The year was 267 AD, and the sun was sinking beneath the horizon, casting an amber glow over the endless plains of Anatolia. The landscape shimmered under the warm hues of dusk, the sky a canvas of vibrant pinks and purples, like the delicate strokes of a painter's brush. The tranquil beauty of the sky seemed a stark contrast to the turbulent unrest brewing beneath it. It was a time of strife, a time when faiths clashed violently.

In a small village nestled near the northern edge of Anatolia, two brothers stood by the edge of a quiet stream, their reflections rippling in the water, distorted by the gentle current. The scene seemed calm, almost peaceful, but the brothers knew that the peace around them was an illusion. Tension lingered in the air like the calm before a storm. There father had been out of work for a while due to the current war going on between the anatolia kingdom and the Vibritiana kingdom.

Binyameen, at fifteen, was already taller than most of the village men, his dark hair falling across his brow as he stared into the stream's swirling waters. His face was set in a frown, and his mind seemed far away, lost in thoughts. Beside him, his younger brother Usman, barely ten, looked up at him with concern.

"You're drifting off again," Usman said, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was light, but his sharp eyes watched Binyameen carefully. "What are you thinking about, Binyameen?"

Binyameen sighed deeply, his fingers absently tracing the edge of a stone. "Nothing, Usman. Just... wondering."

Usman narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. He crouched down and poked at the water with a stick, his robe pulled up to keep it from getting wet. "You're always wondering. You know what Father says about wondering, don't you?"

Binyameen didn't respond right away, his gaze never leaving the water.

"Father says that wondering leads to doubt," Usman continued, his voice taking on a note of caution. "And doubt... well, doubt leads to sin."

Binyameen's lips curled into a tight smile, but there was no humor in it. He finished the sentence for his brother, his voice quiet but laced with bitterness. "And doubt leads to sin."

Usman looked up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Binyameen turned to face him, his eyes dark with an emotion Usman couldn't place. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just... I don't think I can believe everything Father tells me. Not anymore."

Before Usman could respond, a deep voice called out from the direction of the village.

"Binyameen! Usman! Dinner!"

It was their father, Iblis, his booming voice carrying through the evening air. Despite the commanding nature of his call, there was a warmth to it when he saw his sons moving toward him. Behind him was their mother, Faith, her gentle features framed by the soft glow of the lantern she carried.

As they entered the small, modest home built from mud and wood, the smell of burning firewood and freshly baked bread filled the air. The flickering light from the hearth cast long shadows across the walls, and the simple wooden cross hanging from the beam caught Binyameen's eye, its shadow stretching across the floor.

Dinner was a quiet affair, as usual. Iblis spoke little, his stern gaze lingering on his sons as they ate. The only sound besides the clinking of spoons against bowls was the crackle of the fire.

After several moments of uneasy silence, Iblis finally broke it.

"There are rumors of unrest in the East," he said, his voice steady and ominous. He tore a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it into the stew. "The enemies grow bolder by the day, challenging the true faith. We must remain vigilant, or they will overtake us. Our way of life is at stake."

Faith nodded, her eyes soft with concern as she looked at her sons. "Yes, Iblis. We must guide our children and show them the right way. The world is filled with temptation and false teachings."

Binyameen's eyes locked onto his father's, a mixture of defiance and determination in his gaze. The table fell silent for a brief moment, the tension palpable as Iblis's brow furrowed, his expression unreadable. The air around them seemed to grow heavier, the crackle of the fire louder as if urging the moment to unfold.

"I'm going to the city tomorrow to find work," Binyameen repeated, his voice steady, though a trace of doubt lingered in his mind. It wasn't just the work that concerned him; it was the need to escape the stifling grip of the village and the expectations he felt closing, and the fact that he had a responsibility to help his family out as he was the oldest son in the family.

Iblis placed his bowl down, his hand lingering over the wooden surface as if weighing the words. "You'll stay here," he said after a long pause, his tone firm. "The war has stretched our resources thin. You know that there won't be work in the city; what do you think I've been doing all this time? The city is no place for a boy your age. There are dangerous men there—men who will prey on the weak, the naive."

The weight of his father's words hung in the air like thick fog. Binyameen's throat tightened, but he held his ground. "I've already made my decision, Father." For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the crackling of the fire as the tension stretched between father and son, a silent battle of wills.

"Your Decision!" Iblis stood abruptly, his chair being pushed against the floor. "Who do you think you are? As long as I am around, you will stay here," *smack* Binyameen, flinced at the sharp slap of his fathers hand against the table, the sound echoing in the small room like thunder.

Usman looked wide-eyed at his brother, not knowing what to say, while Binyameen kept his head down to mask the tears that were forming in his eyes. 

The rest of the dinner was eaten in silence, no one making a noise as the crackling of the fire covered any noise.

That night, as the household slept, Binyameen crept outside. The cool night air wrapped around him as he ran to the village well. Beneath the silver glow of the moon, the well stood as a silent sentinel. As he approached, he noticed an elderly man sitting by its edge, his robe worn but clean. The man's eyes gleamed with a warmth that seemed to pierce through the night's chill.

(Authors note: Hey guys I will release new chapters asap, I promise this is going to be one of the best novels that you guys will ever read because what I have planned will surley leave everyones jaw left wide open but I need you to bear as I am one person and I am not that experienced in writing. please show support to give me motivation and give more traction to the Novel)