The Legend of the Ancient Well: When the Raqi encountered a disobedient elf in an enchanted village

By: The Passer of Words

In the hidden worlds where the destinies of man and jinn intersect, where mercy mixes with fear and faith with mystery, the story of a man who believed that his mission in life is the light that dispels the darkness of souls begins. Little did he think that the path of Ruqaiya and Sharia therapy would lead him beyond the healing of possessed bodies; to a journey that touches the essence of existence itself, and reveals to him the secrets of a parallel world that is invisible, but present in every corner of our lives.
This story is not just a novel about jinns and magic, but the testimony of a man who lived between the two worlds and discovered that good and evil are not measured by gender or sex, but by the intention that dwells in the heart.

A **ruqyah practitioner and spiritual healer**, destined by God's will to embark on this mysterious path since my early youth. During that time, I was filled with passion — seeing myself as a warrior in an endless battle against the forces of darkness that prey upon humankind. Within me burned an indescribable desire to help others, and a deep sense of duty toward anyone suffering from unseen pain, possession, sorcery, or spiritual distress.

I learnt Ruqiya and treatment at the hands of sheikhs of knowledge and righteousness, and travelled between cities and villages to seek wisdom and experience. I used to sit in their hands for hours, listening to their experiences and memorising their prayers and verses, until I felt that I had mastered this path.

I went from house to house with the Book of God and a bottle of water, with which I confronted invisible forces that inhabit bodies and terrorise souls.
I believed that all jinn were enemies, and that every battle with them was an inevitable duty. I used to fight them with all the fury and intensity, reciting the Ruqyah in a voice full of faith, not caring about the danger or fatigue that might ensue.

Little did I know that this cruelty and blind enthusiasm would one day lead me to an encounter I was not prepared for, a day that would change the course of my entire life.

I was in a remote rural village, treating cases there. The small town was surrounded by fields on all sides, yet it was burdened by unseen shadows. Cases of sorcery and possession were so frequent that people began to fear the night itself—as if it were a living being lurking and waiting for them. I stayed there for more than a week, moving from house to house, reciting **ruqyah** and confronting as many harmful spirits as I could.

When my work was done and I was preparing to leave, a group of men from the outskirts of the village came to me — their faces pale, as though they hadn’t slept in nights. They told me of an old, abandoned well nearby, said to be inhabited by jinn. Every night, they would hear mournful melodies and strange tunes blending with the sound of the wind. They claimed to see flames rising near the well until dawn, spreading fear among the villagers — no one dared to pass by that place at night. They believed that this particular jinni was the source of their village’s misfortune — the origin of the sorcery and the harm that had befallen them.

Then I resolved to confront it, feeling the fire of challenge ignite in my chest. I told myself, “If this jinn is the one who harmed the villagers, I will not let it wreak havoc anymore.”

That night, I prepared my belongings: the Qur’an, water over which I had recited verses, several traditional supplications, and a few other personal items. As the sun set, I set out with the men toward the place. Their faces showed hesitation—fear more than courage—and when we neared the edge of the well, they all stepped back, saying they could not take another step forward.

I didn’t want to force them, so I went on alone. The path was narrow and earthen, with dense trees hanging on either side as if trying to veil the sky. The wind blew, carrying the scent of soil, moisture, and damp grass — and everything around me felt as though it didn’t quite belong to our world.

I reached a small clearing at the heart of the darkness, at its center an ancient stone well, its crumbling walls seeming to bleed the weight of centuries past. I advanced slowly, reciting the verses, when suddenly a mournful melody arose from nowhere — a mysterious tune piercing the heart like the wail of a lost soul.Then, flames ignited near the well without cause — calm blue fire, emitting neither smoke nor heat. Above it, a white, smoky apparition began to form, gathering little by little until it took the shape of a young man. His features were hazy, indistinct, yet his eyes radiated a strange, otherworldly light.

