The hospital was silent, except for the steady beeping of machines inside Mirshad's ICU room. Outside, the night stretched on, thick with tension. Baba stood near the glass window, his hands clasped together, his eyes locked on Mirshad's motionless body.
Then, the silence was shattered.
Engines.
Loud.
Heavy.
Roaring like thunder through the night.
Sara, Jabir, and the others turned toward the entrance, confusion flashing across their faces. Outside, a fleet of black, unmarked SUVs came to a stop, their dark exteriors gleaming under the hospital's lights. The air around them shifted—something powerful had arrived.
And then… they stepped out.
Men.
Not ordinary men.
Not mercenaries, not criminals—but elite forces.
Each soldier was fully armed, dressed in black tactical gear, moving with the deadly precision of trained warriors. They weren't here to ask questions. They were here to secure the area.
Sara's breath hitched. "Who… who the hell are these people?"
The lead SUV's door opened. Boots hit the ground.
A single man stepped forward, and in that moment—the air seemed to pause.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sleek black combat uniform that carried no insignia—because he needed none. His presence alone was enough.
His hair was neatly combed back, his face sharp, lined with the experience of a thousand wars fought in the shadows. His gaze? Cold. Calculated. Final.
This was not a man who questioned things.
This was a man who judged them.
And now, he had come to judge the fate of the world.
Baba turned from the ICU window, his expression unreadable.
Sara, Jabir, and the others stood frozen as the man walked straight toward them.
Then—something unexpected happened.
Instead of speaking, instead of demanding answers, he simply opened his arms.
Baba stepped forward, and without hesitation—they embraced.
Not just as old friends.
Not just as warriors.
But as brothers.
The room held its breath.
Baba pulled away slightly, looking into the eyes of the man he once ruled the world beside.
"Rayyan."
Rayyan nodded, gripping Baba's shoulders, his sharp eyes scanning his face.
"You should have called me sooner."
Baba shook his head. "I left that life behind."
Rayyan exhaled. "And yet, here we are."
He turned his head slightly, glancing toward the ICU where Mirshad lay. His eyes narrowed—calculating.
"This is him, isn't it?" Rayyan murmured.
Baba nodded. "He's the one."
A strange look crossed Rayyan's face—not fear, not doubt. Something deeper. Respect. Recognition.
"He's not just a boy, Faisal."
Rayyan's voice was low, firm. "He's the storm."
Baba clenched his jaw. "And the world isn't ready for him."
Before Rayyan could respond, Sara took a deep breath and finally spoke.
"Baba… Mama…" Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out. "We need to do things to bury Mama''.
Silence.
Rayyan's entire body froze.
His face, always unreadable, shifted.
The temperature in the room dropped.
His hands slowly curled into tight fists. His jaw locked. The deadly, calculating warlord suddenly became something much worse—something personal.
"What did you just say?" Rayyan's voice was dangerously low.
Sara swallowed hard. "She—she didn't make it. She's in the other room."
Rayyan stepped back. Just a single step.
Then, with the precision of a trained killer, he turned on his heel and walked—no, stormed—toward the room where Mama's body was kept.
Baba followed immediately.
Inside the dim hospital room, Mama lay covered in white cloth. Peaceful. Still.
Rayyan stood at the threshold, his hands at his sides, clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He walked forward, slowly, staring down at the face of the woman who had been more than a sister to him.
Baba stood beside him, silent.
For a long time, Rayyan said nothing.
Then, finally, he whispered.
"I failed her."
His voice was low, full of something Baba had never heard from him before—pure, uncontrollable rage mixed with sorrow.
Baba exhaled, shaking his head.
"No. We both failed."
Rayyan clenched his fists even harder, until blood dripped from his palm.
"She was the only reason I ever believed in peace," Rayyan murmured, his voice shaking. "And now peace is dead."
He turned, his eyes burning.
"John. He did this?"
Baba nodded. "Yes."
Rayyan exhaled slowly. Then, with absolute certainty, he spoke.
"Then he won't live to see another sunrise."
He placed a hand on Mama's forehead, whispering a Dua (Islamic prayer) for the departed. His lips barely moved, but his hands trembled slightly—the only sign that even the Last Judge had a heart capable of breaking.
Then, he turned to Baba.
"I will handle the burial. It will be done with honor, with every Islamic tradition followed."
Baba's throat tightened, but he nodded.
Rayyan turned to his men, his voice sharp.
"Prepare her body. Make no mistakes. No delays."
The soldiers nodded immediately and moved to carry out the orders.
With the matter of Mama now in Rayyan's hands, Baba exhaled. It was time to turn his focus back to Mirshad.
"Let me go there."
Rayyan nodded.
"Go. I'll handle everything else."
Before Baba entered the ICU, Rayyan spoke again.
"Faisal."
Baba turned.
"You didn't just take him in for a promise. He saved you first. Now, you must save him back."
Baba nodded once, then disappeared into the room.
For the first time since he arrived, Rayyan sat down.
His body was strong, unshaken—but now, his hands rested heavily on his knees, his fingers interlocked.
A soldier handed him a glass of water. He took it, staring at it for a moment before drinking slowly.
The room was silent. No one dared to speak.
The tension was thick—Sara, Jabir, and the others exchanged nervous glances.
Finally, Sara swallowed hard, hesitating. She looked at Jabir, then at the others.
She took a deep breath.
"Rayyan…" she said softly.
His sharp eyes lifted slightly, looking at her.
She hesitated. Should she really ask now? Was it the right time?