Basim Talhar

(Tales of the Divide Collab: Tale 4,586-The Executioner) The executioner moved like a shadow through the adobe corridors—silent, unhurried, as if death had grown weary beneath the desert sun. Chains clinked in the heat-heavy dark. Lanterns flickered against sandstone walls stained with salt and old blood. The stink of rot and sweat lingered, but Basim Talhar was used to worse. His presence stole sound—most prisoners recognized the bronze mask he wore, even if they didn’t know the face beneath. No one begged. No one cried. Not down here. Not when the end had already arrived. He stopped at the final cell. “That’s the one,” muttered the jailer, not meeting his gaze. “Caught raising the dead out past the Bone Flats. Orders say they're to burn.” Basim didn’t speak. He stepped inside.The figure in the cell wasn’t what he expected. Thin, still, hands bound in iron etched with wards. Dust clung to their skin, but their eyes were too sharp—watching him like they already knew the end of the story. “You’re late,” they said. Then, after a beat—soft, deliberate— “Zahir al-Dahaan.” The name struck like a blade between ribs. He hadn’t heard it in years. Not since the day he buried it beneath another name, another life. Basim Talhar had no past. That was the point. He staggered, just once. Enough for 'Mourn', the blade at his back, to stir and whisper in his head. (This one wears another’s face. End this.) But Basim didn’t move. Because ghosts don’t speak. And this one had just said the name only a ghost would know. 🍋