ZARRAR (English)

The darkness of night was slowly fading away, but the black clouds covering the sky were still blocking the morning light.

Dewdrops gathered on the leaves of the trees were quietly falling to the ground. The scent of wet earth filled the air after the night's rain.

Dense trees surrounded the area, and between them stretched a long, wide, deserted road. The road was still wet, with the reflection of the clouds clearly visible on its surface.

Then, breaking through the silence, a speeding car appeared in the distance. Its tires raced across the wet road, throwing splashes of water into the air. The heavy roar of the engine echoed between the trees, and within moments, the black Mercedes disappeared from sight, leaving the misty road behind.

A while later, the same black Mercedes came to a stop in front of a small roadside diner.

It was a single road. There was a road ahead, but there was no way to turn back from there. Perhaps the road changed somewhere further ahead. Morning silence had settled all around. The only sound on the road was the wind, while a few people walked slowly along the roadside, talking quietly among themselves. From their clothes and the way they carried themselves, it was obvious they were farmers. There was probably a village nearby.

In the quiet surroundings, the sound of the car door opening echoed through the air, and a young man stepped out. For a moment, he looked like an ordinary traveler, but no... there was something different about him.

He was tall, with a strong build and a cold expression.

His face was handsome and attractive. His short black hair had been casually brushed upward with his fingers. There was a strange calmness in his brown eyes, but the hardness hidden behind that calm could still be felt. His handsome lips were silent, while the neatly trimmed beard on his face made his appearance even more striking.

He was wearing a white shirt that looked quite old. His black jeans were dirty, as if he had just returned from a battlefield, and his boots were covered in mud.

He had a packet of cigarettes in his hand.

He walked a few steps forward, opened the packet, took out the last cigarette, and placed it between his lips.

He pulled a lighter from his pocket. With a small spark, the cigarette came to life.

He took a long drag, raised his head toward the sky, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

Then he let out a deep breath, as if he were finally releasing the weight that had been building inside him for the past two nights. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

Only now could he clearly see the scene in front of him. Two nights of staying awake had left his eyes exhausted.

He looked at the back of his right hand, where the blood that had been slowly dripping had now dried.

Not a trace of pain appeared on his face. Perhaps pain was nothing new to him. He quietly looked around once, as if checking everything out of habit, then took another drag from his cigarette and walked toward the roadside diner.

The roadside diner stood right at the edge of the road, but at that moment, the entire road was deserted. There wasn't a single sound of a vehicle anywhere in the distance, as if this road were completely cut off from the rest of the world.

The roadside diner was neither very small nor a large restaurant. It was a simple, rather old place with two sections. One was the indoor area, where tables and chairs were arranged, while the other was an open area outside, where large, sturdy wooden platforms had been placed. Local people sat there having breakfast. Their traditional clothes, cups of tea, and quiet conversations made it clear that they were from the nearby villages.

Light had spread across the sky, but dark clouds still covered it completely. It seemed as though even the sun was hiding behind those clouds, silently watching everything.

The young man stepped inside the roadside diner.

"Yes, sir! How can I help you?"

A man sitting on a chair beside a table asked him. From his appearance, he seemed to be the owner of the roadside diner.

The young man glanced outside.

"I want to sit outside... but I need a table and a chair."

His voice was deep and commanding.

"Yes, sir. I'll have it arranged right away."

The owner immediately called one of the boys.

"Put a table and chair outside."

The boy quickly ran outside, set up a table and chair, then gestured for the young man to come over.

The owner looked at the young man and asked,

"Will you have breakfast, sir?"

The young man simply gave a slight nod and went outside, taking his seat. He hadn't eaten anything for several hours.

His eyes were heavy with sleep, and faint waves of pain were pulsing through his head.

Hundreds of thoughts were running through his mind.

The destruction had already begun. Death was now chasing him.

He placed two fingers against his forehead and slowly rubbed it, as if trying to control the pain.

"I just need to save my life... and let everyone else die."

There was nothing but indifference in his cold brown eyes. He ran his hand over his face. The very next moment, a sharp wave of pain shot through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and after a few moments, opened them again and waited for his breakfast. As if pain had become nothing more than an old story to him.

__________________________________________________________

The other rooms of the house were still shrouded in darkness, but this room was filled with dim light.

A large window was the only source through which the faint morning light entered the room. Along with it, the cool breeze coming down from the mountains brushed against the quiet atmosphere of the room before passing through. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of bells hanging around the necks of grazing goats could be heard.

