The paper was curled at the edges, half-burnt, the ink fading like the memory of a truth long buried. But it was enough.
Z12 bent over it, fingers gripping the brittle page as though it might vanish in the candlelight. His eyes followed each line, his breath steady and slow.
"The original prisoner had escaped. That much is true. A mark on her back, a royal trait, was her only link to the attempted assassination. When she vanished, it brought shame..heavy and bitter...to the one responsible for the prison."
Z12 paused. The words were old, but the meaning stung like it had happened yesterday.
The journal continued:
"Afraid of losing his position... afraid of admitting failure... the council member lied. He filed a false report, claiming she had slipped beyond the walls of Abergdon. But in truth, he believed she was still within reach, hidden somewhere in plain sight. He buried the shame beneath lies and silence."
Z12’s hands clenched.
Then… came Gabby.
"They found her days later in a tavern. She was alone, drinking ale, smiling faintly in the shadows. Unaware. The General happened to be there, and as fate would have it, he spotted something. A glint of familiarity. He sat by her, offered her a seat in a game they played on those old wooden tables."
"As they played, he watched her closely. Waited. Then, in the middle of the game, he slid her playing card to his side. 'I won,' he whispered."
"Gabby leaned forward to protest. 'That’s a cheat,' she said, and reached across the table to take it back. Her shoulder covering shifted. The cloth slipped."
"There it was. The mark."
Z12 shut his eyes, recalling the night. He had been nearby—at the brewer’s place. He remembered nothing about Gabby’s arrest until hours later. But now, reading this, the gaps in his memory started to fill in.
"The General didn’t act right away. He finished the game. Left without a word. And returned soon after. This time… with the Commander."
"Gabby didn’t resist. She was taken quietly. No shouts. No struggle. But the people found out. And when they did… they demanded blood. The King had been almost killed. They wanted a head."
Z12 turned the page slowly. His heart thudded as he read the next part:
"And that’s when the respected councilman stood. He raised his voice above the others. 'She is the one,' he said. 'There is no doubt.'"
There was no name. Just “the councilman.” Always written the same way. Cold. Mysterious. Ominous.
Z12 scanned further:
"Other council members tried to speak. One asked for evidence. Another questioned the suddenness. But the councilman silenced them all. He had words like steel. Facts wrapped in lies. Logic stitched with poison. They listened. And Gabby was condemned without trial."
Z12’s gut twisted. This wasn’t politics. It was betrayal dressed in robes of authority.
He read on, his hands cold now.
"Jasmine had a connection to the girl (Gabby). Not in the way of sisters or daughters, but in a deep, trusting way. She loved her fiercely. Believed in her when others doubted. Gabby wasn’t just another ally; she was someone Jasmine had chosen, kept close, and confided in. Her heart had opened to her in a way it rarely did."
"So when the councilman stood and said Gabby had tried to assassinate the King, it shattered something inside Jasmine. She didn’t speak. Not because she agreed;but because she was broken. She couldn't believe it, yet she couldn't find the strength to argue either. The betrayal cut too deep."
"Still, she couldn’t abandon her. Jasmine went to the cells. In silence, she brought food, sat with her in the dark, whispered words of hope. She couldn’t explain it. But part of her still believed in Gabby… believed in who she was before all of this."
But the councilman noticed. And he didn’t like it.
"He saw the affection between Jasmine and the prisoner. He saw her slipping. So he waited. And when Gabby disappeared from her cell… he struck again."
"This time, he claimed she had tried to kill him during her escape. Said he survived by sheer luck. He brought more lies to feed the fire. And Jasmine… shattered."
Z12 froze. His mind spun. His thoughts scattered like wind-blown leaves.
This man...this unseen, unnamed voice had crafted a web of deceit so fine, so carefully constructed, it wrapped everyone in it. Including Jasmine.
She had helped Gabby escape. She had risked everything for her. But when she heard that Gabby had tried to kill the same man she had once protected… it broke her faith completely.
She had believed the lie.
Z12 flipped to the final page. His fingers trembled. There, nearly faded, scratched in tight handwriting… was a name.
Small.
But unmistakable.
Juju.
Z12’s entire body went still.
The councilman… was Juju.
The same man the two sisters called their father.
The very one who once stood proud in every council gathering. The one who never showed a crack in his honor. The one who swore his loyalty louder than anyone.
Z12 sat motionless, staring at the name.
Juju.
It made no sense. Or maybe it made too much sense.
How could it be? Was the journal true? Or was this another lie buried in a mountain of lies?
His mind reeled. But deep down, a piece of him already believed it. The tone. The words. The manipulation. It all fit.
He reached for a clean scroll, dipping his quill with a hand that slightly shook. He wrote:
"This is bigger than Gabby. Bigger than a mark or a prophecy. This is about betrayal that sits in the heart of our council. And now… I know who began it."His quill hovered.He looked down once more at the name scrawled on the journal’s edge.
Juju.
Then he whispered aloud, voice barely above the flicker of the candle flame:
“Or… is it?”
He leaned back, drowning in thought.
He needed to be sure.
Because if this was true… if Juju was behind it all…
Then the real storm hadn’t even started yet.
.........
At the very bottom of the page, beneath the name, a final note was scribbled in faded ink:
“I have regretted choosing him as a Counselor… but I once trusted him.”
Z12 stared at the words, his heart pounding.
And for the first time, he feared what else he might uncover.
He then thought to himself,
Who wrote this journal?