I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I rushed toward him, reciting **ruqyah** aloud, keeping my eyes fixed on him so he wouldn’t vanish — determined either to capture him or banish him forever. As I drew closer, I saw him twisting in place like confused strands of smoke struggling to fade away. His escape was unlike that of other jinn — he showed no violent resistance, no arrogance or threat. Instead, he writhed as if something within him was tearing him apart — something weaker than pain, yet closer to remorse.

Even so, I applied the special methods I prefer not to detail — techniques I had learned over the years to bind and restrain the movements of jinn. I tightened the spiritual knots around him and cast over him a special piece of cloth I possessed — a blue fabric inscribed with verses and symbols known only to the righteous, imbued with spiritual power to imprison and subdue the jinn.

It didn’t surprise me that he didn’t resist much — but what truly astonished me were his features when he turned toward me. I saw no trace of defiance or malice in his eyes, only a profound sorrow and a quiet brokenness that could not be concealed.

As I stood in front of the leader and opened the matter, his face suddenly changed; it was a thunderbolt. His eyes reddened and his voice trembled as he rose from his seat without preamble, saying in a tone as sharp as iron on stone: "We don't give our women to strangers - forget it immediately." Silence fell around us, the playing and laughing stopped, and the elves' eyes watched the situation with curiosity and caution. The chief was breathing slowly, the drink dripping from his bushy beard and his strong odour filling the air.

I did not react angrily, but kept my composure and took a step forward, saying in a steady voice that I tried to show strength rather than weakness: "I offer you all the precious jewels and treasures you want." His voice changed slightly, he was silent for a moment, and a glint of greed shone in his red eyes. Then he raised his head and continued in a voice heavier than his drink: "Take whomever you want - other than Roqa, she is the best dancer here, and jinns and humans come from everywhere for her." His words hit me like a poor stone, but I did not back down; I raised my head confidently and said firmly for all to hear: "Chieftain, you may see me as a mere traveller or a simple musician, but I am a warrior elf, from a great tribe known to all kingdoms. My union with you will be better for you than all the visitors who come to you for fun. If your request is material, I have no problem with it - ask for whatever you want, I will return to my tribe and bring you whatever gold and jewellery you want."

The leader was silent, then slowly raised his head as he looked at me with a long, searching gaze, took another swig, passed a drop of drink into the glass and wiped his mouth with his hand. After a moment of shrewd silence, he said: "Well, if you are able to fulfil the conditions, it is possible." I looked at him steadily and said, "Tell me what they are and I'll accept them, whatever they are." He gestured towards the distant mountain, where the black peaks loomed in the moonlight like the teeth of a majestic beast, and said in a hushed but serious voice: "You see, we have neither warriors nor knights; but we live under the protection of the mountain demons, and in return we pay them a lot. If we don't, they will pounce on us without mercy." Then he suddenly raised his hand as if to pronounce a final and indisputable judgement and said: "Beware, I have the head of their leader, the black devil Marqash. I will marry you to Roqa."

The whispered voices echoed around us; the name "Markach" alone was enough to strike fear into our hearts. But I was not afraid of demons or others; I was used to facing dangers. Yes, there is a great danger, but every danger is worth it to quench the fire of passion that burns in my chest. I reached for a sword and drew it from its scabbard; the sound of iron sounded like an inscription written in the air. I said to him in a stern tone: "Give me a few days; either I will return to you with the head of Marraktash, or I will not return at all." There was silence; only the murmur of the fire and the shuddering breath of those present. The whole tribe was waiting to see what fate would come out of the mouth of fate after this vow.

I set out for my tent as the night enveloped the tribe in its heavy cloak, the torches gradually loosened their tongues, and the sky grew darker as if to hide what awaited me. I entered the tent with steady steps and the vigilance of a warrior in my heart. I put on my armour piece by piece until it covered my body; the metal gleamed in the dim light. Then I picked up my bow and arrows, preparing everything to set off towards the mountain. Just as I was about to leave, the tent curtain opened - Ruqa entered with hesitant steps, her face pale, her eyes watery, her hands trembling as they tugged at the hem of her dress. In that moment, she looked different from the bright dancer she was used to in the square; she was a sad girl with fear in her heart.

