That night, Saba was not asleep… it was holding its breath, like one awaiting the fall of a sword.
Night returned heavy over the mountains of Saba,
a night swollen with anticipation,
as though the rocks themselves were listening for what was about to happen.
In the high stone house,
waiting stretched longer than patience,
harsher than hunger or thirst.
Faces were rigid,
eyes never leaving the corridors or the sky.
And when the darkness split with a subtle shift in the air
a movement not seen but felt
Aram knew the time had come.
Seraph appeared,
with Tavar, Karem, Rayhan, and Rayman beside him.
Their faces were exhausted,
yet something in their features had changed
something unmistakable to those who know the paths of caves,
the mark of those who return from places
from which men rarely return whole.
They did not come empty-handed.
The items were laid out on the stone floor one by one,
as though announcing the beginning of a countdown:
Bags of white salt, finely ground and carefully preserved
• Small containers of specialized sand, in varied colors each with its own effect
• Short, light swords coated in insulating oils
• Delicate metal tools for dismantling chains and pulleys
• Braided ropes layered in different weaves
• Thin, foldable plates used to distort sound
• Clay pieces filled with Karem's powders
Aram looked at everyone,
then his eyes fell on the child Rayman,
whom Marana was holding tightly,
as if afraid he might dissolve if she let go for even a moment.
Rayman stood beside Tavar,
clutching a rolled piece of leather with quiet determination.
Tavar spoke, his voice carrying the weight of the road:
"If it weren't for this boy…
we wouldn't have returned this quickly."
Rayman unrolled the leather.
The drawings were revealed.
Clear lines.
Precise slopes.
Cracks in the mountain.
Marks visible only to those who look with a clear eye
an eye uncorrupted by calculation or fear.
Tavar said:
"My memory failed me in the last passage…
but his drawings brought me back to the path."
Aram stepped closer,
placed his hand on Rayman's head,
and said with a calm touched by deep gratitude:
"You saved more than you know."
A shy pride appeared on the child's face,
a pride that needed no words.
The meeting did not last long.
Time does not wait for those who understand the truth.
Planning began.
They gathered around the stone table,
the map Aram had drawn and Rayman had completed
spread before them
like the exposed heart of Saba.
Aram assigned roles in a steady voice that allowed no interpretation:
Karem: preparing devices and traps near the altar and beneath the platform
• Rayhan: setting camouflage paths with sand around the procession
• Siham: monitoring guards inside the square, disabling ropes and stakes at the right moment
• Nabalyan: positioning at elevated points with the bow no arrow loosed without command
• Ghaydar: watching Aqqar, preventing any repair to the guillotine
• Solan: controlling the rear passages, with Bariq as his eye in the sky
• Najjar: leading the reserve group outside the square
• Aram: the turning point the moment when everything breaks
Aram said:
"No one moves before the signal.
And no one kills… unless forced."
Then Seraph departed again,
like a shadow that returns whenever the night needs it.
He came back hours later,
his eyes carrying what could not be spoken easily.
He said quietly:
"The king…
will be executed in three days."
Silence fell like a stone into water.
Then he continued:
"Ronen has rushed it.
He violated the rites of Saba.
He will not wait for the full moon."
He lifted his head, the words heavy in his chest:
"The platforms are being prepared.
The guillotine is being tightened.
Security has doubled."
Then he added, as if stabbing time itself:
"The heir…
will be brought in a week."
Aram inhaled deeply,
steadying himself before the strike.
He said:
"Then…
we save the king first."
The next two days passed like an entire age.
Everyone worked in silence,
as if sound itself had become the enemy.
At night:
Devices were buried beneath the ground
• Sand paths were drawn
• Chains were weakened
• Bolts were loosened
• Angles were measured
Inside the palace…
Ronen was working as well.
The execution platform was erected in the heart of the square.
The altar was clean.
The black stones polished.
Human soldiers stood in successive rings.
The jinn took position behind them,
their eyes glowing in the shadows.
Aqqar personally oversaw the guillotine.
And Nahir stood beside the throne,
silent…
as if awaiting an unspoken command.
On the morning of the third day…
the procession of the captive king emerged.
Heavy chains.
Head held high.
Steady steps.
He did not scream.
He did not beg.
Ronen sat in an elevated position,
human and jinn commanders around him.
He raised his hand
and the entire city
held its breath.
In the shadows,
every man of Aram's circle
stood exactly where he should be,
eyes fixed on the signal,
fingers taut,
waiting…
for the moment
that would change Saba forever.
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