ISAAM and the legend of SHINSAD

Isaam and the legend of SHINSAD ( KHAZOOL THE GREAT SWORD OF RUIN). From the moment the world was created until today, countless events have taken place. Some were true, some were lies, and some were woven from deception and illusion. Yet there were stories that left people in awe—stories that, with time, became legends. No one could ever determine whether they were reality or mere fantasy, but their echoes spread to every corner of the world.

Among such tales, everyone has heard of Aladdin, Ali Baba, and the Forty Thieves. But hidden between these stories was another truth—the truth of Shinsad, a secret buried beneath the dust of time.

These were the stories an old mystic used to tell the children of the village. In his eyes lay the exhaustion of centuries, and in his words, a deep and unsettling glow. The children listened, holding their breath, when suddenly a few villagers arrived.

“This is all nonsense!” one man shouted.

“The old man is mad—get the children out of here!”

The mystic looked at them silently, smiled, and then raised his eyes toward the sky.

“Mad… yes, I am mad,” he said calmly. “But when Shinsad awakens, you will all remember what I warned you about… Among those boys was one named Isaam.

He listened to the old man’s words in silence, as if every sentence concealed a hidden secret. The old mystic, too, had a fondness for the child, for Isaam was unlike the other boys of the village.

During the day, Isaam would sit alone beneath trees or wander into the village forests, spending hours reading books. There was always a question in his eyes—an unspoken search that others could not understand. He felt a strange pull toward mysterious tales; he wanted to uncover the truth behind them all.

But the village children mocked him.

“Book-mad fool!” they laughed.

Isaam only smiled, as if he already knew that one day, they would forget how to laugh…With that, time begins to change—

and we are brought into the present day.

A mysterious island, hidden somewhere in the corners of the world.

On this island lies a small village—Juja Village.

It is said that this place was once part of a great empire.

That empire was called Pastoria—

a land that, thousands of years ago, was renowned for its power, knowledge, and magic.

But time devoured its pride.

The sea rose in fury, and the entire empire—along with its glory—was buried beneath the waves.

Only one island remained—Juja.

Today, while the rest of the world has reached the peak of progress,

the people of Juja live in poverty and hardship.

Rain has forgotten how to fall here, the fields have dried up,

and every face bears the marks of hunger and exhaustion.

Some old men call these miseries “the curse of Shinsad.”

But the others laugh at them—

calling it superstition, the residue of ancient beliefs.

Yet the truth is…

something is awakening in silence.

And perhaps the old mystic was right after all.People said it was all the result of isolation—

that Juja Village was cut off from the modern world, and that was why it was declining.

Some claimed it was the effect of climate change:

the rains had stopped, the land had turned barren,

as if nature itself had forgotten this region.

But experts insisted that everything here was normal.

There was no poison in the air, no flaw in the soil,

even the cycle of the seasons was intact.

So then—what was it that was causing everything to wither?

There had to be something…

something that could not be seen,

yet could be felt.

As though a curse hung over the land—

a curse that perhaps had never truly ended,

not even after centuriesThe people of Juja Village were now struggling simply to survive.

The fields had dried up, the livestock had died, and the land itself seemed to have lost its breath.

To earn a living, most villagers traveled to a nearby country for labor—

a place nearly ninety kilometers away from Juja.

Every morning, weary faces would depart in boats and old trucks,

only to return at night empty-handed.

With time, most people abandoned Pastoria—

the land that had once been the heart of empires

had now become nothing more than a forgotten island.

Those who remained were either too old,

or so helpless that they had nowhere else to go.

And among these few who stayed behind

was a frail, quiet boy—

yet one filled with curiosity—Isaam.Evening had fallen.

The crimson shadows of the setting sun were scattered across the soil of Juja Village.

Children, done with their games, were returning to their homes.

Isaam too walked slowly and entered his small, hut-like house.

“Ammi, is there any food?” he asked gently.

Zelda—Isaam’s mother—was sitting near the stove.

Her eyes were moist, and a quiet exhaustion was etched into her face.

Isaam asked softly, “What’s wrong, Ammi? Are you crying?”

Zelda quickly lowered her gaze.

