Miradjinn

Water drops fell irregularly on my forehead. Sometimes two, sometimes five, sometimes none for several seconds. This unpredictable rhythm had become my only measure of passing time.

Despite my young age, I had the clarity to question myself, but one thought kept recurring: what had I done to deserve this? My only crime was wanting friends like any child my age.

I missed my family more than anything. Constantly on the brink of madness, I had no plans for the future, yet I was determined to preserve my personality, never yield to hardships, and always move forward. I told myself that if I remained well-behaved, my father, whom I greatly admired, would eventually find and save me.

Not for a moment did I lose hope, for as long as my parents were well, I knew they would find me. So I always resisted, held back my tears, and kept smiling despite the difficulties. But after a year, I realized I had forgotten how to smile. Still, I endured, but I had finally found my limit between two drops.

That evening, the soldiers guarding my cell were talking loudly. Their words reached me, sharp as blades: my village, sweetly named Janatara, had been decimated overnight, causing the disappearance of all its inhabitants.

At that moment, the world crumbled around me. Nothing mattered anymore. Throughout my memories, seeking the faces of my father, mother, and sister, tears flowed for the first time in a very long time. I couldn't control myself. A heartfelt cry echoed from my cell, startling the guards. This scream, mine, released all my rage and despair, so much so that even the masters, who were one floor above, rushed to understand its origin.

The guards stormed into my cell, their faces contorted with anger. They began to beat me, their fists and feet raining down on my frail body with unimaginable violence. But an excruciating pain, far more intense than their blows, accompanied my screams. This agony concentrated in my eyes. I gradually lost the color of my irises, and cracks appeared on my iris discs like fissures on glass.

The pain was so intense that I no longer paid attention to the guards' blows. My hands only covered my eyes, as if I could stop this transformation with this simple gesture. The masters, once arrived, seized whips and relentlessly tried to silence me. The whistling of the lashes cutting through the air mingled with my cries of pain, creating an infernal cacophony.

An interminable hour passed. I was no longer able to scream or move. I was at death's door, cursing my weakness. Deep down, my heart yearned for only one thing, but before I could grasp what it was, I found myself plunged into a strange dream.

I was in a space of immaculate whiteness, facing a being that resembled me in every way, like a reflection in a mirror. However, it would be more accurate to say that I was facing a version of myself from before my detention. The difference lay in appearance: my reflection was cleaner, more smiling, more radiant, while I was the exact opposite, unable to smile, dirty, and marked by scars.

Carefully observing this flawless double, I addressed him: "Where... where am I?" I whispered, my voice broken with emotion.

Before I could continue, my reflection snapped his fingers, triggering a cascade of memories that unfolded before me. Three memories played out before being contrasted.

The first showed my sister's birth and her development until she was 3 years old. The love we shared was greatly appreciated by our parents, who always smiled when they saw us playing together, and the care I took to prevent her from getting hurt.

The second featured my maternal grandfather coming to play with my younger sister and me, offering us treats and also taking us on camel rides around the village.

The last one depicted the hill where I went every evening to observe the stars, pondering the immensity of the world in which I lived.

Then came darker memories.

I was sitting on my father's shoulders while my little sister held my mother's hand. Trying to grab an apple from a tree branch, it slipped from my hands and fell on my sister's head, causing her to cry.

Then, I attended my grandfather's funeral. I had sincerely loved him, and he had always spoiled me. But that day, I faced the death of a loved one and witnessed for the first time my father's sadness and my mother's tears.

Finally, I was on top of a hill on a full moon night. I was holding my favorite story and remember shedding tears over it. It was shortly after realizing my weakness. I had understood that I couldn't be like the one who brought good weather wherever he went, due to my lack of mastery over my ruh.

Unfortunately, it wasn't over. There followed the betrayal of the children with whom I wanted to befriend, my isolation in the well, Sahar's death, my march through the desert as a captured slave, the sale of my being by these madmen who served as my masters, and finally the lynching I had just endured, until my eyelids closed.

When they ended, I noticed that my counterpart displayed a disappointed look. "You're truly pitiful," he said, his words hitting me like a punch.

I remember asking, fear gripping me: "Why... why are you showing me these memories? Am I dying?"

I added, wallowing in self-pity: "Every time something good happens to me, misfortune strikes before I can react."

My double cut me off sharply: "Don't define yourself solely by the dark moments of your existence. You're missing the essential."

He continued, his tone becoming more philosophical: "Living beings are not rational, Zayn. They always notice the negative at the expense of the positive. You've focused on your misfortunes without seeing the lessons to be learned." He spoke very differently from me, as if he were an entity that had intruded into my dream, taking on my appearance.

Confused, I asked: "What do you mean exactly?"

His face hardened, and he exclaimed, his voice resonating in the white space: "How dare you complain about your life when it's entirely your doing! You haven't learned anything from your experiences! Your sister forgave you instantly, your parents taught you the value of life, and you, you've surrendered to defeat instead of fighting for your dream!"

His words hit me full force. He was right, I knew it deep down.

"Zayn," he continued, his voice becoming more urgent, "have you even tried to escape? Did you really do everything to save Sahar? Have you truly worked to realize your dream? No! So what right do you have to complain?"

Destabilized, I remember stammering: "But... what can I do? How can I change things?"

His gaze intensified as he uttered these words: "The answer is simple, Zayn. Either you give up and die in your stinking cell like a dog, or you rise and seize your destiny. As the Soulmaster you want to be would do!"

At these words, the vision shattered, revealing our eyes with colorless irises, cracked like a broken mirror.

As I sank back into wakefulness, I heard one last sentence, resonating like a call:

"Go, Zayn, you whose destiny is as vast as the vision."