Journal of Kazem

Kazem in the Golden Plains

The Forgotten Covenant

Day 942

I did not expect to inherit a village. In truth, I have never desired such things.

After I drove the bandits away, I thought the mortals would show gratitude, perhaps some relief, and leave me to my search. But their gratitude has taken a different form. They no longer see me as a passing stranger—they call me Sorcerer Kazem of the Palms, whispering my name as though it holds ancient power over the sands. They offer more than thanks; they offer allegiance.

Today, the elder came to me with a relic—a scroll, worn and brittle, its ink fading. The words upon it were in the tongue of the Djinn, my tongue. It spoke of a covenant, an ancient agreement binding this land in the Golden Plains to those of my bloodline. I was not aware of such ties, but the elder claimed otherwise.

"It has been foretold," he said, his voice low with reverence. "A Djinn would return to claim the village, and now you have come. You are its rightful ruler, Sorcerer Kazem."

I took the scroll, its weight insignificant compared to the burden it carried. I did not come here to rule. I came for my family, for answers hidden in the desert’s breath. And yet, by some forgotten bond, this village—this small, nameless place in the Golden Plains—now belongs to me.

I do not know if this inheritance will aid my search. But I will stay, for this place holds secrets tied to my past.

The village is mine—whether I sought it or not.

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