She said in a broken voice mixed with confusion and hope: "What are you doing, Sarad? Please back off. I'm not worth the risk you're taking for me. The boss is sly; he chose a difficult condition just to cripple you." Her words were like a gentle arrow in my chest, but they didn't weaken my resolve. I raised my head towards her and replied in a confident tone: "Don't worry, Ruqa, if Markach is a demon, I will be a stronger demon than him, and if he is the mountain itself, I will destroy it. I don't intend to die for you, I intend to live with you forever - and our life together is worth everything, no matter how difficult the conditions are." She kept looking at me stunned, her lips quivering as if she wanted to say something else, but I had already made up my mind. I set off from the tent, ignoring her warnings. The night opens up paths for me towards the mountain, and I have one goal in mind: To return with the devil's head to marry my beloved Roqa and break all the shackles of fate that tried to keep us apart.

I set out on the road, immersed in the calculations of war and tactics; I no longer thought of a one-on-one confrontation with Markach, but how to keep his followers away from him, for I knew that demons do not fight with honour or justice. I thought of all the possibilities and arranged my steps like a commander preparing for an elaborate parade. When I saw their guards in the distance, I paused to catch my breath and solidify the plan in my mind. The fortress stood at the top of the mountain, a black garden of towering thorny plants, its chests built of charcoal and bones; its appearance carried the smell of death and ash. I held my breath at the sight of it and began to watch from afar with a hawk's eye: I determined the movements of its guards, the timing of patrol changes, and every little detail. Then my plan began to bear fruit.

I targeted the guards on the far side with a fiery arrow, creating a misguided panic in them, forcing three or four at a time to follow me to the foot of the mountain where I would ambush them. There, in the shadows and among the rocks, I would observe their rushing movements and cut them down with a knife as sharp as the desert wind; this went on for three whole days, during which I spent all my patience and skill. On the fourth day, as I expected, all their warriors came out to scour the mountain from top to bottom, looking for a trace of me - which is what I had wanted all along.

I was whole, close to the fort, breathing silently, watching them leave, and knowing that the time had come for a one-on-one fight with Marraktash. As the crowd dispersed, a few guards remained in the fort, and I began to creep among them, killing them one by one. I crept silently past them, propelled by my wind elf speed; they were heavy and slow compared to me. I paused for a moment at the edge of the great courtyard of the fortress, took a deep breath, and then quietly crept into it until I reached its heart. There, in the courtyard of the huge fortress, I saw him sitting on a throne of burning embers; his body was huge and black as a piece of night separating from the darkness, his face distorted with protruding bones underneath, his long horns burning with an unquenchable flame. He looked at me with a cruel gaze and said in a voice told by the ashes: "That's you, intruder? I didn't think you would dare to stand before me after you treacherously killed my guards like cowards. I didn't wait any longer." I reached for the sword and drew it from its sheath; the iron struck the silence of the arena like a written declaration: "Face me if you are brave; today your high and mighty head will fall to the ground." And the battle began.

I rushed to attack and dodge the blows of his sledgehammer, which was crushing the rock; its sound echoed in the arena like a war drum. He was not only a giant, but he was hard as a rock; my sword left only superficial wounds on him that healed quickly. I made sure to keep my attack at a distance as much as possible; moving from corner to corner, flooding the air with fiery arrows that pierced the air and cast lightning bolts. I would then counter with a quick sword attack and retreat before his hammer landed, smashing the ground and walls with a brutality that would shake the stone. My plan was simple and clear: To tire him out as much as possible before the final clash. But he was sly; the difference in speed and my multiple weapons did not go unnoticed for long.