The walls of the room were painted a soft white. Against one side stood a large wooden wardrobe, beside which was a bookshelf.

On the other side was a bed covered with white sheets, white pillows, and a slightly disheveled white blanket.

Everything was in its place, as if the person who lived in this room knew exactly how to keep her life organized.

A short distance from the bed, directly in front of the window, Zoya sat on the cold floor with her legs folded to one side. She held a pen in her hand, with an open notebook resting in her lap. She was writing something quickly. In the silence of the morning, the only sound was the faint movement of the pen across the paper.

There was not the slightest trace of sleep in her green eyes. Either she had already gotten enough sleep, or perhaps she was so absorbed in her work that she simply did not feel the exhaustion.

After a while, she stopped, placed the pen on the table, and took a deep breath. Her pink lips had become slightly dry from not drinking water for quite some time. She moved a strand of hair away from her face with her fingers, the same strand that had been bothering her repeatedly, then ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them.

A few moments later, she stood up, picked up the notebook and books, and placed them on the bed before heading toward the washroom.

Some time later, when she returned, she was ready.

She left the room and headed toward the courtyard.

It was an open courtyard with no roof above it. Because of the rain during the night, the floor was still wet. The walls were painted navy blue. In a few places, the floor was cracked and broken, yet even in its simplicity, there was a strange sense of peace.

There were several rooms in the courtyard, all with their doors closed. Zoya opened one of them and stepped into the dark room.

A girl was sleeping deeply on the bed in front of her, wrapped in a blanket. A faint smile appeared on Zoya's face.

She walked closer to the bed.

"Wake up, Anaya, or we'll be late for university."

She said as she pulled the blanket away, gently shaking Anaya at the same time.

"Hmm... yeah, sis... give me a moment."

Anaya replied sleepily, mumbling in her half-asleep state.

Zoya shook her head and walked toward the window of the room.

As soon as she opened it, an abundance of light and cool mountain air rushed inside. Beyond the window was a breathtaking view of mountains stretching far into the distance, flowing waterfalls, and a lush green valley. The sounds of birds sitting on the trees filled the surroundings with a strange sense of peace. It was the kind of view no one would ever want to look away from. But perhaps Zoya had grown accustomed to such beauty.

She adjusted the curtains and returned to Anaya.

"Anaya, get ready quickly. I'm waiting for you."

Zoya said and walked out of the room.

As soon as she stepped outside, the cool breeze touched her face once again.

Today was the first day at the city's major university for both sisters. Today, after so many years, she was finally going to leave these valleys behind. For some reason, her heart felt strangely restless.

__________________________________________________________

The young man sat silently on the chair, waiting for his breakfast to arrive. The exhaustion of the past nights was clearly visible on his body, but there was still a coldness in his eyes.

He ran his hand over his face. A sharp wave of pain shot through his head, but he showed no reaction.

He checked the time on the watch strapped around his left wrist.

It was already half past eight in the morning.

He was lost in his own thoughts when an innocent little voice suddenly broke his train of thought.

"Oo, I wan dat...!" (I want that.)

The young man looked up. A few feet away, a beautiful-eyed boy of about three or four years old was standing there, smiling as he looked directly at him.

The child's eyes were fixed on the young man's bunch of keys, which had a small gun-shaped symbol on the keychain.

"You want this?"

For the first time, the young man smiled at someone—a faint smile. But even that small smile brought happiness to the child's face.

The child immediately nodded.

The young man got up from his chair, bent down, and placed one knee on the ground.

"Where's your papa?" he asked softly.

"Baba..." The child pointed toward one side, where a man was walking toward them.

"Sorry, brother. My kid was bothering you."

The man said with a smile.

The young man gently shook his head, then looked at the child.

"What's your name?" the young man asked.

"Shaad..." (Saad) the child replied in his childish, lisping voice.

The smile on the young man's lips grew slightly deeper.

He took out his keys and held the keychain out toward the child.

The moment the child took the keychain in his hand, he began jumping with joy.

"Saad, say thank you to brother."

His father said.

"Thanthee you!" (Thank you)

The child said with a laugh.

The young man smiled and gently ran his hand through the child's hair.

"Come on, Saad. Let's go now."

The man held out his hand.

The child took his father's hand and walked away.

The young man watched them leave for a few moments. Then he returned to his chair.

He placed a hand on his forehead.

A few moments later, the roadside diner boy brought breakfast and tea and began setting them on the table.

"Let me know if you need anything, sir."

