Kazaf: The upside down

---

The sun had barely risen over the Elara Sect, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air was cool, but there was an undeniable heaviness that hung in the atmosphere. It wasn't just the weight of the impending conflict with Jalwa, but something deeper—an undercurrent of uncertainty that had begun to gnaw at the hearts of everyone within the sect.

Kazaf stood on the edge of the practice field, gazing out at the distant mountains, lost in thought. The rhythm of his heart matched the slow pace of his breathing, but his mind raced with a hundred different concerns. Asma. Idris. His mother's visit to Suleiman. Jalwa's looming threat. And yet, in the back of his mind, the question that plagued him the most was the one he couldn't ask aloud: Where do I stand?

"You're not paying attention," Rahim called out from behind him.

Kazaf turned, his eyes narrowing as he watched his friend approach. "I'm always paying attention."

Rahim raised an eyebrow. "Not today, you're not. You've been a ghost since yesterday. What's going on?"

Kazaf clenched his fists. "Everything's changing. My mother's visit, the attack from Jalwa's men, Asma…" His voice trailed off, uncertainty creeping into his tone. "And Idris. He keeps pushing her."

Rahim crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "You don't trust him."

Kazaf shook his head. "It's not about trust. It's about… her. He wants her for himself. He doesn't care about anything else."

Rahim sighed. "Kazaf, you can't control everything. Asma is her own person. And you're not going to make her choose you by ignoring her or pushing her away."

Kazaf's gaze hardened. "I'm not ignoring her."

Rahim looked at him with quiet understanding. "Then stop acting like you are. Talk to her. Tell her what you're really thinking, before someone else does."

Kazaf didn't respond, his mind still on Asma. He had always been able to fight his way out of any problem, but this—this emotional turmoil was something he hadn't been prepared for. Every time he looked at Asma, he saw her heart divided, torn between him and the pressure of her family's expectations, and he couldn't stand it. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to be honest with her. His fears, his jealousy, his insecurities—they all churned inside him, but how could he express them without risking everything?

Before he could say anything more, a voice interrupted him.

"Your presence is requested."

Kazaf turned to see a young disciple standing at the edge of the field, his expression anxious. "By who?" Kazaf asked.

"The Sect Leader," the disciple replied. "He wishes to speak with you."

Kazaf nodded, his stomach tightening. He had been summoned by Jamal Kassim before, but the urgency in the disciple's voice felt different this time. Something was amiss.

---

Inside the sect's main hall, the atmosphere was tense. Jamal Kassim stood by a large window, his back to Kazaf as he stared out at the distant horizon. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture as regal and commanding as ever. Beside him stood Azra, her gaze fixed on the floor, her expression unreadable.

Kazaf took a step forward, his eyes darting between the two figures. "You wanted to speak with me?" he asked, his voice steady despite the unease that gnawed at his insides.

Jamal turned, his eyes sharp. "I've received troubling news," he began. "The movements of Jalwa's forces have grown bolder. They've struck at several nearby sects, testing the waters. They're preparing for something bigger."

Kazaf clenched his fists. "We'll stop them, whatever it takes."

Jamal shook his head slowly. "It's not that simple. Jalwa has an army of loyalists, and they grow in number each day. But it's not just the soldiers we're concerned with. There are rumors of a powerful artifact in his possession—a relic from the ancient times, one that could tip the balance of power in his favor."

Azra spoke up then, her voice quiet but firm. "You must be careful, Kazaf. Jalwa is not a fool. He knows how to exploit weaknesses. You must be prepared for everything."

Kazaf nodded, but a nagging feeling lingered in the back of his mind. "And what do you want me to do?" he asked, meeting Jamal's gaze.

Jamal's expression softened slightly, though there was still a hardness in his eyes. "I need you to lead the defense of this sect. The Elara Sect has allies, but they won't move unless they know we are committed to the fight. You must rally our forces, and I need you to do it now."

Kazaf swallowed hard. This was what he had been trained for—battle, leadership, protection. But this wasn't just a fight for survival; it was a fight for something far more personal. His mother's past. His father's captivity. His relationship with Asma.

"How do you expect me to do this?" Kazaf asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "With Jalwa's forces gathering strength, with my own heart torn in a thousand directions?"

Jamal's gaze softened ever so slightly, and for the first time, Kazaf saw the burden that weighed on his Sect Leader's shoulders. "You are not alone in this, Kazaf. You have allies. You have strength. And most of all, you have the courage to face whatever comes."

Kazaf nodded, but his thoughts remained clouded. Could he truly lead? Could he protect his mother, his friends, and Asma? Or would he fail them all?

---

Back in the distant fortress where Jalwa sat upon his throne, the dark cultivator's mind was already working, his plans unfolding with meticulous precision. A shadow moved beside him, and Rami kneeled before him once again.

"My lord," Rami spoke quietly, "the Elara Sect is preparing for battle. Kazaf is rallying their forces."

Jalwa smiled coldly. "Good. Let them prepare. Let them believe they have the upper hand."

Rami frowned. "But what of the artifact, my lord?"

Jalwa's smile widened, a glint of dark amusement in his eyes. "Ah, the artifact. Soon enough, it will be in my hands. And then, Kazaf and all his allies will fall."

Rami bowed deeply, sensing the certainty in his lord's words. "As you command, my lord."

Jalwa turned away, his mind already consumed with the coming battle. Let them come. He would break them, just as he had broken so many others before.

---

Kazaf stood alone in his quarters later that night, staring out at the moonlit sky. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, doubts, and fears. But beneath it all, there was one thing that remained clear: He couldn't fail.

Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.