“It’s nothing, my son… just tiredness,”

and then she fell silent.

At that very moment, a rough voice came from the doorway—

“Tiredness? You know nothing, Isaam!”

It was his elder brother Izar, who had returned after a full day of hard labor.

Sweat, dust, and anger were mixed across his face.

“You spend the whole day wandering through forests,

running off with your books,

while Mother’s knee is injured—and you don’t even know about it!”

Isaam lowered his head in silence.

Izar continued angrily,

“And that old man you sit with—

he’s mad! Shinsad doesn’t exist, understand?

They’re just ancient stories!”

Isaam did not respond.

He quietly sat down on the floor

and began to eat—yet only two things circled in his mind:

First, the tears in his mother’s eyes…

and second, that name—Shinsad.

Every bite of food left behind the same question in his thoughts—

Were all those stories really lies?The next morning, the pale rays of the sun spread across the dry fields of Juja Village.

Isaam walked quietly toward the old tree beneath which the mystic often told stories to the children.

Today, there were no children there—only the old man, wrapped in a shawl, gazing up at the sky.

“Baba ji…” Isaam said hesitantly.

“May I ask something? Juja Village… how did it come to be?”

The old man slowly lowered his gaze.

A sorrowful smile appeared on his face.

“My child, this village was not born from stories… it was born from a curse.”

Isaam was startled. “A curse?”

The old man took a deep breath and said,

“Yes—the very curse named Shinsad.

When the curse of Shinsad descended upon this land,

kingdoms turned to ash one by one.

The great realm of Pastoria was buried beneath the sea.

Palaces crumbled into dust, and kings were turned to stone.

In those days, there was a brave soldier—Juja.

He served in the army of Pastoria,

but when destruction came, he did not flee like the others.

With a handful of survivors,

he boarded an old boat in search of a safe land.

For many days and nights they drifted across the sea,

until they reached a mysterious island.

The island was desolate, yet there was a strange tremor in its air—

as if some ancient power was still breathing there.

The old man had said only this much when suddenly

a buzzing rose from the teacup placed before him.

He looked down in surprise.

“Curse this mosquito! Even while I’m telling a story, it comes to drink blood!”

Isaam couldn’t hold back his laughter.

The old man glared at him and said,

“You find this funny? These very mosquitoes have survived since the age of Shinsad—

even destruction could not kill them!”

Isaam kept laughing,

and the old man smiled as well—

then said softly,

“Laugh while you can, my child… because as this story moves forward,

days of laughter may grow fewer.”

The old man continued:

“That land, too, was not completely safe from the curse.

It is said that a successor of Saad was present there,

who used his power to halt the curse

and sacrificed his own life so that humanity might survive.

Because of that sacrifice, the land was saved,

and Juja began a new life there.

Time passed, generations changed,

and that place slowly turned into a settlement.

Thus, the settlement took the form of a village,

and in honor of the soldier who saved them,

the people named it ‘Juja Village.’

Or was the old mystic the one who spoke the truth…?The pace of the world was changing rapidly—

city lights began to touch the sky, new bridges were built, and people became so immersed in technology that the legends of the past were reduced to mere curiosities.

The environment shifted, trade carved new paths across the seas, and tourism began to speak its own modern language.

In the shadow of this progress, tourist ships would occasionally pass near Juja—

white vessels filled with laughing crowds, flashing cameras, and curious eyes turned toward the shore.

They took photographs from their boats, basked in the sun, and then sailed back to the glow of their own worlds.

But when those ships drew closer, the true face of Juja Village was revealed—

ruined fields, barren land, and faces marked by a weariness that distant brilliance could not erase.

The tourists spent brief moments of pleasure on the shore and then returned,

while the people of Juja were left watching—

as if the world that came from afar had mistaken their suffering for a spectacle.

This contrast etched itself deeper into Isaam’s eyes.

He wondered—while the world was moving forward,

there was an old, profound wound here that even progress could not heal.

And perhaps it was that very wound

which the legend of Shinsad had been hiding all along.One day, a group of foreign tourists arrived at Juja Village on a large ship.

The whole village buzzed with excitement—children ran to see, and women peeked from the rooftops.

