In the kingdom of Kaylira, a new fortress rose against the frozen mountains—built from pale white stone. And on its highest roof fluttered not a royal banner, but the mist-blurred shadow of a painted dragon.
Bahaar had become a Queen. A ruler who did not command her people but listened to them.
She built a great library. She gathered old tales, shattered manuscripts, and the fading memories of long-dead languages.
Every night, in a quiet chamber of the palace, Bahaar opened her diary and wrote a history—the one the emperors had erased, yet the dragon's sorrow had left whispering in the air.
The people began to love her. They said,
"We never had a king,
but we have found a Queen who remembers us."
And sometimes Bahaar would say,
"My father exiled me for seeking the truth.
But I came here to protect it."
Many years later, a ship from Lunjhar crossed the northern waters—bringing Barzak to her realm.
********
Eighth Chapter : The Winged Warriors of Samardun
Yordil Mountain Range.
A wondrous, fearsome, and majestic natural fortress.
The peaks of this mountain range are so high that the world below seems forever buried in clouds.
The wind does not rest here; it rushes endlessly in a fierce metallic howl.
Daylight falls upon these mountains in a blood-red hue.
And night?
It feels like a void scorched by the breath of fire.
At present, in the midst of this terrifying beauty, dwells the Samardun people.
They are not human.
There are wings on their backs—pure, translucent, yet filled with storm-born power, as if Ar-Rauf Himself forged them in the sky, and descending to the earth was a tragic compromise. Their eyes burn with flame-like radiance—when they looked at someone, it felt as though that gaze could cut through one's very soul.
And that gaze left behind an invisible scorch across the skin, a heat only the brave could endure.
They are warriors. They are poets.
They fought from the sky, melted ice with their verses, stilled the wind, and they were feared by kings—yet their poems were stolen by poets who claimed them as their own.
The settlements of the Samardun were built along the narrow ridges of the mountains, where the boundary between sky and earth melts into one.
Piercing through the chests of clouds, and rising even above them, lie these astonishing dwellings—not ordinary palaces or stone fortresses, but vast floating cities suspended in the air, which from a distance appear as though the stars themselves have descended upon the surface of the world.
In every corner of these cities, in every structure, the bridges are made of light-steel—so smooth and delicate that they seem to float in empty space.
On the bright roof of every home, a mysterious bluish glow burns endlessly, visible only to the winged Samardun, as if it were an entrance to their secret world.
This light is a symbol of their spiritual bond, invisible to ordinary eyes, a faint doorway into another realm.
Their language was a living part of nature itself—melodic and multi-layered like poetry. Every spoken line was like a song—carrying deep affection, gentle warnings of danger, sharp flashes of irony, and the rhythmic grace of soul-touching verse.
Their sentence structure was so rich that a single word could hold the reflection of a thousand emotions. In their royal courts or common gatherings, no one ever shouted, no voices ever rose in anger.
Their manner of communication was so advanced that they could declare war through the depth of their gaze alone, and that silent language of eyes was sharper and more terrifying than a thousand swords.
This silent resolve was the ultimate proof of their strength and wisdom, setting them apart from all other beings on an unparalleled height.
Once, the Samardun were the unrivalled guardians of the Aran Plateau.
With their keen sight and extraordinary abilities, they protected not only human settlements but also the vast migratory paths of beasts, and even the smallest elements of nature—the silent stillness of stones.
Their presence was a sanctuary for the Aran Plateau, an unseen wall shielding everything from external threats. Their power and discernment were legendary.
But… as time moved on, when the Balan Empire began to expand its dominion, their gaze fell upon this mysterious Samardun people.
The Balan Emperor and his council grew fearful of their immense power.
A question rose in their minds—how could one control a people for whom the sky itself was the only limit, who bowed to no earthly throne except that of Ar-Rauf?
And whose voices, if ignited in rebellion, could set an entire empire aflame?
This fear became a silent threat against their rule, shaking the throne of the Balan Empire to its core.
Samarduns were unstoppable, and the very thought of controlling them filled the hearts of the Balan rulers with a deep, choking fear.
In the darkness of one night, the fire-bearing forces of the Balan Empire launched an attack upon the Samarduns.
Flames rose within the clouds.
Rivers of blood fell through the sky.
Many had their wings shattered— and the light in their eyes vanished into endless darkness.
Yet not all died.
Some survived— in the Yordil Mountains.
And some believe that in Barzak Bhagar's blood, the shadow of the Samardun lived.
Perhaps that was why his voice could halt storms, and why even stone eyes wept in his presence.
For centuries after centuries… the river of time flowed in silence, and on its shores stood they—the Samardun people, wings folded, eyes glowing, waiting… carrying a suffocated, ancestral cry within their breath.
Their cities are no more. And drifting through the wind are only the memories of torn wings.
Yet they live.
What seems calm outside—writhes and cries within.
They have not forgotten.
The Aran Plateau—their ancient land.
There they first sang of fire, there children first spread their wings, and there they stood and vowed—they would return one day.
That land is now rubble.
Burned under the tyranny of the Balan Empire, soil soaked in blood, rivers filled with bones.
Yet that land was their birthplace, their heritage, their soul.
"We will return."
—this vow they carried in their hearts like stone for countless centuries.
Every drop of their blood screamed for freedom.
Their dreams echoed with the ancient songs hidden in forgotten caves, and from beyond the sky drifted an old voice—
"Wings may break, but even then they fly in the storm."
Now, when the Balan Empire itself stands confused and weakened, when the tale of Barzak Bhagar spreads once more across the air.
They are ready.
They will come.
Carrying the rage and grief stored in silence for centuries.
War-wings will rise again on their backs,
fire will burn again in their eyes, and they will descend— from the mountains, from the sky, from the abyss of memory—
to free the Aran Plateau.
This was their fate.
This was their oath.
And now… that day draws near.
Do you hear it?
From beyond the mountains, someone seems to call— in an ancient tongue, forgotten even by the wind. It is the language understood only by the winged. And now, they search for the ground beneath their feet, ready to return.