Prologue – Chance
I saw a man one day. A man in white. Perhaps that sounds silly to you. After all, each of us sees men every day, most of them unimpressive. But the man I saw was unlike others. It's not that he was particularly handsome. I've seen many handsome men in my time. Most of them were uninteresting, pretentious, pathetic. Most of them saw me as a prize to add to their collection of trophies or an obstacle to conquer and subsequently brag about. They failed in their attempts to court me, and rightly so. No, this man wasn't handsome. As a matter of fact, he was hard to see. It was like catching a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of your eye. Then you turn to look but it's gone and you can't quite put your finger on it anymore. He somehow blended into the crowd, as he sat on a rickety bench in the poor quarter of Damascus. But when you looked long and hard enough, he suddenly shone out and captivated you, filling your entire vision.
He sat on the bench like a statue, unmoving. I'd seen people sit still before, but they always bore some semblance of life. Fidgeting, shifting, always something. But this man was so still he looked like an elaborate statue. He was dressed in a white robe and had the hood pulled over his head. There was a sword at his side, though it wasn't easily seen. He looked almost like a priest in the robe, but there was something sharper and high-strung about him, like a snake coiled to strike. Like an eagle preparing to attack his prey.
I don't know how long I sat there, alone, staring at the man. It seemed like an eternity, until the spell was broken. He moved, raised his head slightly, as if listening to something. Then in a single, smooth movement he got up and looked around him. For a second his steely gaze met mine. But without warning someone passed in front of me and blocked my line of sight for the blink of an eye. And when I looked again, the man was gone. But he would be back.