Some men and women disembarked from the ship, cameras in hand, eyes wide with curiosity.

Isaam and his friend Feroz were also there.

A mischievous gleam sparkled in Feroz’s eyes. He made a funny face and shouted,

“Hey Isaam! Look, maybe these fair-skinned people have come to take Juja’s red soil!”

Then, suddenly, he leaped forward—

but the ground beneath his feet was muddy.

Splash!

A powerful splash sent a fair-skinned girl standing ahead right into the mud!

At first, the crowd went silent, then laughter erupted.

The girl stood up angrily, clothes soaked, and started yelling in French:

“Mon dieu! Vous êtes fou!”

(My God! You’re crazy!)

All the tourists laughed, someone recorded a video,

and the village children clapped with delight.

Feroz himself was stuck in the mud, but laughter refused to leave his muddy face.

Isaam held his head and said,

“Feroz! You’re going to ruin Juja’s reputation across the sea!”

Feroz, laughing, replied,

“Not ruin, brother—just making it famous!”

And the entire village of Juja erupted in laughter.That evening, when Isaam returned home, Izar was standing at the doorway.

Angrily, he shouted, “So you went to that mad old man after all?”

Then, a sharp slap landed on Isaam’s cheek.

“Take care of your mother! She’s ill, and you wander around all day!”

Isaam stood silently, pain in his eyes but lips sealed.

At that moment, Zelda stepped forward.

“Izar, stop!” Her voice trembled but carried strength.

“He’s your brother—don’t make his wounds worse.”

Izar lowered his gaze, said nothing, and left the house.

Zelda placed her hand gently on Isaam’s face.

“My son, you are different… perhaps you are the one who will understand the secret of this village.”

Isaam sat quietly, yet in his heart, only one question echoed—

Was the story of Shinsad truly real?Here we learn that Izar is not truly harsh,

but a gentle and caring brother.

He gets angry at Isaam because he knows there is something mysterious behind their father Shahla’s death.

Shahla, too, used to visit the old mystic—

and one day, he never returned.

Since then, fear had settled in Izar’s heart.

He did not want Isaam to follow the same path

that had taken their father away.

Behind his anger, there was actually love,

though perhaps only their mother, Zelda, truly understood this.In the days that followed, Isaam’s brother Izar took him to the city,

where he labored under the scorching heat, constantly thinking of his village, Juja.

He often wished he could return, but fate would not allow him to stop.

Amid the toil of day and night, memories of Juja lingered in his heart—

the days when cool breezes blew, and the land was full of life—

back when the curse of Shinsad had not yet spread.

Now the curse had extended over a thousand kilometers,

and the sixty-kilometer region that lay in its path—what remained of Pastoria—was the hardest hit.

Its people lived under shadows of hunger, poverty, and fear.

The land had turned barren, rivers had dried up, and silence had settled over the settlements.

To survive, some traveled to Naldozia, seeking livelihood, though the path was long and perilous.

Isaam was among them.

He decided to test his fate and journey to Naldozia.

But the journey was far from easy—

for the curse of Shinsad had already spread across a thousand kilometers,

and every step Isaam took was under its looming shadow.

Sitting in the boat that swayed over the waves,

he glanced back one last time at the homeland he was leaving behind.

Ahead of him lay not a new land,

but an unknown fate.When Isaam arrived in Naldozia, he was astonished by its development.

Tall buildings, gleaming streets, and lights everywhere dazzled his eyes.

The faces of the people reflected contentment and joy.

Isaam stood silently for a while, as if unable to believe that life could be so easy in this part of the world.

A single wish stirred in his heart—

if only all this could exist in his homeland, Pastoria.

If only its people could breathe peace and prosperity instead of hunger, fear, and poverty.

Seeing the brilliance of Naldozia sparked a pang in his heart,

and he realized that perhaps fate had brought him here for a very special purpose.One night, Isaam was alone; everyone else had gone to sleep.

The silence was so deep that he could hear the beating of his own heart. Suddenly, sleep took hold of him.

In his dream, he saw black and red lights streaking across the sky, invading the entire world.

