***
{End Of Volume Four: I Saw A Dream.}
The title sat up there like a tombstone, and beneath it, every single head in Fam Iblis was bowed.
Not just Safira. Not just Duban. Not just Faqir. Not just Layla. Not just Roya, Noor, Zafar, or even Huda and Crimson, who had just woken up only to sleep again. Not just Azeem, who was still somewhere outside. Everyone.
Men, women, children.
Soldiers with sand still on their boots.
Scribes whose ink had dried mid-sentence.
Nobles cloaked in silk and shame.
Outcasts with burned faces and fractured names.
Bastards born under no banners, carrying bloodlines they never asked for.
Goldsmiths whose hands shaped coins for every kingdom.
Blacksmiths with fire still clinging to their sleeves.
Weavers who embroidered poems into tapestries.
Monster tamers, falconers, sword dancers, and oud players.
Farajah officers draped in iron and regret.
Priests whose hands had seen too much dying.
Water sellers with cracked lips and copper trays.