He was about to leave when the young man stopped him.

"I need to wash my hands."

"Over there."

The boy pointed toward a door in front of them.

The young man got up and went inside. A few moments later, he returned. He had washed his hands thoroughly. The old stains of blood were now gone.

He sat back down, and he had barely taken his first bite when his mind sent him a warning.

The atmosphere had changed.

He did not turn his head. He only looked toward the road from the corner of his eye.

In the distance, a black car was hidden behind the bushes. The young man's eyes did not change for even a moment.

He looked straight ahead.

Three men were sitting on a wooden platform. One had a shawl wrapped around himself, while the other two were wearing black jackets.

An ordinary man might have ignored them.

But not the young man...

He had already figured it out from the way they were sitting. They had not come here for breakfast at all.

The young man calmly picked up the teaspoon. He wiped the tea on it with his thumb, making the spoon shine, and his reflection appeared in it.

He tilted the spoon slightly. Now he could see the men sitting behind him in its reflection. There were three men sitting on the platform behind him as well, taking turns looking in his direction.

The young man showed no reaction.

He calmly put the spoon back into his tea and began stirring it.

He knew they could be armed, but he still remained seated calmly, because this was not his first time dealing with a situation like this... he had plenty of experience handling such situations.

His eyes were on the men in front of him, while his ears were listening to the men behind him.

Of the three men sitting in front, only one was eating.

The one with the shawl.

The other two were silent.

"Leader..."

His mind made the decision.

A few moments later, the man with the shawl took out his mobile phone.

And the very next moment, the young man heard a message tone from a mobile phone behind him.

The signal had been given...

The young man made his assessment.

Their manner made it clear that they were not ordinary attackers.

They were professionals.

They would not fire until they were certain.

The young man put another bite into his mouth.

The sound of heavy boots began approaching from behind.

One step.

Then another.

But the men sitting in front were still silent.

"So the men sitting behind have knives, while the guns are with the ones in front..."

He made another certain assessment.

He had already calculated the entire situation. Now he was simply waiting.

The man behind him came closer.

He pulled a knife from his waist.

The young man remained seated silently.

The knife came close to his neck, so close that he could feel the coldness of the metal.

But his eyes were still fixed on the cup of tea.

One moment.

Just one moment.

He had been waiting for this.

Because he was not the prey.

He was the hunter.

Suddenly, his hand moved.

The empty tea cup came into his hand, and the very next moment, he slammed it against the head of the attacker standing behind him with all his strength.

The sound of the cup breaking echoed throughout the roadside diner.

Everyone's eyes immediately turned toward them.

The young man was already on his feet.

That was exactly why he had chosen a chair instead of sitting on the wooden platform, so that if the need arose, he would not waste even a single moment.

A sharp piece of the broken cup was now in his hand like a weapon.

The attacker had not even straightened himself when the young man spun around.

And the very next moment, the sharp piece had plunged into the man's jugular vein.

The man's eyes widened.

But the real shock came when the young man pulled the shard back out.

A fountain of blood burst out, and the young man's white shirt began turning red.

The man staggered and fell to the ground. He placed both hands over his neck, desperately trying to stop the blood, but it was a futile attempt.

And the young man?

He simply stood there silently, watching him writhe in agony, as if all of this were nothing more than another ordinary day for him.

__________________________________________________________

The valley stretched between the mountains looked like something out of a dream in the morning light. After the night's rain, the leaves of the trees were still glistening with moisture. Clouds drifted slowly over the mountain peaks, while somewhere in the distance, the sound of water falling from a waterfall spread a strange sense of peace throughout the surroundings. The cool breeze passed through the valley, swaying the trees before brushing against the windows of the houses and moving on. Here, time seemed to move slowly.

There was no rush on people's faces, no noise on the roads, and none of the restlessness in life that could be felt every moment in the big cities.

But today, Zoya's steps were taking her away from this quiet valley.

She sat beside the window in the university van, watching the scenery outside. The girls sitting in the van were busy chatting among themselves.

Anaya was sitting beside Zoya, and she seemed to be enjoying the journey even more than Zoya.

"Sis, you know what?" Anaya suddenly said.

"What?" Zoya asked with a smile, still looking outside.

"The girls in the city are probably prettier than us..."

Hearing this, Zoya turned her head toward her with a smile. Anaya's face held the same innocence it always did. There was a unique sparkle in her big eyes, as if she looked at everything with wonder and excitement. Her soft features, innocent smile, and the simplicity on her face made her even more beautiful. She was one of those girls whose beauty was not limited to their face; it could also be felt in the way they spoke and carried themselves.

