In some part of the kingdom of rhetoric, where thick fog envelops everything around, and vague visions appear before his eyes, as if knights from ancient times are passing by… The grandson of “Abadul” stood there, his heart churning with emotions, while tears still clung to his eyelids. The voice of the noble elder pierced his ears, filled with sorrow: “Lay your hand down, ‘Ansar’. It is necessary to make a vow… It’s a very serious matter! Please, take up the vow of a warrior behind me.” Ansar nodded, blinking his eyes in silence. His heart beat rapidly as he prepared to repeat that vow, one that his grandfather had once made for him, as a vow he would keep forever. He moistened his lips and repeated behind him: “I swear by the Lord of all things that I will not reveal the secret of ‘the City of Secrets’.”