Nareman remained hidden beneath Barwen's bed, refusing to come out.
He sat on the floor before her, silent, his gaze fixed steadily on the darkness beneath the frame, as if waiting for her to emerge of her own will.
Minutes passed in stillness before his calm, low voice finally broke the air.
"You should go home."
She turned her face away, speaking quickly, her voice trembling.
"I can't… I'm scared."
Barwen stayed silent—his cold, unchanging expression revealing nothing.
After a few moments, Nareman slowly crawled out from beneath the bed and sat upright, her eyes firm, as if she had reached a decision.
"There are things I need to ask you… many things I don't understand."
He looked at her without a word, his expression unreadable as ever.
Her tone grew steadier, though still uncertain.
"I was shocked when I found out the man I killed was the President of Yemen.
I wouldn't have known if I hadn't seen the news myself.
Tell me… how did you reach him? And what kind of power did he have? Neither you nor my father could stand against him…"
Barwen hesitated, his gaze locked on hers as he spoke quietly.
"He… had no power."
Nareman gasped, her voice breaking in disbelief.
"You're joking… aren't you?!"
He said nothing. Only that cold, fixed stare remained.
Her eyes widened, her mind struggling to grasp his words.
After a pause, she asked hesitantly,
"Where are you from?"
He turned away, lost in thought, his face distant, his voice low when it finally came.
"I don't know."
She shuddered. "You… don't know?!"
His eyes snapped toward her—sharp, piercing, carrying a quiet fury buried deep inside.
For a moment she regretted asking, sensing that his past was a wound best left untouched.
So she changed the subject quickly, her curiosity pressing forward.
"Alright then… do you know about Nazaria?"
"An island," he replied, steady as stone.
Her eyes lit up, and she leaned closer, words spilling out in a rush.
"Do you know anything about it? When did it disappear? Does it still exist? Why did it fall? What happened there? None of it is written in the books!"
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Barwen's face. He thought for a moment before answering.
"The island vanished over three thousand years ago."
"Does it still exist?" she cut in breathlessly.
"I don't know," he said softly.
Disappointment clouded her features. She pressed on.
"Who is the Awaited ruler? It was mentioned in my father's books, but there was no explanation for it."
Barwen hesitated again, then replied in a voice so calm it was almost a whisper.
"I can't tell you."
She gasped aloud. "Why not?!"
His tone didn't waver.
"I promised your father I wouldn't."
Her face tightened with frustration and quiet hurt. She looked away, confusion and bitterness twisting inside her.
After a long breath, Barwen spoke again.
"You should go home now."
"I don't want to," she muttered, stubborn.
"Why?" he asked evenly.
"I'll be punished," she blurted. "He'll hit me!"
He sighed. "Then I'll come with you—to make sure he doesn't."
She stared at him, startled. "Why… why would you do that for me?"
His reply came after a pause, low and distant.
"I wouldn't say I did."
She frowned. "Oh really? Protecting me, taking the blows meant for me—that's nothing?"
His silence lingered, heavy. Then he said quietly,
"To me… it's nothing compared to the sacrifices I was once forced to make."
Something in her chest tightened.
What kind of past did he endure? she thought, her heart caught between pity and awe.
Gathering herself, she rose slowly.
"I'll go home," she said firmly.
A silence hung between them before she finally turned toward the door.
Barwen followed her out, his steps soundless, a watchful shadow behind her.
When they reached the house, Nareman hesitated before the entrance.
Barwen stopped outside, waiting.
Inside, her father sat on the couch, his eyes sharp as a blade tracking her every move.
Her hands clasped before her chest, her breath shallow. She dared not meet his gaze.
He glanced at his watch, then back at her. His voice was stern, cutting through the room.
"Didn't I tell you—five minutes?"
She lowered her head, eyes fixed on the floor.
His tone hardened. "Do you know why I'm angry?"
Silence.
The next instant, he hurled the stack of old books beside him to the floor. The crash echoed like thunder. Her whole body flinched.
Outside, Barwen stood by the window, back against the wall, listening. His expression was unreadable, his eyes cold and intent.
Her father's voice dropped, sharp and deadly.
"How much did you read from these books?"
Her lips trembled. No answer.
"Answer me!" he roared.
Her voice came barely above a whisper.
"All of it…"
In a violent motion, he snatched a long stick from the wall, his grip trembling with fury, and stepped toward her.
Then—
a thunderous knock rattled the window.
The glass shimmered and melted before their eyes, dripping like candle wax.
Barwen stood behind it, his sword gleaming in his hand, eyes blazing like lightning.
His voice was cold, precise—deadly.
"Do you want to die?"