In the place they called the Spirit Realm, there was no sound. Only the faint friction of threads of fate, intertwining endlessly. The Silent Guardians drifted like vapor. Faceless. Voiceless. And… most terrifying of all? Completely without feeling.

  Serena was supposed to be one of them. But… her curiosity couldn’t be extinguished. It was a flaw that made her chest pound. When she held a small soul in her hand—one we’ll call Milea—she felt warmth radiate through her palm. A child’s soul, whose life had ended before she could even call out to her mother. Something inside Serena throbbed.

  Feeling pity wasn’t her job. Her duty was to release Milea into the flow of life, according to schedule.

  Yet when two other souls were scheduled to return to the wombs of their mothers, time seemed to slow. Serena gazed at the two women, separated by centuries. Desperation shone clearly in their eyes—their daughters, not yet born, though destiny had already set the plan. Her heart raced. She couldn’t suppress the pang of pity.

  Serena, overwhelmed, decided to intervene. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The first sound to break the eternal silence of millions of years. She sped up the delivery of the two souls into their mothers’ wombs.

  Just one second of deviation. But in the world of the Guardians, one second was treason.

  Immediately, the light in Serena’s body dimmed. She didn’t die; she was erased. Her name vanished from the Great Book, her existence reduced to ash scattering through the void. Serena disappeared, but the ripple she created began to tear at the walls of time.

  Merv, Khurasan – 816 CE

  The market in Merv throbbed with the scent of agarwood and the sweat of horses. Amid the chaos, Aisha bint al-Fadl walked as if the dust dared not touch the hem of her silk robe. As the daughter of al-Fadl ibn Sahl—the most powerful vizier in the heart of the Abbasid Caliphate—her presence was an unspoken law.

  A thin veil covered half her face, yet her gaze remained sharp. Warm like honey—but untouchable. Her skin was pale as moonlight, contrasting with the lapis lazuli necklace draped around her slender neck. She didn’t just walk; she commanded space, chin raised, forcing even wealthy merchants to bow in unspoken respect.

  Behind her, her servant Zahra struggled, carrying stacks of cashmere almost as tall as her own frame.

  “My lady, for God’s sake… please stop,” Zahra panted, breath ragged. “My arms are numb. If you add even one more bolt of silk, I fear my spine will collapse before we reach the gate.”

  Aisha didn’t stop. Only the corner of her eye flicked sharply—a warning spark that made Zahra swallow hard. “Don’t exaggerate, Zahra. Consider this atonement for all the sweets you swiped from the kitchen last week.”

  “That wasn’t stealing, Miss! I was… tasting for quality!” Zahra protested, face flushed, struggling to balance her load.

  Haidar, a towering guard with a curved sword at his waist, merely snorted beneath his thick beard. “Quiet, Zahra. You’re making the market think we’re herding a sick goose.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Aisha’s steps suddenly halted. Up ahead, a commotion erupted… A pockmarked man had grabbed the collar of a woman clutching her baby tightly.

  “Your husband’s debt can’t be paid with tears! Give me that child, or I’ll drag you to the slave market!” he barked.

  Aisha felt a sharp thrum at her temple—a command for her legs to move. She stepped forward, her shadow falling over him.

  “Is this how you guard honor under the sun of Merv, sir?” Her voice was low, yet cold enough to silence the shouts around them.

  The man spun around, eyes wild. “Mind your own business, spoiled girl! Leave before you regret it!”

  “You have two choices.” Aisha’s gaze was cutting. “Leave now, and your hands remain whole. Or… let my guard make sure you never grip anything again.”

  Haidar stepped forward, hand on his sword. The faint scrape of metal was enough to drain the pockmarked man’s courage. He cursed under his breath and vanished into the crowd.

  Aisha turned to the woman, still frozen in shock. “If you need protection and fair pay, come to the gates of the House of al-Fadl,” she said gently—but her firmness froze the market in place.

  Gradually, the bustle returned to normal. Life carried on as if nothing had happened.

  Elsewhere, Palembang, Indonesia – 2024 CE

  Rain pounded the tin roof of the pesantren after the evening prayer, creating a chaotic symphony that drowned out every sound. The wind slipped through cracked windows, forcing the trees in the courtyard into a wild dance in the darkness. At exactly nine PM—thunk!—the lights went out. Darkness engulfed the dorm instantly, and the calm of the hall turned into chaotic pandemonium.

  “Astaghfirullah! There’s a pocong!” “Hey, idiot! That’s your own shadow!”

  A female student—Ruqayyah—sitting on the top bunk, exhaled deeply. Amidst the childish panic, she slid into a hijab, then stood with quiet composure.

  “Here we go again,” she muttered flatly, eyes adjusting to the dark.

  As the other students scrambled—even putting on white prayer clothes to scare each other—Ruqayyah remained calm, a detached observer. To her, it was just tedious childish comedy.

  Bela appeared at the door, laughing so hard she doubled over. “Ruq! I’m going to crawl like a ghost! Come with me!”

  “Do it yourself,” Ruqayyah shrugged. “I… don’t want to look foolish.”

  “Heh… seriously, it’s late. You know what time it is?” Ruqayyah’s voice was calm and clear amidst the chaos. “We have memorization practice tomorrow.”

  “Ugh… don’t remind me!” Bela grimaced, chuckling. “I’m really not in the mood to memorize right now.”

  Ruqayyah just shook her head, a faint, almost invisible smile touching her lips. “Fine. I’m going to iron my clothes.”

  But then she paused. The lights were out. The iron was nothing but a cold lump of metal. A flash of memory hit her—the library had a backup generator. Without another word, she walked through the darkness toward the silent building.

  The library was warm and stuffy, filled with the scent of old paper. Her fingers traced the spines of rigid books until they stopped at a thick, dark-covered volume radiating an air of mystery.

  “You like history?”

  The voice was soft, yet the vibration made Ruqayyah startle. She turned carefully.

  A woman stood there, neatly composed, her age impossible to read. She held a book on the glory of the Abbasid Dynasty.

  “This was a time when knowledge was the crown of the world, child,” the woman said, eyes deep, clear, almost unblinking.

  “But now, knowledge is like that too. Even broader,” Ruqayyah replied innocently.

  "

  “Heh… listen first. I’m not done yet.” The woman sounded slightly annoyed, continuing. “But in 1258, it all fell apart. Books were thrown into the Tigris, turning the water black with ink—and tears.”

  Ruqayyah swallowed. Something felt off; the air suddenly felt heavy, ancient. “Wait… everything’s gone?”

  No wonder—the dynasty no longer exists. She blinked once to clear her vision.

  And… nothing.

  The woman was gone. Silence reclaimed the library, leaving only the monotonous hum of the generator.

  “Where did she go…?” Ruqayyah whispered. Goosebumps rose on her arms. “Am I… hallucinating?”

  Suddenly, the door creaked loudly. Bela entered, hands on her hips, shattering the eerie atmosphere.

  “Ruq! Stop daydreaming alone. What if you get possessed, geez.”