The earth trembled, rivers boiled, and the heavens seemed to scream.

Fear gripped his very being.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open—

sweat glistening on his forehead.

He looked around; everything was still.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to find calm,

yet deep inside, an unknown fear had already awakened.Isaam rose and stepped outside.

The night was deep, carrying the cool, salty scent of the sea.

He walked aimlessly, his feet leading him naturally toward the shore.

Silent waves shimmered under the moonlight.

Wandering, he reached an old boat tied to the edge of the water.

For a moment, he hesitated—then, without thinking, he stepped into the sea.

He untied the boat and began moving away from the shores of Naldozia,

heading toward that cursed land that no one dared to approach.

The wind grew stronger, the waves rose higher—

and in the darkness, only Isaam and his determination remained.Finally, facing the treacherous waves of the sea, Isaam reached an unknown island somewhere between Naldozia and Pastoria.

The sea was calm now, yet an unusual weight hung heavily in the air.

He stepped out of the boat and gazed at the dense forest before him.

The trees were so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground.

Everywhere there was moisture, silence, and a strange scent in the air—

neither pleasant nor foul, yet one that stirred an unsettling unease deep within.

Isaam paused for a moment, took a deep breath,

and then slowly stepped into the forest.As Isaam ventured deeper into the forest, it grew even denser.

The trees towered close together, as if trying to touch the sky.

Darkness thickened, and that same strange scent in the air intensified.

As he walked on, his eyes suddenly fell upon a mountain.

Shrouded in mist, its peak revealed an old, mysterious castle.

From the castle walls emanated the same black and red lights—exactly like those he had seen in his dream.

Isaam froze in place.

His heart raced.

He now knew with certainty that the place he had reached was the very epicenter of Shinsad’s curse.Isaam, terrified, tried to turn back.

His heart pounded, and his legs trembled.

But after only a few steps, a terrifying shadow emerged before him.

As the mist parted, he saw it clearly—

a horrific being stood in front of him.

Its body was that of a wolf, yet its eyes were human—deep and gleaming.

Its name was Nanazel, the cursed guardian of Shinsad’s castle.

Isaam’s breath caught in his throat.

Nanazel lowered its head slowly, then advanced with a fearsome roar.

The forest air shivered—and Isaam felt as if the very ground beneath his feet was slipping away.The wolf was about to attack Isaam when suddenly a voice rang out from behind:

“Stop, Nanazel!”

Isaam turned to see—his brother Izar!

He rushed forward and stood firmly in front of Nanazel.

With anger, Izar shouted,

“Nanazel, leave this place! Go, right now!”

A terrifying smile spread across Nanazel’s face.

Red light gleamed in his eyes as he growled,

“Just as your father died… now you will too!

And this Isaam—he will not escape my claws either!”

A chilling wave of fear swept through the air.

The forest wind stilled, as if time itself had frozen for a moment.Then the wolf lunged at Izar.

Its bloodied claws were outstretched, and its sharp teeth gleamed as it leaped toward him.

Izar immediately drew a dagger from his pocket—red and yellow in color,

engraved with the ancient Shinsad glyph, a symbol that had adorned the weapons of Shinsad warriors thousands of years ago.

He raised the dagger toward the sky and shouted a word—

“Nilwah…!”

The moment he spoke, a blue light erupted from the dagger.

The light spread like flames through the air and struck Nanazel squarely in the chest.

A horrifying scream echoed as Nanazel was thrown backward, crashing violently onto the ground.

The forest air glowed with the burning light,

and for a brief moment, everything fell silent.Nanazel, fallen to the ground, remained still for a moment.

Then suddenly, black smoke began rising from his wounds.

He slowly stood up again, his voice thundering:

“Oh Khazool! Grant me power!”

Red flames blazed in his eyes, his tongue flicked out, and black fire erupted from him.

Nanazel hurled the flames straight at Izar.

The fire struck Izar with full force, knocking him backward.

The ground shook, and a cloud of dust rose into the air.

Yet Izar did not give up.

Clutching the dagger despite his injuries, he leaped into the air with a powerful bound.

As he descended, he struck Nanazel with all his strength.

