The dampness in the lower corridors of the Academy breathed like the lungs of a cold beast. That evening, Sultan could not sleep. A faint hum vibrated inside his skull, as if something far beyond the horizon was breaking—slowly, relentlessly.
He left his narrow chamber and walked in silence across the frozen stone, his steps guided by instinct more than thought, until he found himself standing before Illyana's private training wing.
He paused at the half-open door.
There were no clashing blades inside. No shouted commands.
Instead, there was something that struck far deeper.
Music.
A soft, sorrowful melody flowed from an ancient stringed instrument, accompanied by a woman's voice singing in broken Arabic—unrefined, imperfect, yet heavy with longing. The sound wrapped around his chest and tightened his breath.
Sultan pushed the door open slowly.
Illyana sat on the floor, a single candle casting restless shadows across her sharp features. She wore no armor—only a simple white shirt. Her golden eyes were lost in the glow of a small arcane device broadcasting the song.
"That song…" Sultan whispered, his voice strained.
"Those Who Depart Toward the Sun. It was banned in Baghdad for stirring unrest of the heart. How did you come by it?"
Illyana startled, extinguishing the device at once. Yet Sultan caught the brief shimmer in her eyes before pride sealed it away.
"Forbidden things are often the only ones that tell the truth, Sultan," she said quietly, her fingers tightening around her knee.
"I listen so I don't forget that the world beyond these frozen walls once had a warm sun."
Sultan sat beside her on the stone floor, leaving enough distance to honor her silence.
"Why do you really help me?" he asked, watching the candle melt into itself.
"Caesar wants me as a weapon. Commissioner Ysenbert wants me dead. And you?"
Illyana looked at him then—and for the first time, her gaze was not that of a trainer, but of a partner.
"Because I saw the fracture," she said, her voice trembling.
"My Law allows me to perceive illusions. A week ago, when I inspected the northern seal, I witnessed something no one else did. The seal is not merely cracking—it is being eaten from within. The betrayal does not begin with demons. It begins in the offices of commanders."
Sultan's face drained of color.
"You mean… Ysenbert?"
"He is the head," she replied. "But the body is already crawling with worms."
She leaned closer and took his hand—cold, shaking from fear or from the air itself.
"I help you because your power is the Balancing Law. You are the only one capable of stitching that fracture—if you learn how to merge lightning with earth without tearing yourself apart. If you fall, the song I was listening to tonight will vanish forever."
At that moment, a sudden stench filled the chamber—
heavy sulfur and scorched metal.
Illyana sprang to her feet, sword drawn in an instant.
"Don't move!" she shouted, activating her Law of Revelation.
The walls trembled. Black fissures spread across the frozen stone as unseen shadows pressed against reality itself. Sultan reacted on instinct, calling forth an emerald aura of earth to encase the room, while blue lightning danced between his fingers, illuminating the darkness.
This was the first true warning.
The enemy was no longer waiting at the borders.
It was already behind the doors.
"They've caught your scent," Illyana whispered, standing back-to-back with him.
"Ysenbert is losing patience. He wants to know whether you've learned discipline—or if you're still easy prey."
The weight of responsibility settled upon Sultan's shoulders. He was no longer training to satisfy Caesar.
He was training to protect the sorrow in Illyana's voice—
to protect the fading memories of Baghdad, dissolving beneath layers of conspiracy.
"They won't touch this place," Sultan said, his voice carrying the tone of a ruler for the first time.
"I don't wield earth and lightning alone. I wield the fury that will burn their illusions to ash."
That night ended in wary silence.
But the bond between them was no longer that of student and mentor.
It had become a pact—sealed in the scent of danger—
a vow that they would remain mirrors to one another in a world drowning in lies style.