Chapter 6 – Under the Same Sky
The moon hung low over Qasr al-Jinan, a silver coin adrift in the clouds. The towers shimmered faintly under the pale light, their white stone catching glimmers of blue and gold from the runes etched into their sides. The air was quiet — too quiet — save for the hum of distant lanterns and the occasional flap of a nightbird.
Zamira sat alone in the courtyard, her hands clasped, her head bowed. A single candle flickered before her, its light catching on the faint chain marks still visible around her wrists. She had been sitting there for nearly an hour, whispering words no one here would dare say aloud. Words that could have gotten her executed in Dragonborn territory — and worse, in the Elven Courts.
" ameen…"
Her voice trembled softly through the silence.
The prayer was familiar, heavy, and yet freeing. It steadied her when nothing else did — not the rebellion, not the blood, not the endless noise of people deciding her fate. For once, she didn't feel like the cursed elf, the chained rebel, or the monster the world whispered about. She was just Zamira. Just a girl kneeling before the only One who'd ever really listened.
She didn't notice the shadow behind her until she finished the final verse and blew out the candle.
"You… you're Muslim?"
The voice came quietly — hesitant, surprised. She spun around instantly, shadows flickering in her palms out of reflex. But when she saw who it was, she froze.
Rami stood under the archway, the torchlight catching the sharp angles of his face. His usually playful expression was gone, replaced by something unreadable — soft, almost fragile. His dark eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the dying candlelight.
Zamira straightened, heart racing. "You shouldn't be here."
He lifted his hands, palms open. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just— I couldn't sleep. Then I heard someone praying. Didn't think I'd hear… that here."
She glared at him, unsure whether to be angry or afraid. "You didn't hear anything."
Rami let out a quiet laugh — not mocking, just tired. "Relax. I'm not gonna report you. You think I'd do that to my own?"
She blinked, not understanding at first. "Your own?"
Rami stepped closer, and under the moonlight, the humor in his eyes vanished entirely. "Yeah. I'm Muslim too."
The words landed like thunder — silent but heavy. For a moment, Zamira forgot to breathe. Her mind raced — disbelief, relief, confusion all tangled together.
"You— You're lying," she said, almost accusingly.
He shrugged. "Wouldn't bother lying about something that could get me executed, would I?"
That shut her up. She looked down at the candle again, her heart pounding. "I didn't think there were any of us left here."
"Yeah," he murmured, walking over and sitting beside her on the cold stone bench. "That's what I thought too."
---
For a long moment, neither spoke. The wind carried faint laughter from a tower window far above them, but down here, it felt like the world had shrunk to just two people — both scarred, both out of place, both pretending not to be broken.
Finally, Zamira asked quietly, "How long?"
Rami leaned back against the bench, eyes distant. "Since I was 4 . My parents didnt belive in god , though. They hated it. Said it made us weak." My nanny was muslim and raised me then she eventually died " they told me to forget. He smiled bitterly. "Guess I didn't listen very well."
Zamira tilted her head, curiosity winning over caution. "What happened?"
He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "They sent me to a boarding school when I was six. Said it was to 'straighten me out.' Really, it was just to keep me away. I wasn't what they wanted — too loud, too… me." He laughed once, but there was no joy in it. "I kept praying there, quietly. At night, under the blankets. The headmaster caught me once. Said the same thing my father did — that faith was for slaves." Everyday they beat me just to forget but I never did.
Zamira's jaw clenched.
"When I turned twelve," Rami continued, "I ran away. I just… left. No food, no plan. Just a scarf, a satchel, and Allah's name in my mouth. I ended up in the Winter Court woods. Coldest place you could imagine." He paused, smiling faintly. "Almost froze the first night."
"You survived," she said quietly.
"Barely." His voice was rough now, the words scraping out. "I met Remus a few weeks later. He'd run away too — different reasons. We lived in the woods together for years. Stealing food, sleeping under the snow. Until Master Valerius found us. Said he could give us purpose." Rami looked down at his hands. "My parents think I'm dead. Maybe that's easier for them."
The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that hurt to breathe through. Zamira didn't know what to say. She wanted to — her mouth opened, closed again. She finally whispered, "I understand."
Rami looked at her, one brow raised. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She exhaled, long and slow. "The rebellion… it wasn't just about freedom. It was about faith. About being able to pray without being beaten for it." Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. "They killed my master when I was twelve. He was the one who taught me how to read the Qur'an. Said Allah was our only freedom left." Her hands tightened on her knees. "When they found out, they called us heretics. Terrorists. They burned every one of us they could find."
Rami went quiet. Even the night seemed to still.
She laughed softly — the sound brittle. "Funny thing is, they called me a monster for fighting back."
He turned to her then, really turned — his usual smirk gone, replaced by something raw and sharp. "You're not a monster."
Zamira looked away. "Aren't I? I've killed for revenge. I've burned soldiers alive just for looking like the ones who took my people. I—" Her voice broke. "I don't even remember their faces anymore. Just fire."
For a moment, there was only silence between them — then Rami reached out and placed his hand over hers. His palm was warm, rough from training, but steady.
"You did what you had to," he said quietly. "We both did."
She blinked back the heat in her eyes. "And what are we supposed to be now? Survivors? That's just a fancy word for 'broken.'"
Rami chuckled softly. "Then I guess we're two broken people who found the same God in different prisons."
That made her smile — small, real. "You talk like an old man sometimes."
He grinned faintly. "Yeah, well, twelve years of pretending to be dead'll do that to you."
They both laughed then — quietly, carefully, as if laughter itself were a sin in the night. It wasn't happy laughter, but it was honest.
---
They stayed there for hours — talking about everything and nothing. About how Qasr al-Jinan felt too clean, too perfect. About how the stars looked different here. About the food, the endless rules, the people who stared at them like they didn't belong.
At one point, Rami said softly, "You ever think Allah sent us here for a reason?"
Zamira glanced at him. "You mean like destiny?"
"Maybe. Or maybe just to make each other less miserable."
She smiled at that. "You? Miserable? I thought you were incapable of serious thought."
He mock-gasped. "Ouch. And here I was about to share my last bit of bread with you."
"Bread?" she asked dryly. "How generous."
"Hey, it's good bread. Stole it from the Flame Tower table."
She laughed again — a soft, tired sound that made Rami smile.
When the laughter faded, the quiet returned. The stars shimmered overhead, reflecting faintly in the fountain nearby. Rami looked up at them and whispered, almost to himself, "I used to pray in secret. Always thought no one could hear me."
Zamira looked at him. "He heard you."
He nodded slowly. "Maybe He did. Maybe He still does."
Her eyes softened. "He always does."
---
The bell for curfew echoed faintly across the courtyard, but neither of them moved. The candle had burned out completely, leaving only the moonlight between them.
Finally, Rami stood, stretching. "We should go before they catch us."
Zamira nodded and started to rise, but he hesitated, watching her.
"What?"
He smiled faintly. "Nothing. Just… you don't seem so scary anymore."
She raised a brow. "You want me to be scary again?"
He grinned. "Nah. I like this version better. The one that prays."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me," he said, walking backward toward the archway. "Besides, they'd never believe me if I told them the terrifying rebel of the North kneels under the moon to pray."
Zamira rolled her eyes. "Go before I make you regret speaking."
He laughed softly, and for a moment, everything felt lighter.
As he disappeared into the shadows, Zamira looked back up at the sky — at the same stars that had once looked down on her in chains, in fire, in endless darkness. Tonight, they seemed closer. Brighter.
She whispered one last prayer — not for vengeance, not for peace, but for understanding.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew Allah was listening.
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