The dagger pierced Nanazel’s abdomen, and he staggered back with a horrific scream.

Enraged, the mad Nanazel unleashed his full power—

a wave of darkness surged from his body, colliding with Izar.

This time, Izar was grievously wounded.

The earth had turned red, and the forest air burned with the fury of battle.Izar collapsed to the ground, grievously wounded.

His blood spread across the earth, his breaths growing faint.

Nanazel roared and lunged toward Isaam.

He was only a single step away when suddenly a voice thundered—

“Stop, Nanazel!”

It was Baba Ji—the same elder who used to tell stories to the village children.

There was an uncanny calm on his face, yet a storm burned within his eyes.

He drew a sword from its sheath, its blade engraved with the ancient sigils of Shaad.

Raising the sword, Baba Ji spoke in a low yet resonant voice, repeating a word:

“Galgoh… Galgoh…”

As the word echoed through the air, a radiant blue light burst forth from the sword, sharpening its edge with supernatural brilliance.

Baba Ji stepped forward and struck.

The light tore through the darkness, forcing Nanazel back as his scream echoed through the forest.

Grinding his teeth in fury, Nanazel growled,

“So it’s true… a heir of Shaad still remains!

And the blood of Shinsad is here as well!”

His gaze locked onto Isaam, and he shouted,

“So the lineage of Shahin still lives? Then know this—no one will survive!

Khazool will destroy you all!”

With those words, Nanazel vanished into the darkness.

Silence fell over the forest.

Only the distant sound of waves remained,

and beside the wounded Izar, Baba Ji’s sword still shimmered with blue light.Izar lay on the ground in a critically wounded state.

Baba Ji quickly signaled to Isaam, “Lift him—hurry!”

Isaam supported his brother, while Baba Ji sheathed his sword and cast one final glance at the surrounding darkness.

The waves of the sea crashed violently.

Together, they lifted Izar and placed him into the boat.

Baba Ji took hold of the oar, and the boat began to sway.

Under the faint glow of the moon, the three of them set off in silence toward Juja.

Behind them lay the same forest where Nanazel had vanished,

and in the air still lingered the echo of his words—

“Khazool will destroy you all…”

Isaam held his wounded brother’s hand

and, deep within his heart, made a vow—

that he would see this curse through to its very end.As Baba Ji and Isaam carried their severely wounded brother Izar back, the sea waves were unusually calm, as if witnessing the scene itself.

Izar’s breaths were faint, his eyes closed.

Baba Ji slowly moved his lips and repeated the same mysterious words—

“Dilda… Dildi… Nisi…”

As the words echoed through the air, a faint light spread over Izar’s body.

His breathing grew stronger, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Isaam gasped, “Brother! Are you alright?”

Izar gave a weak smile and nodded. His condition had improved slightly.

When they reached Juja Village, the entire village gathered around them.

People were both astonished and fearful. Someone exclaimed, “Look at the sky!”

Everyone looked up—blue spheres of light were falling from the sky, as if fragments of illumination were raining down onto the earth.

At that moment, a strange light began rising from the direction of the mountain castle.

Screams and explosions echoed from there.

Baba Ji spoke in a trembling voice,

“This is just the beginning… the curse of Shinsad has awakened once again.”At the same time, governments around the world were shaken.

News broadcasts, warnings, and sirens blared everywhere.

Everyone was stunned—where were these blue spheres falling from, and what was that mountain castle that had suddenly come alive?

Naval forces from various countries mobilized—Naldozia, Bunopizia, Sensa, and many others sent their warships toward the sea.

They all had the same target: the castle located on that mysterious island in the middle of the ocean.

Powerful warships sped across the waves, helicopters and drones buzzed in the sky.

But as they approached the castle… suddenly, a storm of light erupted.

Blue and black flames shot up into the sky.

Within moments, everything was gone.

No ship, no soldier, no sound remained.

The entire world fell silent for a moment.

The blue spheres continued raining from the sky, but the land was shrouded in stillness.

All eyes turned to that castle,

sunk in darkness yet radiating red and blue light from its walls.Amid this silence, suddenly a deafening explosion tore through the air.