He let out a shriek that shook the place, and then a thick black smoke gathered around him, reshaping him into a huge black lion; his horns long and brutal, his eyes like a bud of glowing embers. At that moment, I, too, abandoned the traditional limitation of transformation; I transformed into a white snake, its graceful body gliding between the rocks, its scales glistening in the light of the flame and giving me a speed I had never known before. The scene was both majestic and terrifying: A huge black lion on one side, and me a white snake on the other - each of us equal in size and speed. Bodies clash, and it's blow for blow: I sting with lightning stings and release breaths of fire that are met with waves of flame from his side. I responded with a powerful wind that my tribe is known for, scattering the embers. The struggle continued in this way until we were almost completely exhausted; we were exhausted between wounds and exhaustion.

Eventually we both fell to the ground; our bodies were covered in wounds and pain, and our breath was as heavy as if it were coming from the depths of a quarry. Marraktash awoke on me with his claws, trying to tear me apart while I was wrapped around his body; but my steadfastness began to take effect, his movement failed, and his strength began to wane. With what strength I had left, I tightened my grip on his neck until I felt a slight sound like a crack inside me - and I broke it. He reverted back to his original form and I returned to normal. I slowly fell to my knees until I reached for the sword, gripped it with a shaking but steady hand, and then delivered a decisive blow to his neck. With every breath I took, an inner whisper whispered, "This is the price of my happiness. "This is the price of my happiness." A price I paid with my own blood and labour.

But no matter how great or bitter the price, it was too small for one moment with Roqa. I didn't give myself time to rest; I took the head of Markach and left the place as stealthily as I had entered it. I moved among the shadows like a shadow that leaves no trace; I escaped from the towers of the fortress and the slippers of the demons. When I was a safe distance away, I heard the sound of chaos coming from the fortress: The screams and clamour of the demons. They must have found the body of their leader; they were not so much saddened by his death as they were preoccupied with competing for the possessions and prestige they had - such are the demons: They have no loyalty and no compassion.

That night I rested in a small cave, building a small fire to bandage my wounds and reorganise my forces. The next night I took his head in my hands and raced towards the tribe; my longings carried me before my feet, my heart before my body, towards the house where another fate awaited me. But on my arrival, as soon as they saw me, the faces of the crowd changed and a bitter silence prevailed - a blackness that registered over the place. When the chief saw me carrying the head of the devil, he stood there in confusion, unable to speak. Speech had withdrawn from his throat.

She broke the silence with a sharp, unmistakable voice: "You came back and fulfilled your condition - why are you confused? I thought I wasn't coming back." The chief sat in his place with his head lowered to the ground. Behind me, the tribe whispered whispers of suspicion and corruption; I sensed something strange - perhaps a conspiracy being secretly woven. I raised my voice angrily and demanded: "This is what I asked for; where is Roqa? Beware, chief, not to renege on the agreement, or your head will be next."

He answered me tensely in an audible but whispered voice: "Calm down, warrior, I did not retreat, but you are late - Roqa is no longer here."

I set out that night towards the magician's house, filled with determination and driven by anger. At that time, I did not know the malice and cunning of magicians, I had only heard about them, about their dealings with demons and goblins, and their ability to harness the forces of darkness and control people with invisible magic. I thought the wizard's house would be a dark castle guarded by evil spirits, surrounded by fiery spells and elven guards. But when I arrived, I was surprised; it was an ordinary house, a small mud house standing alone on the outskirts of the village, as if it did not belong to the world of humans or elves, but a place where evil was born in silence, isolated from the rest of the few surrounding houses.

Dry, lifeless trees surrounded the place, as if bearing silent witness to its sins. I hid behind the shadow of a nearby rock, watching carefully, sensing every whisper in the air. The stillness of the night was heavy—so heavy it felt as if the earth itself was holding its breath.And then I saw her… **Ruqā’**. She appeared for the briefest moment behind a small window, passing like a glimmer of light through the darkness. Her golden hair shimmered like threads of sunlight, and her face was just as I remembered—sorrowful, calm, resigned.In that instant, I lost all caution. I could see nothing but her; I thought of neither sorcery nor danger.

