The air in Raza's shop grew thick — like the humidity before a storm. Aamir felt it press against his skin, a low hum at the edge of hearing.
The stranger took a step closer.
His smile stayed polite, but his voice dropped an octave. "It would be... unwise to lie to me, Haji Raza."
Raza didn't flinch. "And it would be unwise," he said quietly, "to forget whose ground you stand on. This city has its own tricks."
The man's expression twitched. For the briefest second, the reflection on the brass mirror behind him flickered again — the face melting into something glassy and formless before snapping back to normal.
Aamir's stomach clenched. He's not human.
He took a slow step backward, keeping one hand on the satchel.
Raza reached beneath the counter, his hand brushing something hidden. "You should leave, sahib," he said. "The boy has nothing for you."
The stranger's smile widened. "Oh, but he does."
Before Aamir could react, the man raised his hand — and the lights in the shop shattered.
Glass exploded outward. Shelves toppled. Aamir threw himself behind a display case, heart hammering. Through the chaos, he saw the stranger's silhouette moving — gliding, not running — as if the floor bent beneath his feet.
A flare of blue light cut through the dust. Raza shouted a word in a language Aamir didn't recognize — old, guttural, electric. For a heartbeat, symbols glowed around him in the air like molten gold, spinning in a protective ring.
The stranger hissed, the sound metallic and wrong. "Old wards," he sneered. "They won't hold me."
Raza's voice was firm. "They'll hold long enough." He turned toward Aamir. "Go, beta! Take it and run!"
"But—"
"Run!"
Aamir grabbed the satchel and bolted. The front door was half-splintered, light spilling through cracks. He shouldered it open and burst into the alley.
Behind him came a crash — wood snapping, glass raining. The hum rose again, sharper now, a shriek that made his teeth ache. He didn't look back.
He ran through Saddar's labyrinthine lanes — past shuttered stalls, stray dogs, a blur of rusted rooftops. His lungs burned. Every corner echoed with the stranger's pursuit.
And then the air shifted.
The world flickered — once, twice — like bad video playback. For a second, the street warped, stretching and bending. The walls rippled like water.
Aamir stumbled, dizzy. "What the hell—"
The satchel vibrated in his hand. Its clasp clicked open on its own. Light spilled out — faint but alive, golden threads swirling around his fingers.
Instinct screamed at him to drop it. Instead, he clutched it tighter. The light pulsed, and suddenly the alley ahead twisted open — no longer bricks and concrete but something else.
A doorway of pure shimmer.
Through it, he saw... another place.
A shadowed corridor carved from emerald stone, lined with impossible sigils. Air that glittered like crushed glass. A sky — or maybe a ceiling — painted with shifting constellations that weren't any he knew.
The hum behind him grew louder. The stranger was close.
Aamir's body acted before his mind did. He dived through the doorway — and the world inverted.
Light. Pressure. Silence.
Then — a gasp of air. He landed hard on marble, rolling onto his side. The satchel fell beside him, pulsing faintly.
He groaned, pushing himself up. "Okay... definitely not Karachi anymore."
He stood in a vast hall — ancient and beautiful, yet broken. Cracks ran through the marble floor. Pillars leaned at odd angles. The air smelled of dust and thunder.
At the center of the room stood a fountain — dry and cracked, its basin carved with words in the same script as Qaf.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
A figure stood near the far wall — cloaked, unmoving. Watching him.
Aamir swallowed. "I'm guessing you're not customs?"
The figure stepped forward, silent as breath. Its face was hidden, but the voice that emerged was low and melodic — human, but not quite.
"You should not be here, mortal."
"Trust me," Aamir said, panting. "I didn't plan this trip."
The figure tilted its head. "And yet the Satchel obeyed you."
"I didn't ask it to."
"Few ever do."
A pause. Then the figure raised its hand — and the walls came alive. Symbols flared, golden and intricate, spiraling outward from the fountain. The air filled with whispers — words in no language Aamir knew.
He stumbled back, shielding his eyes. "Hey, easy with the—"
"Silence," the voice commanded. "You carry a legacy you do not understand."
The fountain flared to life — water erupting from dry stone, glowing like molten gold. The light climbed up the walls, forming shapes — faces, battles, a gate between two worlds.
Aamir watched, transfixed.
"The Ayyars once walked between realms," the voice said. "They were deceivers, yes — but also guardians. When the Tilism cracked, they sealed it with blood. You bear their mark."
"I don't even know what that means!"
The figure lowered its hood.
She was young — or ageless. Her eyes glowed faintly, the color of stormlight.
"It means," she said, "you have opened the way again."
---
A rumble shook the floor. The air behind Aamir shimmered — the same distortion from the alley, now forming inside the hall. The stranger's voice echoed faintly through it, distorted, inhuman:
"You cannot hide from me, Ayyar's heir."
The woman's expression sharpened. "He followed you through the Veil?"
"Apparently!" Aamir said. "Any ideas?"
She lifted her hand, tracing a sigil midair. The fountain's light twisted, folding around them like liquid glass. "One," she said. "Run."
The world flared again — and dissolved.
---
When Aamir opened his eyes, he was lying in a narrow alley — a different one. The smell of salt told him they were near the port. The woman stood a few feet away, watching the satchel pulse faintly in his grip.
"You crossed the Veil," she said softly. "You're bound to it now."
Aamir coughed, pushing himself up. "Great. Just what I needed — cosmic binding issues."
She smiled faintly, for the first time. "You joke like an Ayyar, at least."
"Yeah?" He looked at her warily. "And who exactly are you?"
She turned toward the horizon — where the sea shimmered under the bruised Karachi dawn.
"My name," she said, "is Nura of the Hidden Court. And you, Aamir — whether you want it or not — have just become the Trickster of Qaf."