Chapter 6: What You Want To Know

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though it carried a current of unease. The Sahir was no ordinary sorcerer; his very existence was intertwined with dark, forbidden magic. He had been on the run for five years, a shadow slipping through the cracks of the world. Rumors whispered of his hiding place—a secluded cave, far from prying eyes—where he tirelessly worked on his craft, sculpting figures in stone and breathing life into them through secretive, ancient rituals. In that isolated sanctuary, the Sahir’s power grew, shrouded in mystery and fear, as he plotted in the darkness.

In the sprawling world of Johara, where kingdoms rise against the backdrop of ancient magic, sorcery is both revered and feared, tightly controlled under the Great Accord. Magic users are either imprisoned or conscripted into government service, their rank determined by the potency of their abilities. Most people possess only minor powers—like coaxing droplets of water to dance or bending tissue paper with a thought—barely more than parlor tricks. Yet, in the corridors of power, those with stronger gifts find themselves elevated, their magic woven into the fabric of governance. The most powerful of all, those resurrected by the mysterious Sahir, often become formidable leaders or elite soldiers, ensuring the armies of the royal families remain strong and unchallenged.

“The Sahir has been missing for years, Mehrajan. No one knows where he is.” The king frowned.

“But he’s the only one who can truly stop Polaris,” The Prince insisted. “If we find the Sahir and kill him, Polaris’s immortality will be undone. It’s a dangerous gamble, but so is fighting endless wars.”
The council exchanged uneasy glances, the enormity of the task ahead weighing heavily on them. The Sahir was a shadow, a phantom who had woven his way into the very fabric of death itself. Finding him would require skill, cunning, and perhaps a bit of luck. But if they failed, Polaris would bring the entire kingdoms to their knees.

Another councilor spoke up, his voice grave. “I agree with Prince Mehrajan. The Sahir is not immortal, but he is far from ordinary. He ages slowly, far more slowly than any other sorcerer. It is said that each life he revives becomes an extension of his own, granting him unnatural longevity. The more lives he’s brought back, the longer he lives, and the more powerful he becomes.”

Prince Mehrajan spoke again. “Your Majesty,” He began, his gaze sweeping across the room, “I propose we send a search party, but not an ordinary one. Let it be comprised of sorcerers from the Supreme Court, accompanied by Amani and I. The fewer we send, the less likely we are to scare the Sahir away. He might be the most powerful sorcerer in Johara, but with our combined skills, we can find him.”

The King’s expression flickered with hesitation. For a moment, he seemed torn, but the reality of their situation left little room for doubt. With a heavy sigh, he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You leave tomorrow. At noon.”