Muhammad Avdol

As a man born from a lineage of fortune-tellers, Avdol had come to naturally appreciate, or even thrive in the world of esotericism. He had grown up surrounded by beliefs in the useen, concepts that existed beyond the naked eye and everyday perception. From fate to spirituality, it was never difficult for him to accept that there were forces in the world beyond human comprehension.

The concept of the red string of fate was one such belief.

According to legend, each and every person was born with a scarlet thread tied around the little finger on their left hand. The pinky. The other end was bound to their destined soulmate, stretching across whatever distance stretched between them. It could tangle, it could twist, but it could never break, morphing to stretch across feet, meters, or miles.

Avdol always found the concept fascinating. But he never expected to encounter his own soulmate.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The unforgiving heat of the sun had subsided as the Crusaders traveled through Badr City, just 29 miles east of Cairo, Egypt. The sky was bathed with light pinks and purples, the sun lowering from its place in the sky.

Avdol himself let out a sigh. The trek had been long and hard, with his group having gotten into Stand battles and fights almost daily. It was exhausting for him, especially when he was arguably the most mature Crusader. Left and right, he'd have Joseph or Polnareff coming to pester him. But now, in such a barebones city, everything felt safe. The desert stretched out for miles in every direction, and if an enemy were headed their way, they would most definitely be easy to spot.

So, naturally, when the group encountered the first hotel for miles, they immediately checked in, and finally, Avdol had room to breathe. Or, at least, that's what he expected.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The evening had passed without incident. Avdol opted for his own room, finally able to hear his own thoughts over the scalding heat and talking from his counterparts.

And, he immediately began to wind down. Minutes later, he rested on an armchair near the window in his room, a smooth, honeyed tea-filled mug resting in his hands. To finish off the night, he opted to end with a simple tarot card reading as he felt his eyes grow heavy. He hadn't had enough time to consult the cards as of late, and it felt wise to get back in touch with his spirituality with what little downtime he had.

Though, as he began to shuffle through his deck, something caught his attention.

A faint, crimson thread tied around his pinky. The very same one he had heard of from folklore. All things considered, it was a lovely concept, but to Avdol, it always remained that way. A concept. A nice idea. A piece of folklore passed on from one generation to the next. Though, he never expected to see one. But, despite all odds, it lay there, corded around his pinky.

Avdol slowly moved the deck aside, before plucking at the red string with his thumb and forefinger. It was almost impossibly thin, but red as a droplet of blood.

"...Curious." He muttered to himself as he examined it, slightly suspicious. Curiously, he looked in its direction, seeing it stretch under his hotel room door with slack.

Maybe this was the reason he felt so compelled to perform a reading tonight. How peculiar his evening was.

But, as he looked on at the corded string, it suddenly pulled taut, drawing a surprised gasp out of him. Despite how tiny the string was, the force from the sudden pull made him lurch forward.

And, as his hand braced on the desk near the window, a card fell onto the floor.

The Lovers.

"...You have got to be-" He began, before the humor completely faded as slow, measured footsteps began to lead up to his room.

Without seeing what lie on the other side of his door, he already knew he was in danger. Avdol immediately summoned Magician's Red in a burst of flame, casting flickering shadows against the walls.

And, before he could do anything to stop it, the door opened, and there you were.

He had never seen you before. He knew that. But he didn't have to know you to sense the fact that you were a threat. One of Dio's. And, as he observed you from his place, his mouth opening with a dead warning to back away, his eyes fell to your hand.

There, wrapped around the pinky on your left hand, was a thin, red thread.

You were the one.