"Why do you think that?" Zoya asked.

Anaya shrugged. "Yeah! I've seen them in TV shows."

Zoya smiled and shook her head.

"Don't worry. When I get you ready, you'll look prettier than all of them."

"Yeah, those girls wear a lot of makeup, sis. We'll do it too."

Anaya said after hearing Zoya.

"Anaya, beauty doesn't come from makeup or branded clothes. It comes from the way a person carries herself."

Zoya narrowed her eyes as she explained it to Anaya.

Anaya dropped her head back against the seat.

"Ugh, here we go again with my sister's useless lectures."

Anaya said, shaking her head.

Seeing her reaction, Zoya burst out laughing. For a few moments, Zoya forgot all her thoughts. The uncertainty of a new place, the worries about meeting new people—everything.

"I feel like everyone at university is going to look at me and say, 'Where did this innocent little girl come from?'"

Anaya said proudly.

Zoya looked at her and laughed.

"You? Innocent?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Anaya immediately replied.

"Then who hid my books yesterday just to annoy me?"

Zoya reminded her with a smile.

"How would I know?"

Anaya said, trying to hide her laughter.

"Don't lie. I know it was you."

Zoya said, lightly tapping two fingers against her head.

"So what? Can't I even joke around with my sister a little?"

Anaya rolled her eyes.

"I spent two hours looking for my books, you little troublemaker..."

Zoya's smile grew deeper, and Anaya laughed as she remembered it.

Zoya usually didn't talk much, but around Anaya, she felt lighter. Laughing with her was easy. Even silence never felt awkward around her. For a few moments, she forgot that she was entering a new world. Forgot that everything was about to change. She was simply there, on this journey with her little sister. For a moment, she saw her reflection in the window. There was a deep smile on her lips.

A new place.

New people.

A new life.

These words sounded easy enough, but in reality, they felt much harder. She had grown accustomed to that small world where every face was familiar. Where she knew every road. Where even the silence felt like her own.

But now she had to step into a world where no one knew her. Where she would have to prove herself.

"New places don't change anything. A person can make any place their own..."

She remembered something she had once said to someone.

But she didn't know that sometimes, a person doesn't change a place.

Sometimes, a place changes the person.

The vehicle continued toward the city, and the mountains slowly disappeared behind them. The green trees were gradually replaced by tall buildings. The quiet roads were replaced by noise. Where there had once been nothing but the sound of birds, there were now car horns and the voices of people.

Zoya continued looking out the window.

None of this was completely new to her.

It wasn't that she was afraid. She was brave and courageous. She simply felt a strange restlessness.

She knew life could never remain the same forever. Sometimes a person has to leave the place they love and go somewhere safer, and sometimes they have to step outside the place where they feel safe.

And perhaps today was one of those days.

After a while, the van stopped in front of a large building.

Zoya looked outside.

In front of her stood a vast university campus.

Tall gates.

Large buildings.

Students walking everywhere.

Some were laughing, some were busy talking, while others were hurrying toward their classes.

This world was completely different from her valley.

Here, everyone seemed lost in their own lives.

Zoya quietly looked at the university for a few moments. Then she picked up her bag and stepped out of the van.

The wind was still blowing, but it didn't have the coolness of the mountain air.

Everything here was faster.

The footsteps.

The people.

Time itself.

She adjusted her clothes and, walking alongside Anaya, began heading toward the university's large entrance.

A few people looked at her.

Some simply glanced at her and walked past.

Others looked with curiosity.

Zoya paid no attention to anyone.

She knew that in a new place, people first looked at you, then judged you.

But she was not someone who would change herself according to an image created by others.

She stepped inside.

Into a new world.

At the beginning of a new journey.

But she had no idea that at the exact moment she had left her valley, on that very same day, someone had entered her valley.

Someone whose life was about to become connected to hers very soon.

__________________________________________________________

The man who had come to slit the young man's throat, thinking he would be an easy target, was now writhing on the ground within a few seconds. The people at the roadside diner began looking at one another in fear and shock. Some started getting up and moving away, while others, despite their fear, could not take their eyes off the scene.

The two men standing in front of him, both holding knives, were now fully prepared. The young man glanced at them once. There was no anger in that look. It was calculating.

