In front of a majestic building designed in the ancient Damascene style, a group of men stood waiting. They wore clothes that mirrored those of desert outlaws, most of them masked, their eyes fixed on the upper balcony. They were waiting for him—the "Master," or The Big Man, as they called him.
After minutes of heavy silence, a gate on the second floor creaked open. A stout man stepped out, his presence commanding yet repulsive. He possessed a thick, unruly beard and oversized moustaches that seemed to twitch with every breath. A sash was tied tightly around his head, and he wore a short, open red vest reminiscent of Aladdin's attire, leaving his sagging chest and protruding belly exposed in a grotesque display. This was The Big Man.
He stood at the edge of the balcony, staring down at the crowd with a deathly silence. Every gaze was tilted upward, but his eyes sought only one man. A man who stood apart from the rest, distinguished by a single, striking lock of white hair falling over his forehead. He stood with arms crossed, leaning against a stone pillar, his silence radiating a natural sense of dignity and authority.
The Big Man fixed his gaze on him and spoke in a coarse, gravelly voice:
"Yesterday's haul did not please me. The group only managed to capture five individuals capable of manipulating the sand element. That is not enough. Only five individuals at the peak of this year's second hexad? That is a pathetic rate. Do you know what this means?"
No one dared to answer. He decided to provide the answer himself:
"It means your wages will be slashed. By more than half."
An immediate roar of dissatisfaction erupted from the crowd. Only the man with the white lock remained silent, merely lifting his head to look directly into The Big Man's eyes. The master met his gaze for a heartbeat before turning away, slamming his fist against the balcony railing.
"Silence!" he bellowed.
The noise died down instantly, replaced by a faint hiss of wind that soon vanished. The Big Man continued, his tone slightly more measured:
"I know this news is unpleasant... and I won't deny it bothers me as well. But this is the mission. If you do not gather the largest possible number of elementals, His Highness will not reward us generously."
He paused, then addressed the man with the white lock in a quieter, more focused voice:
"Ablaj... I need you for something important."
With a dismissive wave to the crowd, The Big Man retreated inside. The masses dispersed, leaving only Ablaj to enter the building.
The interior was modest—rows of tables and chairs organized neatly across the ground floor. Ablaj ascended the clay stairs. At the top, a maid met him; she bowed respectfully and hurried away. Ablaj returned the bow slightly before pushing the door open.
The Big Man was sprawling his massive frame over a woollen bed, chewing on a small wooden stick. He glanced at Ablaj and asked in a sleazy tone:
"What do you think?"
"About what?" Ablaj replied, his voice a calm, resonant baritone.
"Her... the maid who just left," The Big Man smirked.
A cold smile formed behind Ablaj's mask. He pulled a chair and sat down. "I am not that type of man. Let us move past this. Tell me the important matter... why did you call me specifically?"
The Big Man adjusted his posture, his face suddenly turning grim. "Man... the Prince. The Prince is furious. He says his father, the King, is dissatisfied with our performance over the last two years. He added that the King's anger peaked after the escape of one of the high-tier elementals—a leader of an ancient tribe we annihilated years ago. Now, he is laying all the blame on us. He declared that if we don't bring satisfactory results this hexad, he won't leave us in peace."
Ablaj remained silent for a moment. "And why are you so worried? Wasn't this clear to you from the beginning?"
Confusion washed over The Big Man's face. Ablaj stood up, walking slowly toward the balcony. "We are outlaws, thieves, and criminals. We gathered here to do what the King couldn't do openly. But we forgot our nature and played the role of a secret police, losing sight of the fact that the King could turn on us at any moment and dispose of us."
The stout man stood up, approaching him with visible tension. "Dispose of us?! Why would he do that? We execute everything he asks! The number of elementals isn't entirely in our hands, yet we have tried."
Ablaj stared out over the city. "It seems you haven't understood a word I said. Regardless... what is required of me now?"
The Big Man stared into space for a moment before speaking: "I have heard that you possess a strange gift. I want you to use it to infiltrate the Royal Palace secretly and verify the truth for me. I suspect the Prince might be lying just to deduct from our wages. Commoners say he is a young man obsessed with wealth and women; that greed might be what's driving him to stop paying us."
Ablaj considered the words carefully. "The Prince is indeed a man of lusts, but I doubt he is lying about his father's anger. The escape of a powerful tribal leader with elemental abilities is truly alarming. As for infiltrating the palace... I must apologize. I cannot take that risk. My ability is limited; it requires time and absolute stillness."
