___________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow on the winding streets of Rabat. The air was thick with the scent of spices and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. Cypher walked beside Omen, who was wrapped in the shadows that seemed to cling to him, as they navigated the bustling market.

Cypher glanced at Omen, his mask hiding the soft smile that played on his lips. “Welcome to my hometown,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with a subtle excitement. “This place holds many memories.”

Omen observed the vibrant life around them: merchants calling out their wares, children playing in the narrow alleys, and the soft chatter of families enjoying their evening meals. Cypher led him through the labyrinthine market, pointing out stalls filled with colorful textiles and fragrant herbs.

“Here,” Cypher gestured towards a vendor selling intricately woven carpets. “These tell stories, each design representing a different tradition. I used to come here with my family.” His eyes briefly flickered with nostalgia before he returned his focus to the present.

They stopped at a stall where a woman served steaming cups of Moroccan tea. Cypher ordered two, the rich aroma wafting into the air as he accepted the delicate glasses. He took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the cup, the familiar sensation grounding him amidst the chaos.

“Tea is more than a drink; it’s a ritual,” he explained, taking a sip. “It connects us, habibi.” He offered a glass to Omen, who accepted it, the heat radiating through his fingers. They stood in silence for a moment, taking in the sights and sounds around them.

Cypher led Omen through winding streets lined with ancient buildings, their faded facades whispering stories of the past. He pointed out the grand Hassan Tower, its intricate details catching the light. “It was meant to be the largest mosque in the world, but it was never completed,” he mused.