One of the six attackers was down. The leader and the two shooters were still sitting in their places, as if they were simply watching the abilities of their men. The owner of the roadside diner watched everything with a mixture of fear and worry on his face. The attackers had paused for a moment after seeing what had happened to their companion, but there was no panic on their faces. The young man's guess had been right. These were not ordinary men. They were experienced at what they did and confident in their abilities.

One man stepped forward. The knife came straight toward the young man.

The young man blocked the strike with his arm. He took one step forward. Just one step.

And the very next moment, his elbow slammed into the attacker's face. The man cried out and staggered backward. The knife slipped from his hand.

But at that exact moment, the second man attacked. The knife came slicing through the air. The young man ducked, and the strike missed.

But the first man had already recovered. His fist landed on the young man's face with full force. The young man staggered back several steps.

There was real power behind that punch. This was not the punch of an ordinary man...

These were not the men he had been beating for the past five days. These were dangerous fighters. Trained.

The people at the roadside diner were now moving away from the diner and watching the fight from a distance. His eyes were everywhere. Just then, the shooters had also risen from their seats. Yet there was still calmness on their faces. They were certain the two men in front of them were enough.

The young man watched both attackers coming toward him.

He moved forward himself. The first punch missed. But the next strike landed directly on the second man's nose. He staggered backward and fell.

The young man did not stop. He ducked beneath the second man's strike and drove his fist into his ribs. The man doubled over in pain.

The very next moment, the young man's knee slammed into his nose. He fell to the ground.

Then the young man felt warmth on his arm. He immediately stepped back.

The knife had sliced across his shoulder. A faint growl escaped the young man's lips, but he did not stop to look at the wound. This was not the time to feel pain.

The attacker struck again. The young man caught his wrist.

The very next moment, using the same arm with the wounded shoulder, he delivered a powerful strike to the man's elbow.

A sharp crack echoed. The man's elbow broke. He screamed.

The knife slipped from his hand. But before it could reach the ground, the young man caught it. And the next instant, the knife was buried in the man's throat.

The young man pulled the knife back, and the man collapsed to the ground.

Blood was flowing from the young man's shoulder. The burning pain was intense, but there was no sign of pain on his face.

The attacker had inflicted such a wound on his shoulder that the movement of his arm was affected. Keeping his eyes forward, the young man placed a hand over the wound. Blood ran between his fingers. His breathing had become heavier. But his mind was still completely alert. Then his eyes fell on the shooters standing in front of him, their hands moving inside their jackets.

The young man immediately ducked.

A bullet whistled over his head. A fraction of a second later and the bullet would have gone through his brain. Both men opened fire.

The young man ran to one side and pulled a sturdy wooden platform upright, using it as a shield.

Chaos erupted inside the roadside diner. The shooters' automatic pistols were spitting fire. People were running for their lives, and one after another they were caught in the line of fire, being deliberately killed. The young man kept himself protected from the bullets behind the wooden platform.

Suddenly, the young man's eyes fell on something ahead, and for a moment, his mind stopped.

That same child... the one who had been standing in front of him and smiling just a short while ago. He was crying as he came out from the indoor section of the roadside diner.

The young man took a step to stop him. But it was too late.

A bullet passed straight through the child's head. And the very next moment, the little body fell to the ground. Silence spread through the young man's ears. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The young man dropped to his knees right there.

"No..."

A single word escaped his lips, but the sound seemed to die somewhere deep inside him. His eyes remained fixed on the child's eyes. Eyes that had been filled with innocent happiness only moments ago were now silent. The child's father saw his son lying on the ground and came running out with a scream. The very next moment, a bullet passed through his head as well, and he crashed to the ground.

The young man's fingers dug into the ground. His jaw clenched. For the first time, the coldness that had remained on his face for so long had broken. There was no longer just anger there.

There was pain. Regret. And a hatred unlike anything that had ever been seen in his eyes before.

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. The young man slowly stood up, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else in his eyes now. The bodies of innocent people lay scattered all around him.

Both shooters threw their pistols to the ground. They clenched their fists and moved forward. The young man gritted his teeth and stepped forward as well.

The first man came in for the attack.

The young man's fist struck him squarely on the chin with full force. He groaned, was sent flying backward, and did not get up again.

The second man kicked, but the young man caught his leg and pulled him toward himself with all his strength.

He fell to the ground. The very next moment, the young man's kick landed on his nose. He became motionless right there. The young man leaned down toward him.

"You shot him." His voice was cold.

He grabbed his hair. Pulled a knife from his boot. And the very next moment, the knife was buried in the man's neck.

He pulled the knife back and looked at his hands covered in blood.

