The Book in the Dust

The sun was slipping lower behind the towers of Bahzar, painting the sky with streaks of molten gold. The laughter in the streets faded as lamps were lit and the celebration of the grand royal wedding gave way to hungry bellies and tired feet.

Zahid stayed in his hiding place longer than usual.

The silence of the abandoned library felt heavier today. Maybe it was the strange joy outside. Maybe it was the whisper of a dream trying to reach someone like him. He sat cross-legged near a cracked stone column, absently tossing pebbles at the wall.

Then he noticed it.

A corner of leather peeking from beneath a pile of broken scrolls and torn fabrics. It wasn’t new—it was ancient, almost part of the ruin itself. But something about it called to him. He brushed aside the dust and pulled it free.

It was a book.

Not the usual prayer scripts or merchant logs. This was thick, wrapped in cracked black leather, with a symbol burned into its cover—a crescent moon cradling an open eye. No name. No title.

Zahid opened it slowly.

The first page was blank. The second too. But on the third, in bold, elegant ink, a single line was written:

> “If you are reading this… it means I am gone.”

Zahid’s eyes narrowed. He turned the page.

> “My name is Ahmed Arabian. For forty years I wandered the forgotten corners of this world. I hunted stories, followed shadows, and dared to believe in what others called myth—Jinn, witches, sea spirits, talking beasts, cursed gold, and enchanted forests. I have seen them all.”

Zahid felt his chest tighten. This wasn’t just some wild tale. The way it was written, it felt… real. He kept reading.

> “If this book has found you, child, then fate has passed the torch. My adventure was never meant to end in silence. You must continue it. This world hides more than you know. And if you're brave enough to seek it, then begin where all treasure tales begin…”

Zahid turned the page eagerly.

A riddle awaited him:

> “Where thieves dared and treasure bled,

In stone and shadow the secret’s fed.

A hundred steps past the market bell,

A lion guards the mouth of hell.”

Beneath the riddle was one final note:

> “Inside, you’ll find my satchel. Maps. Tools. Truth.

But beware—what waits in darkness does not sleep.

Follow only if your heart is not easily broken.”

Zahid closed the book slowly, the weight of it sinking into his hands. He looked around the ruined building like it might vanish at any moment.

His pulse quickened. His fingers curled tighter around the leather cover.

Was this real?

He had nothing. No family, no roof, no rules. But now… he had a purpose. A path. A beginning.

He stood up, eyes sharp and alive, staring in the direction of the market bell that chimed every sunset.

“I guess I’m chasing ghosts now,” he whispered, smiling.

And so Zahid—just a curious, ragged boy—took his first step toward the cave that once belonged to the legendary Ali Baba.

He didn’t know it yet, but fate had already started writing his name into the pages of forgotten magic.

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