Introduction: This story Is from the world of the Baghdad Chronicles and forgetten falmes you have to read previous novels to read and understand this Novel.
Note: This Novel Contains Violence, brutality and many more it is highly recommended not to read as a simple and sweet novel.
From the World of the Baghdad Chronicles
Chapter One: The Ones Who Followed
They said the ground remembered things men tried to bury.
It held their lies in its teeth like bits of bone, and chewed on them long after their voices had rotted.
The sky was white like milk poured over ash, and the sun hung like a wound that refused to heal.
The desert did not scream. It only listened.
A man ran across the plain.
His shadow chased him first. Then came the men.
Two of them. Wrapped in dust, their mouths hidden, their eyes like rusted iron — cold, disinterested, inevitable.
The man's name is not known.
Maybe it was once shouted by a mother.
Maybe carved in the bark of a tree now burnt to ash.
But here, in this place, he was only the one who ran.
His feet struck earth like it owed him something.
His breath was a broken bellows.
And the wind asked him nothing.
Because it had seen men like him before.
And it knew how it ended.
He fell once. Got up. Fell again.
Behind him, the two did not speak.
They did not run.
They followed like the shadow of justice — late, heavy, sure.
When they caught him, he had fallen to his knees in the place where the wind smelled of blood and copper.
He turned to them, eyes cracked and wide.
"Please," he said.
"I did nothing. I swear to God I did nothing."
They said nothing.
They were not here for guilt.
They were not here for proof.
They were here for the debt.
The first man held him. The second reached into his coat and pulled out a hammer, wrapped in black cloth.
He unwrapped it slowly.
There was no joy in it. No rage. Just duty.
He struck him in the jaw.
Bone cracked like dry wood.
The man howled, but only for a second. The next blow crushed the howl.
Then another. Then another.
Blood hit the stones like dark rain.
The desert, always thirsty, drank it silently.
They did not stop until his face was no longer a face.
Just something red and wet and quiet.
Then they stood.
And for a moment, the wind paused.
Not out of mercy.
But out of respect.
One of them wiped his hands on his robe.
The other looked to the sun and nodded, as if to say: It is done.
They left the body behind, arms open to the dust, mouth packed with its own silence.
No grave.
No name.
No prayer.
The earth would claim him now.
And the ash below would remember.
The Author Of This Novel is Mr.Sabir Ali Aka Mr Cain.
Hope You Like It .
Leave a comment.