"You shouldn't have killed the child." He said as he wiped the knife against the man's shirt.

The man's blood was spreading across the ground. The young man used the wooden platform for support as he got back on his feet. His breathing was labored.

He looked ahead. The man in the shawl was still sitting there.

Silence had settled over everything. Dark clouds covered the sky, as if rain could begin at any moment. A cold wind was blowing.

Only two people remained.

The young man.

And the man.

The man slowly stood and removed the shawl from his face. The moment the young man saw his face, surprise appeared in his eyes for a brief moment. Then he slowly shook his head.

"You are Buraq, one of Feroz Shah's most dangerous men and fighters." He said with certainty. His voice was as heavy as ever, though his breathing was unsteady.

A smile spread across the lips of the fighter named Buraq. "Yes... you recognized me correctly." He took a few steps forward. "But we've never met before."

The young man placed a hand over his wounded shoulder. His arm was already red with blood.

"Yes, we haven't." The young man replied.

"Feroz told me about you."

The fighter's smile grew deeper at the young man's words.

"Nice to meet you, friend... but your death is written at my hands." Buraq took off his jacket and threw it to the ground. There was a smile on his face as if he was certain that within a few moments, the man standing in front of him would be lying helpless on the ground. The young man silently slipped his knife back into his boot.

Then he looked at Buraq. He raised his shoulders slightly.

As if saying: Let's see whose death is written at whose hands.

Buraq made the first move. He charged forward with full force.

The first strike. The young man blocked it with his hands.

The second strike. The third strike.

But he could not stop the fourth. The punch landed directly on his ribs. His breath stopped for a moment. A sharp wave of pain shot through his entire body. Buraq's hand was truly powerful. Feroz Shah had been telling the truth...

The next strike.

Then another strike...

The young man kept moving backward. Then, in a single moment, he ducked and moved five steps away. He placed a hand over his ribs. Perhaps for the first time in his life, after taking a punch from someone, he had actually rubbed the pain with his hand.

Fighter Buraq advanced toward him with a deep smile. He was certain the man in front of him would not remain on his feet for much longer. The young man exhaled slowly and, this time, moved forward himself.

He blocked the first strike and grabbed Buraq by the collar.

He brought his head forward and slammed it with full force into the bridge of Buraq's nose.

Buraq's head spun, and he staggered two steps backward. For a moment, the smile disappeared from his face. The young man standing in front of him looked at him.

Silent.

Calm.

As if saying: Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm an easy target. The very next moment, that same dangerous smile returned to Buraq's lips. He suddenly charged forward.

The young man moved aside to avoid the strike, but the next attack was faster than before.

The punch came straight toward the young man's face. He raised both arms to protect his face. The strike landed against his arms.

A heavy blow. A powerful punch crashed into his arms. It was so hard that the young man's body staggered backward. His arms began to go numb, refusing to form fists.

Buraq's punches were hard as steel.

The young man opened his fingers. He shook his arms. Another wave of pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it. He clenched his fists again and returned to his fighting stance. He moved forward.

He threw a punch, which Buraq blocked easily.

And the very next moment, Buraq's powerful fist slammed into the young man's jaw.

His head snapped to one side. Before he could recover, another punch landed in his stomach. The breath seemed to leave his body.

Then a third punch landed directly on his nose. The taste of blood spread through the young man's mouth.

Buraq kicked him hard in the knee, forcing the young man down onto his knees. The very next moment, another powerful punch slammed into the young man's face. His head snapped backward, blood ran from his nose onto his lips, and his mind stopped functioning.

Buraq grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright again, then drove another punch straight into his nose. The young man groaned in pain.

Buraq kicked him hard in the chest, sending the young man crashing to the ground. Darkness began closing in around his eyes, a ringing filled his ears, and his breathing began to fade.

The young man clenched his fists and tried to get up again. Using both hands for support, he pushed himself up and came onto his knees. Blood was running from his mouth. The powerful blows had shaken his brain.

His vision was blurring, his head swaying from side to side. His breathing had become irregular, and the wound in his shoulder had opened further.

His head spun, and he collapsed to the ground again. His body completely refused to respond.

Buraq stood over him, laughing a sinister laugh. As if saying: Just stop. Embrace death peacefully.

His eyelids were growing heavy. Opening his eyes was becoming difficult. Breathing was becoming harder.

He had always won. People called him capable and powerful. But the truth was that at this moment, all the powerful people were on the other side. And now... now there was nothing left. He had chosen this path himself. The man who had once been part of the powerful... today stood alone against those very powerful people.