The Big Man's face fell into disappointment. He scratched his beard nervously. "Damn it... damn it all. What do we do now?"
Ablaj looked at him sternly. "Why are you so afraid? Aren't you one of them too?"
The stout man's eyes darted back and forth. He tucked the wooden stick back into his mouth, his voice trembling slightly. "That doesn't stop me from fearing for my fate."
"Then you agree with me after all," Ablaj remarked.
The Big Man furrowed his brows. "I've just thought about what you said... and I think you're right. But at the same time, we must avoid the King's wrath."
Ablaj nodded and turned to leave. Before he could step out, The Big Man called out: "Where do you intend to search today?"
Ablaj looked back halfway, his eyes shadowed. "Questions outside the scope of work... I prefer not to answer them."
With that, he vanished.
Somewhere else, inside an ancient room where the scent of ink mingled with the smell of paper glue, shelves stood lined up like sentinels, guarding ancient books and manuscripts within their depths.
At the far end of the room, a wooden door creaked open. Light flooded in from an oil lamp held by a mysterious man. The glow revealed his aged features and a slightly white beard. The old man walked with quiet, measured steps through what appeared to be a small, private library. He placed the lamp on a specific shelf and began his search.
His fingers eventually landed on a deep blue book. He pulled it out, blew the dust off its cover, and opened it. His eyes scanned the words briefly before he snapped it shut and returned it to its place. He resumed his search until he stopped before a shelf filled with massive volumes. Tucked between them was a small booklet wrapped in thin thread. He pulled it out, opened it, and read.
Suddenly, he tucked the booklet into his white embroidered shawl, grabbed his lamp, and left.
The old man locked the wooden door securely, then climbed a set of wooden stairs leading to a metal exit. Before stepping out, he paused for a second, as if sensing he had been discovered. Finding no one, he relaxed and closed the heavy iron door behind him, speaking calmly:
"Welcome, little Prince... do you require something from me?"
A nine-year-old boy looked at him with the raw curiosity of childhood. "No, Minister... but I was wondering what lies behind that door! I noticed it is a place where no one is allowed to enter without direct permission from His Majesty the King."
A mysterious smile played on the old man's lips. "And does my appearance suggest that I am among those permitted... or those forbidden?"
The boy looked at the ground, thinking. "Not at all."
The Minister stepped forward, patted the boy's shoulder, and walked with him down the corridor, distracting him with other topics. At the end of the hallway, they parted ways. The boy headed to his wing, while the Minister stood watching him, his eyes following every step. Suddenly, the smile vanished, replaced by a terrifying scowl. He tightened his grip on his shawl and moved toward his destination.
On the other side, however, a figure was hidden behind one of the pillars. The figure stared at the Minister for a moment, then vanished into the shadows.
Back in the streets of the "Flower of the Coast," Ablaj walked slowly, draped in a cloak that concealed his features. While other outlaws flaunted their criminal attire in the city, he preferred to hide his identity as much as possible.
In the heart of this city, everything was exposed. Strangely, the Royal Police would watch criminals roaming the streets without making a move to arrest them. It was part of the corrupt system that had infested the city's administration—to the point where they had appointed a criminal as a coordinator between other outlaws, bounty hunters, and the guards' leadership itself.
Ablaj was part of this world, yet he was no ordinary criminal. He was a bounty hunter who preferred to work in absolute silence, secrecy, and alone. That was what set him apart.
After hours of walking, he stopped abruptly. He turned toward a city exit leading to the southern backstreets. Without hesitation, he moved to leave. On his way, a figure stopped him from behind the trees—another masked man. The stranger signaled for Ablaj to approach.
"What is it?" Ablaj asked.
The stranger breathed heavily with anxiety. "There's a problem."
"What happened?"
The stranger's voice trembled with dread. "The manuscript... it... it has reached unknown hands. We don't know who has it."
The man lowered his head in shame, but Ablaj patted his shoulder, his voice grounding and calm. "It's alright. we will begin searching for their identity. That is a simple matter."
Relief washed over the stranger. "What is the plan, Leader?"
Ablaj turned toward him, a confident smile etched behind his mask.
"This has been the plan from the very beginning... there is no need for another plan. No need for another plan at all."
To be continued...