The sky trembled, the ocean waves went wild, and the earth shook violently.

Then a voice resounded—not from one place, but from the skies all over the world simultaneously.

The voice was deep, heavy, and terrifying… as if thousands of storms had spoken as one.

“I am Khazool…”

“I have awakened…”

“I am the guardian of Shinsad!”

The voice echoed in every city, every village, every mountain and sea.

Windows shattered, birds scattered into the skies, and humans froze in fear.

For a moment, a shadow appeared among the clouds—

vast, shapeless, yet alive.

And in that moment, everyone understood…

Khazool has returned.As Khazool’s voice faded, a dreadful silence spread through the air.

The earth stood still, the air felt heavy, and fragments of blue light continued to drift across the sky.

At that moment, Isaam lifted his gaze toward his village.

There, Baba Ji stood in silence—no fear on his face, but a secret etched into his expression, one that had been hidden from the world for years.

Izar sat weakly nearby, yet the same knowing glint shone in his eyes, as if he understood more than he let on.

And Isaam’s mother, Zelda… tears streamed down her face, yet there was a strange calm in her gaze, as though she knew that everything was about to change.

Only one question echoed in Isaam’s heart:

What secret are these people hiding? What story has been concealed from me—and from the entire world—for so long?

Fear and anger began to surge within his chest.

He spoke softly, yet with resolve:

“I must know the truth… even if I have to go to the very heart of Shinsad’s curse to find it.”Baba Ji takes a deep breath, the evening breeze rustling the leaves around them.

Silence hangs for a moment before he begins to speak, his voice low but steady:

“Beta Isaam… now it is time you know the whole truth.

Long ago, before Juja Village even existed, there was a mighty land called Pastoria—a kingdom renowned for its knowledge, magic, and power.

But among the people of Pastoria, there arose a clan known as Shinsad, who coveted this power for themselves.

They delved into dark arts, creating a curse so potent that it could destroy entire lands.

The Shinsad were guardians of a secret—a force both terrible and divine, which they called Khazool.

Khazool was a being of immense power, capable of awakening destruction across the world.

The Shinsad clan’s mission was to keep this force dormant, but also to protect it from falling into the wrong hands.

Generations passed, kingdoms rose and fell, yet the curse of Shinsad lingered in silence.

Its shadows touched lands, corrupting hearts, withering fields, and spreading fear, but very few knew its true origin.

And now, Isaam… you are part of this story.

Your lineage, the blood of those who once fought against Shinsad, flows within you.

That is why the curse seeks to awaken fully—it senses the presence of its ancient adversaries.

Everything that has happened in Juja, everything you have seen, was only the beginning…”

Baba Ji pauses, letting the weight of his words settle on Isaam.

The boy’s eyes widen, a mix of awe, fear, and determination reflecting in them.

“Beta… from this moment on, your path will no longer be ordinary.

You must face Shinsad’s curse, uncover its secrets, and decide the fate of Pastoria—and the world itself.”Baba Ji took a deep breath and began, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of centuries:

“Thousands of years ago, Pastoria—which today exists as a small territory of barely sixty kilometers—once ruled the entire world.

The mighty kingdom had two princes—Shin and Sad.

Shin were the wise ones, gifted with intellect, strategy, and spiritual power.

Sad were the strong ones, unmatched in physical strength and mastery of war.

Their lifespans were far beyond ordinary humans.

When the brothers clashed, they were six hundred years old.

Centuries of power had grown into pride, and that pride erupted into a catastrophic war.

The battle shook the very fabric of the universe.

The oceans split—the waves reached the sky.

The earth convulsed, spewing fire and lava toward the heavens.

Mountains cracked, rivers reversed their course.

The land swallowed its own face, and the sky poured down so fiercely that villages, cities, and entire kingdoms sank.

This was the moment the world first witnessed the power of Shin-Sad—and the last.

When their swords clashed, a new sword was born—Shin-Sad.

A sword with the power to alter the flow of time itself.

But the battle was so devastating that the entire kingdom shattered.

The sea swallowed Pastoria, leaving only a small sixty-kilometer fragment.