Buraq's laughter echoed around him. The young man's eyes closed.

"Have you given up, young man?" Suddenly, a voice came. The voice was very close. The young man tried to open his eyes. A man was standing in front of him.

Dressed in white... and the strangest thing... his face was exactly like the young man's. He was smiling.

It was the young man's own mind.

"There is no strength left in my body." The young man said.

"The war has only just begun. Will you give up this quickly?" His double asked.

"There are hundreds of powerful people, and they are all together. I will lose." The young man's voice was weak.

His double smiled. "No one is more powerful than you. You may fall... you may break... but you cannot give up."

The young man remained silent.

"I'm tired." The young man said with a groan.

"You have to leave your exhaustion behind. You have to get up. Because the day you give up... everyone who should never have had the right to live will win."

Deep silence!

"Remember... the moment she was sobbing in your arms." Suddenly, the young man's closed eyelids trembled. His fingers dug into the dirt.

"Remember that promise... the one she was asking you to make with her final breaths." The young man growled.

"Now tell me... have you given up?" His double asked in a way that made it sound as if whatever decision came next would be the final one.

The young man pushed against his knee and placed his weight on both arms. Every part of his body screamed for him to stop. No more.

He placed one foot forward.

"No..." He whispered.

"Never." He said loudly and stood up.

"I cannot give up." There was anger in his eyes.

He had not risen because he still had strength left. He had risen... because he was not allowed to give up. With his blood-soaked hand, he grabbed his shoulder, raised his head, and looked at his enemy.

"You can break my body, Buraq... but... but you cannot break me."

There were flames in his eyes. Buraq's smile faded for the first time.

The young man closed his eyes and took a long breath. He felt the pain throughout his entire body. Then he slowly opened his eyes. There was no pain in them anymore. Only madness. Silent anger. Both moved forward at the same time.

The young man threw the first punch.

Buraq immediately saw it and raised his guard to block it, and that was exactly the moment the young man had been waiting for.

The very next moment, his thumb drove into Buraq's eye. He screamed in pain.

The young man immediately kicked his knee. Buraq lost his balance and fell onto his knees. A few moments earlier, the powerful man who had been laughing arrogantly was now right in front of him. The young man drove his knee into his face with full force. He crashed to the ground. The young man placed his knee on his chest. Then he punched him with all his strength.

Buraq had barely begun to make a sound when another powerful punch landed on his mouth.

"There is no difference between you and me."

The young man delivered another punch after saying a single sentence.

"You're a killer too..."

"And so am I..."

Another powerful punch.

"You're heartless too."

A powerful punch.

"So am I."

Another punch landed, and blood began flowing from Buraq's mouth, but the young man did not stop.

"You're cruel too..."

Another punch landed on his nose.

"So am I."

The young man screamed in anger as he punched him. Buraq kept trying to push him away, but the young man did not move from his position.

Another punch.

Then another.

After a while, the young man slowly stood up. Buraq's body was now motionless. The young man looked up at the sky. His face and white shirt were covered in blood, and drops of blood were falling from his right hand.

The cold wind struck his body. His breathing was still heavy. Silence had spread across the roadside diner.

Only the tin cans hanging from the signboard clinked softly as they moved with the wind.

He was still looking up at the sky. Dark clouds stretched across it. He looked around. The ground had turned red with blood. He walked silently a little farther.

Then he sat down on his knees. The body of the same child who had been jumping around happily just moments ago lay in front of him. The keychain was still in his hand. The young man slowly picked up the keychain. It was covered in blood. The scene of the child smiling happily, repeatedly turning the keychain over and looking at it, flashed before his eyes. His eyes closed for a moment.

A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye and fell to the ground.

But his face? His face was still cold.

He stood up again.

He picked up a pistol from the ground.

He reached into the jacket of one of the dead men and pulled out several magazines.

He checked the other man's pocket and found a wallet and a mobile phone. He put the phone in his pocket, took out the wallet, looked at it once, then threw it back. He searched the pocket again and found a pack of cigarettes. He opened the pack... it was full. He looked toward the roadside diner. There was no one there now. He silently walked toward his car. He opened it and threw the pistol and magazines inside. He picked up a small bag from the back seat and opened it. There were clothes inside. He took them out and walked back toward the roadside diner. The owner of the roadside diner was alive and hiding under a table. The young man took off his shirt. Blood was still running from his right arm. He walked forward and took a bottle of cold, clean water from the refrigerator, then began pouring the cold water around the wound. He wiped away the blood with a clean cloth and wrapped another piece of cloth tightly around it. A wave of pain shot through his entire arm. Controlling himself, he firmly secured the bandage around his arm.

