There are moments when everything seems to fade away, yet nothing is ever forgotten in their hearts. Energy weakens, as if every strength abandons the body. The world of the sorrowful carries grief so deep that even until their last breath, they struggle to forget. Their joy becomes the ransom for the sorrow of others—those who only see themselves and ignore the ones beneath them. If true power were in the hands of every soul in this world, she would have been the first woman whose strength shook the hearts of all tyrants.
Before the passing of three weeks filled with grief, the family of Malam Zayyan stood firm, like a diamond set in pure gold. It was not about wealth—for that was the least of what they valued. It was about a family bonded by unconditional love. They wept with one another’s tears, laughed with one another’s joy, healed one another’s wounds, and became everything for one another when all they had was each other.
The Kingdom of Ruman
Ruman was a vast nation at the heart of a great island centuries ago, rich in gold within the African continent. Its empire housed great kings whose histories would never fade. Beyond gold, they thrived in agriculture, livestock, and trade across nations. The people of Ruman were dignified, noble, and beautiful, though beauty was not equal among all. Like any nation, they had diverse tribes and religions, but the Rumanci-speaking tribe dominated, and Islam was the strongest faith.
What was astonishing in Ruman was that despite Islam’s dominance, they still honored the traditions of their ancestors—especially the culture of power and authority. Power influenced every aspect of life, as did their customs, which shielded them against foreign influences long after colonial rule. No system of governance held sway over Ruman greater than its monarchy. From ancient times until today, their kingship shaped every path of their existence.
At the top of all monarchies stood the Empire of Ruman, known as Daular Ruman, which ruled above every kingdom and commoner alike. Its power was absolute under the Shahan-shahan (King of Kings). None dared challenge its authority, for the kings were shrouded in sacred reverence—rarely seen by their people except from afar during grand festivals. By tradition, a crown prince disappeared from the public at age seven, educated in secrecy until his maturity. When finally revealed, only his eyes could be glimpsed. His appearance signaled his father’s abdication, unless death came first.
Among them was Tajwar Haysam ibn Abdul-Majeed, a king whose power extended across Africa. His might and legacy spread fear and respect throughout nations. He raised his only son, Tajwar Eshaan ibn Haysam, in greater secrecy than any prince before him. At thirty-five, Eshaan emerged and was enthroned after Haysam abdicated. Yet tragedy struck: within three months, all four of Eshaan’s wives died mysteriously, followed by his father’s sudden death.
Rumors spread, but fear silenced the people. Even after remarrying repeatedly into noble families, each wife of Eshaan met the same fate within a year. It was said that he married and buried brides from ten royal households. The nation trembled—breathing itself felt like the cautious whisper of mice hiding from serpents.
The Family of Fareedah (Iffah)
Her name was Fareedah, though her parents and all who loved her called her Iffah. She was the youngest of four—Hanash the eldest brother, followed by Arfa, then Fariha, and finally Iffah. Their father was Zayyan, whom they fondly called Babiy, and their mother was Jamaima, known as Ummu.
They were children of Ruman by inheritance, raised in a land rich with gold, crops, livestock, and fruits. Yet their father was no wealthy noble—he was a humble farmer and beekeeper, making a living through honey production, which even connected him to the royal court. Despite modest means, he was a man of integrity, ensuring his children received both Islamic and modern education like the privileged children of nobles.
Their home was filled with warmth, laughter, and love. Poverty never dimmed their joy. They shared each other’s pain and happiness, standing together as siblings, friends, and companions—even with their parents. They held countless dreams: some written, some hidden deep within their hearts, some fulfilled, and others crushed by destiny’s bitter trials.
The turning point of their lives came four days before the great annual festival of Ruman. It was a day etched into history, a day their hearts could never forget, a day whose echo would repeat endlessly—even beyond death.
Description
The Weight of Memory and Family Bond
There are moments when everything seems to fade away, yet nothing is ever forgotten in their hearts. Energy weakens, as if every strength abandons the body. The world of the sorrowful carries grief so deep that even until their last breath, they struggle to forget. Their joy becomes the ransom for the sorrow of others—those who only see themselves and ignore the ones beneath them. If true power were in the hands of every soul in this world, she would have been the first woman whose strength shook the hearts of all tyrants.
Before the passing of three weeks filled with grief, the family of Malam Zayyan stood firm, like a diamond set in pure gold. It was not about wealth—for that was the least of what they valued. It was about a family bonded by unconditional love. They wept with one another’s tears, laughed with one another’s joy, healed one another’s wounds, and became everything for one another when all they had was each other.
The Kingdom of Ruman
Ruman was a vast nation at the heart of a great island centuries ago, rich in gold within the African continent. Its empire housed great kings whose histories would never fade. Beyond gold, they thrived in agriculture, livestock, and trade across nations. The people of Ruman were dignified, noble, and beautiful, though beauty was not equal among all. Like any nation, they had diverse tribes and religions, but the Rumanci-speaking tribe dominated, and Islam was the strongest faith.
What was astonishing in Ruman was that despite Islam’s dominance, they still honored the traditions of their ancestors—especially the culture of power and authority. Power influenced every aspect of life, as did their customs, which shielded them against foreign influences long after colonial rule. No system of governance held sway over Ruman greater than its monarchy. From ancient times until today, their kingship shaped every path of their existence.
At the top of all monarchies stood the Empire of Ruman, known as Daular Ruman, which ruled above every kingdom and commoner alike. Its power was absolute under the Shahan-shahan (King of Kings). None dared challenge its authority, for the kings were shrouded in sacred reverence—rarely seen by their people except from afar during grand festivals. By tradition, a crown prince disappeared from the public at age seven, educated in secrecy until his maturity. When finally revealed, only his eyes could be glimpsed. His appearance signaled his father’s abdication, unless death came first.
Among them was Tajwar Haysam ibn Abdul-Majeed, a king whose power extended across Africa. His might and legacy spread fear and respect throughout nations. He raised his only son, Tajwar Eshaan ibn Haysam, in greater secrecy than any prince before him. At thirty-five, Eshaan emerged and was enthroned after Haysam abdicated. Yet tragedy struck: within three months, all four of Eshaan’s wives died mysteriously, followed by his father’s sudden death.
Rumors spread, but fear silenced the people. Even after remarrying repeatedly into noble families, each wife of Eshaan met the same fate within a year. It was said that he married and buried brides from ten royal households. The nation trembled—breathing itself felt like the cautious whisper of mice hiding from serpents.
The Family of Fareedah (Iffah)
Her name was Fareedah, though her parents and all who loved her called her Iffah. She was the youngest of four—Hanash the eldest brother, followed by Arfa, then Fariha, and finally Iffah. Their father was Zayyan, whom they fondly called Babiy, and their mother was Jamaima, known as Ummu.
They were children of Ruman by inheritance, raised in a land rich with gold, crops, livestock, and fruits. Yet their father was no wealthy noble—he was a humble farmer and beekeeper, making a living through honey production, which even connected him to the royal court. Despite modest means, he was a man of integrity, ensuring his children received both Islamic and modern education like the privileged children of nobles.
Their home was filled with warmth, laughter, and love. Poverty never dimmed their joy. They shared each other’s pain and happiness, standing together as siblings, friends, and companions—even with their parents. They held countless dreams: some written, some hidden deep within their hearts, some fulfilled, and others crushed by destiny’s bitter trials.
The turning point of their lives came four days before the great annual festival of Ruman. It was a day etched into history, a day their hearts could never forget, a day whose echo would repeat endlessly—even beyond death.