All I had in me was one plea: "Save her." I rushed towards the door with blind determination, but as soon as I took a few steps, I froze in place, my body suddenly froze, thousands of invisible threads were wrapped around me, I could not move or even breathe freely. A terrible, scorching force paralysed my limbs and instilled pain deep inside me, like a fire running through nerve and bone. I tried to resist, but the ground pulled me into it and I fell, twisted in pain, screaming in silence for no one to hear.

Then the door of the house slowly opened, and a slender man in a worn black cloak came out, standing before me as tall as the shadow of death itself, with a strange glint in his eyes between deceit and madness. His face wore a sly smile, the smile of one who knew that the trap had been closed tightly. He said in a suspiciously calm voice: "Welcome our intrepid guest, I knew you would come." The magician then pointed a long, bony finger at two elves standing behind him, their features like two smoky shadows with nothing but two eyes glowing with dark red sparks, and said with commanding coldness: "Take him inside."

They grabbed me from the sides, their fists of cold fire paralysing the nerves, and dragged me like a dry tree trunk that has fallen after a storm. I lost all my strength, I could not resist, I could only look at the dusty ground on which I was crushed, filled with strange symbols carved as if pulsing in the dim light.

I entered the house, the darkness was heavier than the mountain night, and the air was saturated with the smell of burning herbs and poisoned incense. In one corner I saw her - Roqa - sitting on the floor, her head bowed and tears silently streaming down her cheeks, trying in vain to hold them back. Her gaze was like a knife plunging into my heart, a mixture of fear, hope and guilt.

The sorcerer stepped forward with slow, confident steps, sat down in front of me on a strange animal skin spread on the floor, reached for a glass of dark-coloured liquid, took a cool sip, then said in a voice that sounded like it was coming out of a deep well: "Brave elf, you dared to invade my land. Normally I would get rid of anyone who does that forever, but you're different. So I will give you a chance."

Then he let out a vile, drawn-out laugh — the kind that sounded like the echo of tormented souls — before raising his hand in the air and tracing a fiery circle, muttering words I could not understand. Suddenly, the threads that had bound me began to unravel. My body was free, yet I remained weak and hollow, like a shadow without a soul.The sorcerer looked at me with eyes gleaming with malice and said, “Don’t think you’ve lost your power. It’s still within you — only paralyzed here, inside this house. No jinn has power over me. If you wish to regain your strength… you’ll have to leave this place — if you can.”

It was then I realized I had fallen into a flawless trap — one from which there was no escape. I had no choice but to rely on wit and words. I looked at him, then at Ruqā’, trembling in her corner, and spoke with a steady voice despite the bitterness of helplessness:“O sorcerer, I did not mean to trespass upon your domain, nor did I come to harm you. I came only to take Ruqā’ with me. We were about to be married. Let me take her, and I will give you whatever you desire — treasure, power, or service.”

He gave a cold smile, then replied in a voice as sharp as a blade: “Ruqā’ is not yours. She belongs to me — as do all the jinn of her tribe. They have served me for a long time. And I know you, Sarad… I know who you are, and which tribe you come from.”

Disgust coursed through me — I had never taken pleasure in such vile deeds. I was a warrior, not a demon who toyed with humans. I lifted my gaze to him, unable to restrain the sharpness in my voice as I said, “Why? What fault did that girl have?”

He said in a voice as sharp as a shriek: "Is this too hard for you, Sarad? Have you forgotten why you're here? Doesn't Roqa deserve this? All I'm asking is simple: To possess the girl for just one day, then come out and that's it, that's all I want from you!"

I fell silent for a moment, torn between anger and doubt. I knew there was something hidden behind his request, yet the image of **Ruqā’** weeping in the corner would not leave my mind. I had no other choice, so I agreed in a low, desperate voice: “As you wish… but only for one day.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face, as though he had seized the threads of my very soul. Then he stepped closer and spoke in a low voice — a voice that sounded less like speech and more like the casting of a spell:
“You will find the girl at the old well, there at the crossroads. Wait for her tonight — she comes every evening to fill her jar with water.”

I froze when he said it... The old well! The same place where I first met Roqa. I felt as if the circle was complete, as if fate was mocking me, bringing me back to the starting point but with a cloak of deception and darkness.