"No one should find out anything about me."

He ordered in an authoritative tone. Then he headed toward the washroom. A few minutes later, he came back out. He was now wearing clean clothes. Blue jeans, a white shirt. The sleeves of the shirt were folded up. His hair was wet and his face was clean. But his eyes... his eyes were still the same. As if they could read every road, every danger, every person. Those same cold eyes.

He placed money on the table and walked toward his car. As if nothing had happened. He opened the trunk and hid the bloodstained clothes underneath his belongings. He lit a cigarette between his lips. Took a long drag. And sat in the driver's seat.

He took long drags while his mind kept demanding sleep. He pulled out the same phone from his pocket. With the cigarette between his lips, he dialed a number with both hands.

It started ringing. He took a long drag and rested his head against the seat.

The call was answered.

"Is it done?" A man's voice came from the other side.

"No... they just got a little careless." Zarrar replied. A loud laugh came from the other side.

"Zarrar, Zarrar, Zarrar..." The man called the young man's name with a laugh. The young man gave no response.

"Why the hell don't you die? How did you survive again? You weren't supposed to survive this time." He kept laughing. There was no surprise on the young man's face. He took another drag, extended his arm out of the car window, and shook off the ash.

"You really thought killing me would be easy?" He answered the question with another question. His tone was completely calm. There was no expression on his face.

"Hahahaha... easy? That's exactly why I sent my best men to kill you this time... I don't understand how you manage to survive every single time." He said with a sinister laugh.

"That's where you made your mistake, Feroz Shah." The young man said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"What mistake?" Feroz asked in surprise.

"You sent men to kill Zarrar... but you sent men who knew nothing about Zarrar." There was such authority in the sentence that even Feroz Shah, sitting far away, felt a sense of unease.

"Zarrar, you..."

"Enough, Feroz." Zarrar cut him off.

"End this... how many more of your men do you want to get killed by my hands?" Zarrar asked with annoyance.

"I won't stop chasing you until you're dead.

I'll send more men.

Stronger.

More trained.

More dangerous." Feroz's tone was hard.

"Then remember one thing too, Feroz! Send a few of your strongest men... or send an entire army. I will keep fighting until the last drop of blood remains in my body." He looked at the burning end of his cigarette. There was fire in his eyes. His tone was a challenge.

Feroz Shah laughed.

"That's exactly what I want, Zarrar... I want to give you such a terrible death that the souls of those who hear about it will tremble."

He laughed and ended the call.

The young man lowered the phone from his ear. His eyes remained on the road.

"Yes... he can kill me." He thought... But it was not fear. He was only worried about whether he would be able to keep his promise...

He took a long drag. Then threw the cigarette out.

He rested his head against the back of the seat and sank into deep thought. A storm had come. A storm that had taken everyone he loved away from him. His face was cold. But inside, there was an ocean of pain. He was alone... completely alone. He had lost every person who had ever been close to him. And now that same storm was coming for his life. But he had to survive. He had a promise to keep. Storms raged inside his mind. He pulled himself together. Straightened his head.

He put the pistol and magazines into a black plastic bag and threw them under the seat. He started the car and drove onto the road, then threw the phone outside and closed the window.

The roadside diner was left behind. A few moments later, the dark clouds covering the sky grew even heavier. The first drop struck the car window... then the second. And before long, the rain began to fall. Raindrops streamed down the car windows, as if the sky itself were trying to wash away the traces of blood scattered across the earth... Zarrar's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, but his mind was somewhere else. The wipers moved continuously, and the outside world blurred behind the curtain of rain.

After some distance, beautiful valleys spread between the mountains began to appear. Green trees stretching into the distance. Rain-soaked earth. Mountains hidden behind clouds. And waterfalls flowing somewhere in the distance. And among all of it, small houses with colorful roofs... The scene was completely different from the blood, noise, and destruction he had just left behind.

Zarrar's gaze remained fixed outside the car window.

It was such a beautiful sight that he felt as if the scene itself were calling him toward it. Perhaps it was because, for the first time in many days, he had felt some sense of peace somewhere.

The decision was made. He was now heading toward those valleys. He never took long to make a decision.

But this journey toward the valleys was not just a journey... a new chapter of his life was about to begin.