The King of Jinns, a being older than the mountains, did not come with an army. He came as a shadow that covered the sun. The entire village was plunged into an artificial night. My 1600 djinns trembled. They weren't afraid of death; they were afraid of their true king. Khairul Nafas knelt on the ground, unable to look up. "Master," he choked out, "He is the one who created us. We cannot fight him."
The Shadow King walked through the walls of my house, his presence turning the furniture into ash. "Give me the Noor," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that made my teeth ache. I reached for the sword, but Zul-Qarn held my hand back. "If you give it to him, the balance between light and dark will end," the 1601st djinn whispered. I was trapped between a god-like king and a moral jailer. The King of Jinns raised his hand, and I felt my soul being pulled from my body. But then, I realized something. If my grandfather stole the sword, he must have had a reason. I reached into the ktab and found a hidden compartment. Inside was a letter: "I didn't steal the sword for power, but to protect the humans from the King's madness." The King wasn't a rightful owner; he was a tyrant who had been deposed.