Layla buried him under an olive tree. She never told anyone what the last page said.

Shams al-Ma‘arif turned to dust.

“Then you will live forever, alone, watching others burn for what you protect.”

Idris fled. But the book followed him — not physically, but in dreams. Every night, he saw a desert citadel made of black glass. Seven thrones. Seven figures without faces. And at the center, a burning sun that whispered his name.