Sometimes the danger is not in the raised sword, but in the morsel offered with a smile.
In a dense forest of the mountains of Saba,
where trees interlocked like green walls guarding what must not be discovered,
Aram and his companions sat in a tight circle,
a faint fire between them,
barely visible to anyone who did not know exactly where to look.
The faces were exhausted,
but the eyes… alert.
The place was far from roads,
far from eyes,
far even from the wind that usually carried secrets.
During the day,
every step had been planned.
Paths were reviewed.
Upcoming roles were assigned with the precision of those who knew that a mistake here would not be forgiven.
And at night…
they slept.
The sleep of warriors who do not surrender,
but sharpen their spirits.
The first night passed quietly.
Then the second.
No sign of pursuit,
no suspicious movement,
no whisper suggesting they had been discovered.
The food they had brought from the Valley of Fire would last them
three days,
perhaps four if rationed carefully.
On the morning of the third day,
before the sun began climbing the treetops,
something moved at the forest's edge.
It was not an animal.
Nor the wind.
Three djinn appeared.
Their clothes were cleaner than they should have been,
their faces neutral to the point of unease,
and in their hands baskets of food.
One of them spoke in polished calm:
"A gift from the Sage of the Valley of Fire."
No one moved.
But… no one objected either.
The baskets were placed in the center.
They all sat.
Hands extended
then…
The ring flashed.
Not a blazing light,
but a brief flicker,
like a warning that did not shout.
Aram lifted his head at once,
his eyes meeting those of Nehram.
No words were needed.
Nehram spoke in a single, decisive tone:
"Stop."
Hands froze in midair.
The three djinn faltered.
One of them said cautiously:
"Is there "
But before he could finish,
one of them lunged backward.
He turned, trying to flee between the trees.
In an instant…
one of the ten elite djinn moved.
His name was Zehyar.
He did not run.
He did not leap.
He simply extended his shadow.
A shadow that detached from him,
as if it were another being entirely,
wrapped around the fleeing djinn,
and became an invisible restraint.
The djinn was dragged back
as a thought is pulled from its owner's mind.
The three now stood…
exposed.
Nehram said coldly, without mercy:
"Eat."
They hesitated.
Then they understood.
One of them spoke in a broken voice:
"We were… ordered."
Nehram raised his sword
but Aram placed a hand before him.
"Do not kill them."
Then he added calmly:
"Question them."
The interrogation began.
Who sent you?
Who knows our location?
Who ordered the food poisoned?
But the answer was one:
Silence.
Stubbornness.
Empty stares.
Then another of the ten stepped forward.
His name was Mirath.
He carried no weapon.
He raised no voice.
He placed his hand on the wrist of one of the three djinn.
Suddenly…
the voice changed.
It was no longer his own
but the voice of the captive djinn himself.
He spoke with his tongue,
his memories,
his fear.
Thoughts spilled like water.
Images surfaced.
Orders echoed.
They learned the names:
Naher, the massive djinn accompanying Ronen.
A direct command: confirm Aram's death.
If he was found alive poisoned food.
Then an urgent report to Saba.
The process was repeated with the other two.
Nothing differed.
Nothing failed.
Silence settled.
Then Aram said in a voice deadly calm:
"Now… we plant our deception."
He intended to send false news.
But Nehram said:
"There is a more precise way."
He ordered the three djinn sent to the Valley of Fire,
bound,
cut off from any chance of return.
Then he turned to one of his soldiers.
His name was Siyar.
Nehram said:
"You."
Siyar smiled.
Within moments,
his form changed.
His features.
His aura.
Even his voice.
He became an exact replica
of one of the three djinn.
Mirath stepped forward again,
placed his hand on Siyar,
and transferred to him
everything that had been in the original djinn's mind:
The route.
The words.
The manner of bowing.
The tone used when speaking to Ronen.
Aram said to Siyar steadily:
"Go to Saba.
Meet Ronen.
Tell him the mission was completed.
And that the food… finished the matter."
Siyar nodded.
Then vanished among the trees.
Aram drew a deep breath.
He turned to Nehram and said:
"Now…
we are the ones pulling them into the next move."
And so
between a faint fire,
food that was never eaten,
and a deception planted with care
the balance
began to tilt once more.
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