settling on his chest and the entire area. The ape stopped moving, its eyes bulging in terror.
Aws turned with difficulty toward the source of the pressure. It was Hilal. But it wasn't the Hilal he knew. Something inside him had exploded. His hair, usually short and neat, began to grow with maddening speed, lengthening and undulating as if alive, flying in the air, defying gravity.
Hilal raised his hand slowly toward the ape, his eyes glowing with a terrifying red light, void of mercy, void of humanity. He clenched his fist on the empty air.
In that moment, Aws saw a sight he would never forget. The space around the ape compressed. Hilal didn't touch it, but the air crushed it. The sound of breaking bones was heard with terrifying clarity; the ape let out a muffled scream before... Boom! The ape's body imploded. Blood and gore scattered in every direction, and what remained of its bones shattered like a porcelain doll dropped from a high tower.
Aws was shocked, frozen in place. But Hilal didn't stop. Hilal's body rose from the ground, and he flew... yes, flew toward the camp below where the Reconnaissance Team was trapped.
He descended upon them like Death. He struck the air with his hands, sending swine and apes flying as if hit by a tornado. Then he spread his palms, exerting immense pressure on the rest, pinning them to the ground, helpless to move, their bones groaning under the weight of his rage.
"Retreat!" His voice sounded like muffled thunder.
Zilal, Shams, and Firas moved quickly, seizing the golden opportunity to escape the trap.
While Hilal covered their withdrawal, ensuring everyone's survival, a treacherous arrow was launched from the darkness. An arrow carrying a curse, glowing with a malicious violet light. It struck Hilal in the shoulder. Hilal staggered in the air, but didn't fall. He pressed on his wound and moved quickly, leaving to catch up with his team.
He found that Aws had carried the unconscious Zahra and was running back with her toward the city walls.
The enemies chased them like a sweeping torrent, their bloodthirsty cries filling the night. But when they approached the walls, "The Deterrence" appeared. Along the wall, Salam's soldiers stood with stern faces, wielding massive bows that only giants could carry. "Loose!" Arrows rained down like poisoned rain upon the pursuers.
And from the side gate, an elite fighter squad led by "Asad" charged out, his crimson hair shining in the dark. They liquidated the injured and those outside archery range with bloody professionalism, forcing the enemy to retreat and flee.
Inside the walls, the atmosphere was saturated with the smell of blood and fear. Shams placed her trembling hands over Zahra's chest, her green healing aura desperately trying to knit the deep wound and stop the bleeding.
To the side, Hilal fell to his knees. His hair remained long, cascading down as a permanent mark, while the aura of terror faded, leaving only a man drained of strength. He grasped the arrow embedded in his shoulder and pulled it out with a stifled cry, tossing it aside. The curse was coursing through his veins, black lines crawling from the wound.
He motioned for Aws to approach. "Aws... come close." His voice was weak, but carried a strange solemnity. Aws knelt before him, his eyes hanging on his master's lips.
بدأ هلال يتلو بصوت مرتعش لكن ثابت كلمات من النص الإلهي. وضع أوس يده على كتف سيده وبدأ يردد الكلمات من بعده.
مع كل حرف ينطقه هلال، كانت هالة ذهبية تتوهج، متجمعة ببطء حول الجرح. كان صراعًا بين نور الكلمة وظلام اللعنة. فجأة، تقيأ هلال دمًا أسود من فمه. انحسر السواد من عروقه كشيطان يفرّ من آية، ليحل محله دم أحمر قانٍ يتدفق من الجرح.
قام أوس بضمادة ذراع هلال بقطعة قماش، لعدم وجود معالجين؛ كانت زهرة فاقدة للوعي، وكان شمس مشغولاً بإنقاذ حياتها. أما فراس، فكان ملقىً على الأرض يلهث بشدة، بعد أن استنفد طاقته في السيطرة على الرمال لعرقلة جيش بأكمله.
رفعت شمس يديها عن زهرة، ووجهها شاحب: "لقد أغلقت الجرح... لكنها فقدت الكثير من الدم. طاقتها الروحية مستنزفة تماماً. ستنام لفترة طويلة... إن نجت."
اقترب هلال منها ببطء. جثا بجانب الفتاة التي فدته بروحها. كانت في عينيه نظرة لم يرها أحد من قبل؛ مزيج من ذنب قاتل، وندم، وحنان مكسور. لمس وجهها البارد بيده المرتجفة، متأملاً ملامح الإرهاق التي شوهت وجهها البريء.
وصل المسعفون ومعهم نقالة وحملوها بعيدًا. وبينما كانت تغادر، وقف هلال ببطء. لم يتابعها بنظره. أدار ظهره للجميع ونظر إلى ما وراء الأسوار. لم يكن ينظر إلى المعسكر القريب الذي دمره جزئيًا. كانت عيناه مثبتتين على الأفق البعيد، حيث تقع القاعدة الرئيسية للعدو. وفي الظلام، لمعت عيناه باللون الأحمر مرة أخرى.
لم يرَ عدوًا... بل رأى فريسة.