Malik Returns Home

Malik stopped in front of the main gate of N’Kora Central Prison.

For a few seconds, he did not move.

The road stretched ahead under the sun.

Behind him, the grey prison walls stood in silence.

Three years.

Three long years.

Then Malik looked up at the sky.

— Finally out...

His voice was low.

Almost unfamiliar.

He took a deep breath.

Air felt different when you were free.

For three years, he had breathed damp cells, rusted doors, dusty corridors, and the exhaustion of men locked away beside him.

But that morning, the wind moved freely across his face.

So he shouted.

A raw cry.

A cry of anger, relief, and pain.

Then he adjusted the old bag on his shoulder and started walking home.

That was when the worry returned.

His parents.

During all three years of his imprisonment, they had never visited him.

Not once.

Malik had tried to explain it to himself.

Maybe they had no money.

Maybe they were ill.

Maybe something had happened.

But the closer he got to home, the heavier his heart became.

His fingers closed around the ring on his hand.

An old bronze ring.

Heavy.

Strange.

There was no dragon carved into the metal.

Instead, it carried an ancient symbol.

An open circle crossed by three lines.

The Mark of the Ancients.

A seal Malik had learned to recognize.

The ring had been given to him only hours earlier by Old Balla.

That was what the prisoners called the man who had shared his cell.

No one knew his real name.

To most prisoners, Old Balla was simply an old man who had lost his mind.

He spoke about the Ancients.

Forgotten bloodlines.

Keepers of knowledge that had disappeared from the world.

Healers who could see what ordinary eyes could not.

He also spoke about the breath.

The living force moving through every human being.

The prisoners laughed at him.

Malik listened.

At first, only to pass the time.

Then because he began to understand something.

The old man was not making everything up.

Every morning, Old Balla told him to remain still.

To breathe slowly.

To listen to the rhythm of his own heart.

Then he taught him precise movements.

Simple gestures.

But none of them were useless.

Later came the lessons about plants.

Wounds.

Pain.

The signs hidden inside the human body.

Malik did not know why he was learning any of it.

He was in prison.

He had time.

So he learned.

Three years later, he knew how to defend himself.

He knew how to identify certain healing plants.

He knew how to ease pain.

And sometimes, in the silence of the night, he felt something inside his body that he still could not explain.

On the day of his release, Old Balla placed the ring in his hand.

— Keep it.

Malik looked down at the symbol.

— What is it?

The old man smiled.

— A door.

— A door to what?

— You will find out.

Then Old Balla gave him a date.

— On the fifteenth of July, go to Kassa Island.

Malik frowned.

— Kassa?

— Yes.

— Why?

The old man closed his eyes.

— When you arrive, show them that ring.

— Show who?

— Those who still know how to read the signs.

Malik waited for another answer.

None came.

— And after that?

Old Balla opened his eyes.

For the first time, Malik saw neither madness nor amusement in them.

Only something ancient and serious.

— After that, you will understand that leaving prison was not the end of your story.

It was the beginning.

There were still months before the fifteenth of July.

Malik decided not to think about it anymore.

But he kept the ring.

Because deep inside, one thing was certain.

Old Balla had truly taught him something.

And that kind of truth is not easy to forget.

Eventually, Malik reached his family home.

He stopped.

The building looked older than he remembered.

The paint had peeled away.

The yard was almost empty.

The front door carried the marks of time.

For several seconds, Malik stood there without moving.

Three years earlier, he had left this house and his parents behind.

And he remembered exactly why.

Anger rose in his chest.

Three years earlier, he and Aïcha had already begun talking about marriage.

They had met while studying.

They had made plans.

A simple life.

A home.

A future.

Then one night, everything changed.

Malik was walking Aïcha home when they ran into Kevin.

Everyone in N’Kora City knew Kevin.

The son of a wealthy family.

Protected by powerful connections.

Used to getting whatever he wanted.

That night, Kevin had been drinking too much.

When he saw Aïcha, he approached with a smile Malik would never forget.

Then he put his hands on her.

Aïcha stepped back.

Malik moved between them.

Kevin laughed.

To him, Malik was nobody.

But Malik saw the fear in Aïcha’s eyes.

And something inside him broke.

He grabbed a brick.

One strike.

Brutal.

Direct.

Kevin fell.

Blood spilled.

After that, everything moved quickly.

The police.

Witnesses.

Lawyers.

Money.

Connections.

And Malik.

Malik lost.

He was sentenced to three years in prison.

Three years.

And he had only just finished his sentence.

Standing outside the family home, Malik hesitated for a long time.

Then he raised his hand.

Knock.

Knock.

A voice answered from inside.

— Who is there?

The door opened slowly.

An old woman appeared.

Malik froze.

Her hair had turned completely white.

Her back was bent.

One hand searched the air in front of her.

— Who is there? she asked again.

Malik could not answer.

He looked into her eyes.

They were open.

But they could not see.

His heart tightened.

No.

It could not be.

Three years earlier, his mother had been healthy.

She laughed.

She worked.

She scolded him when he came home too late.

And now...

— Mama?

The word came out with difficulty.

The woman lifted her head.

— Malik?

Her hands began to tremble.

He stepped closer.

— Mama... it’s me.

— Malik?

He gently held her shoulders.

— Yes. It’s me.

Then she raised her hands toward his face.

Her fingers moved across his cheeks.

His forehead.

His chin.

As if she were trying to find her son through memory.

Then she broke into tears.

— Malik...

He held her tightly.

But a question was already burning inside him.

How?

How had his mother become blind?

Why had nobody told him?

— Mama... what happened?

She remained silent.

For a long time.

Then she whispered:

— Come inside first.

Malik entered.

And this time, another shock hit him.

The house was almost empty.

The furniture was gone.

The rooms felt cold.

Silent.

Abandoned.

His father had always worked.

They had never been rich.

But they had lived decently.

So why did their home now look like the home of a ruined family?

Malik turned toward his mother.

His voice became firmer.

— Mama, tell me the truth.

She released a long breath.

— After you left...

She stopped.

Malik felt his heart tighten.

Outside, the wind moved the old door.

On his finger, the bronze ring suddenly felt heavier.

And Malik understood something.

The three years he had lost behind prison walls might only have been the beginning.

The real battle was about to start.