I left him feeling like the earth was closing in on me, my heart beating like the drums of an ancient war. The wind was cold that night, carrying the scent of treachery, as I made my way towards the well that was once a door to love, but now it has become a door to another test that I don't know whether it will be salvation or destruction.

After a wait that didn't last long, but felt like an eternity in my chest, as if the hours had frozen, I spotted a young girl approaching the well from afar. She was carrying a small clay jar, walking with gentle steps in the moonlight. Her childlike face radiated an innocence and purity that I had not seen for a long time, as if she were a page of light that had descended from the sky into this mysterious night.

I stood at the well, and she didn't see me of course, I was disguised as a faint smoke watching her between the shadows and trees. The girl bent down gracefully to fill her jar with water, and my hand hesitated and my soul was torn between command and nature, between love and duty. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I forced myself to move on.

I took the flute out of its sheath and began to play a melancholy melody, a melody that resembled the moaning of the wind in distant deserts. The girl suddenly stopped, raised her head and looked around, searching for the source of the sound. I saw her trembling with a vague fear, so I continued my trick. I hit my sword on the edge of the well and the place shook with a strange metallic echo that confused her even more, then I lit a small fire in front of her that came out of nowhere, slowly burning like a life of living embers.

The girl screamed at the top of her lungs and jerked back in terror, and that's when it happened. I crept towards her like a light transparent smoke piercing the air, and entered her body. Her body shook violently and she fell unconscious on the ground. Moments later, she came to her senses, her eyes glassy and breathing randomly, and then she ran towards her house, panic chasing her behind her.

I followed her as the magician commanded, inhabiting her body, living inside her in a world of unbearable darkness. I hear her breathing and feel her fear creeping into my soul. As soon as I reached her house, she fell to the ground again, unconscious, and I continued to control her as the magician ordered me to do until the night was over.

The door slammed open and an elderly man entered, his face angry, his eyes blazing with frightening sparks. It was the girl's father, but his look was not that of a father to his sick daughter, but that of someone who knew exactly what was going on. He looked at her, then suddenly raised his eyes towards me, looked through the body I was hiding in... he looked at me!

My blood froze in my veins, how did he see me? I had never seen a human being with such ability. His eyes penetrated flesh and bone until they met mine inside. I felt completely exposed in front of him. He reached for the girl's neck and placed it in a strangely gentle position, then began to speak old, heavy words as if they had been carved into the tongue of time itself.

Suddenly I felt the air being sucked out of me, I choked! His grip was not on the girl's neck, but on mine. My soul was being pulled out of her body little by little until I was separated from her and fell to the ground in front of him, translucent, breathless, like a drowning man who had just emerged from the sea.

The man lifted his head toward me and advanced with slow steps, his voice low yet deep, like the rumble of thunder: “Did you think you could deceive me, son of the winds? How many like you has that sorcerer sent, and how many have returned?”

The shadow receded around him and his face slowly began to change until I realised the true horror... this man was not quite human, but something else, something more dangerous than the sorcerer himself, more terrifying than even the most powerful of demons.

He continued in a steady voice that filled the space with menace: “I have been searching for you, ever since you dared to attack the demons’ stronghold in the mountain — and now you come with such audacity to strike at my daughter!”

A heavy silence followed, and I was panting, trying to get up, trying to escape, trying to fight back, but every attempt failed. His house looked like a heavily fortified fortress, its walls lined with a terrible energy that stifles any contact. A cold, invisible energy that burns the elves from the inside when they approach.

I gave in and collapsed to the ground, the last of my fading strength forcing out broken words: “I don’t know you… nor do I mean you any harm… the sorcerer deceived me, believe me…”

He gave me a look full of anger and disdain, then said sharply:
"You elves are fools! You are always fooled by that failed sorcerer, who has no ability to summon powerful elves to serve him or to harness demons."

His voice cut through my ears like a sharp ribbon, and then he added, “If you wish to escape with your life, you will obey me. I am the sorcerer **Sham‘oun** — no one else.”