And the island where their final battle was fought…

that, Isaam, is the very island where you encountered the beast Nanazel.”Baba Ji continued, his voice somber and heavy:

“Wherever the curse spread, the land became blighted.

No wind stirred, no greenery grew.

Fields turned barren, rivers dried up,

mountains blackened, and trees turned to stone.

Life could not survive there, nor could light.

Any child born in that place would perish within days.

For centuries, only silence, darkness, and death reigned over the land.”Baba Ji spoke with a grave intensity, his eyes fixed on Isaam:

“Beta… your father, Shahla, went to confront Khazool forty years ago.

He was brave and incredibly powerful, yet Khazool’s cunning deceived him.

He fought… he fought until his last breath… but he never returned.

Your father belonged to the Sad clan—the warriors of strength.

Your mother belonged to the Shin clan—the keepers of knowledge and spiritual power.

Together, they broke an age-old tradition, running away to marry,

and thus a new bloodline was born… you, Isaam.

When Shin and Sad clashed, the curse they unleashed was so great that

their lineages were nearly wiped out.

Those children who were born could not survive.

But when your parents married in defiance of that ancient rule,

the dormant curse stirred once again—

the very curse that had slept for centuries

began to awaken anew.

That is why the Shin-Sad curse still holds sway in the world today.”Baba Ji looked at Isaam and said softly but firmly:

“Beta, after your father, your brother Izar also wanted to stop Khazool.

But seeing your mother Zelda’s illness, your young age, and the burden of the household, Izar abandoned that path.

Now, forty years later, Khazool has awakened once again—and there seems to be no one left who can stop him.

This thousand‑year‑old curse had already begun to stir years ago.

Everyone who came before to stop it was killed, because they only had the power to delay it, not to defeat it.

But you are the Shin–Sad bloodline—the one that holds the power to truly shake him.

You must look within yourself and believe in your strength.

If you do not destroy him, this curse could bring about the end of the world.”Isaam asked Baba Ji in astonishment,

“Baba Ji… who are you?

And how do you know all these things?”Baba Ji said to Isaam:

“Beta, that Juja, the warrior soldier of the Pastoria empire,

who survived the curse and sailed toward Juja in a boat,

was where the curse reached.

But there was a great warrior there —

the soldier of Shahad, who used all his strength to hold back the curse.

He gave his life, but because of him, the effects of the curse were reduced,

and that place, Juja, did not sink.

I am the son of that warrior… and my name is Arzar.”Baba Ji said to Isaam:

“Beta, my father, who helped hold back that curse,

told me that this curse can only be destroyed by a true heir of Shin and Sad.

My father was well aware of Shin’s affairs and his people,

because he had been present even before the curse,

and he shared a deep friendship with the people of Shin.”Isaam asked Baba Ji,

“Baba Ji… what were the phrases that my brother Izar and you said during the fight with Nanazel?”

Baba Ji explained to Isaam,

“Beta, the phrases your brother spoke meant:

We are the heirs of Pastoria,

We possess the legacy of Shin–Sad’s power,

And that power will be ours.”Baba Ji said to Isaam:

“Beta, the phrases I spoke were meant for the great chiefs of the Shad tribe.

They were written in the depths of the night, and these words held a profound meaning.

These words were buried with the Shad,

but I know some of their meaning:

The power of Shad is also within us.

The power of Shad is ours as well.”Baba Ji further told Isaam:

“Beta, in the Pastoria empire, the language we don’t commonly speak today

was called Ginja at that time.

This language was often used during battles,

when daggers or swords were drawn from their sheaths,

and it was at that moment that these words were spoken.”Isaam asked Baba Ji,

“Who is Khazool?”

Baba Ji replied,

“Khazool is a Duklai creature that guards Shin–Sad,

appointed by the fathers of Shin and Sad.

Nanazel is Khazool’s servant.

Khazool had permission to sleep for a thousand years,

but your parents broke the curse and awakened Khazool earlier than intended.”Baba Ji further said,

“Khazool had told the king that

whenever he awakens,

he will wipe out the remaining bloodline of Shin and Sad in this world.

That is why, every time,

a great selfless warrior had to sacrifice his life

to stop him.”