For the first time, I felt as if my end was near, and I had no choice but to submit. I nodded in agreement, overwhelmed by a mixture of fear and compliance.

He continued in a calm but threatening tone:
"I will not destroy you if you are useful to me. Besides, that wizard sent you here to get rid of you. He knows that if you stay, you won't survive. But I honour the brave and the loyal."

Then he asked for what he asked for... that I provide him with a clue that would lead him to the stronghold of the tribe working with the magician. He said in a voice mixed with the coldness of deterrence:
"I will burn their stronghold tonight, and then get rid of him too... once and for all."

I was silent for a moment, confused and unable to speak. I could not be the cause of the annihilation of Ruqa's tribe, and if I perished with them, I would have preferred it. However, I realised that not revealing the truth would also spell doom for Roqa, as his attack on the magician's house would come back to haunt her and destroy her with him.

So I made a decision that wasn't right, but it was the only option... I told him everything. I told the magician, Shimon, and asked him to guarantee Roqa's safety in exchange for leading him to the tribe.

Sham‘oun reassured me with a calm voice, saying, “Do not worry, I will not go back on my word. I have no need to kill you or Ruqā’. On the contrary, I want both of you to serve me.”

I was foolish… or perhaps simply a lover trembling for his beloved, and I believed his words without hesitation. That night, Sham‘oun unleashed legions of demons that swept through their strongholds, destroying Ruqā’’s entire tribe along with everything in it.

Then it was the sorcerer’s own house’s turn. He did not send me with them; he kept me bound and detained — seated on the embers of waiting — hoping he would return with **Ruqā’** as he had promised me. But at dawn *Sham‘oun* came back to the house alone.

I didn’t even need to ask… the world collapsed around me, bracing for the worst. I lunged at him, trying to take revenge, anger rising inside me like a volatile force of pain and bitterness. But my attempts failed; Sham‘oun threw me to the ground like a worn rag, then shoved me outside, saying coldly, “I will not kill you, for I have an ancient pact with your people. But if you come near my house again, you will see neither the light of the sun nor the moon again.”

He then cast a spell that sealed the perimeter of the house and prevented me from approaching.

I rushed as fast as I could towards the magician's house where Roqa was, staring at the place with my eager eyes to find out what had happened, only to find nothing but ashes flying in the air. But her scent lingered there... Roqa's ashes mixed with the ashes of the burning house.

For months, I went to that spot, calling out her name and wailing in vain.

And that's my story...

It was here that I lowered my head to the ground from the impact of his bitter story. His words were bleeding with sorrow and suffering. I never knew that elves have hearts that love, or that their world is full of pain like ours.

I lifted my head to him and asked, “But Sarad, didn’t you take your revenge? I know that jinn never relinquish vengeance, no matter how long the years pass.”

He answered me calmly, his voice heavy with sorrow: “Yes, I took him… but I wasn’t alone. *Ravine*, daughter of *Sham‘oun*, was the one who helped me. I got rid of him after she fell in love with me — she had long despised his oppression of her. She eased my loss of Ruqā’ for a while, but she, too, was never meant to be mine. Perhaps my fate is to live in solitude.”

I told him:
"And that's why you stayed by that well for so many years? Because you remembered Roqa?"

تنهد قائلاً:
"Not only that... that well witnessed my first love - Roqa - and my second love - humanity. But it was also the stopping point of my life. After that, I had no purpose, so I decided to stay here, trying to fix what I had messed up, corrupting as many mages as I could.

The reason there is so much magic here, Raqi, is because of their work... The people of this village have been practising magic for centuries. Even the men who brought you to me were just magicians who wanted to get rid of me."

He fell silent for a moment, then continued in a low, wise voice: “Yes, there are indeed evil jinn — but they would never have power over humans were it not for the sorcerers among mankind. And worse than the sorcerers themselves... are those who seek them out, asking for harm and misfortune to befall others.”

His words were sobering and profound, painfully honest. I would have liked to ask him more, but it was already dawn and time to pray