When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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"Oh, my Lalzari, Lalzari, Lalzari!" The king roared, his voice swirling through the room like a rising storm, arms outstretched, spinning in a half-twirl. His gaunt frame stood tall, like a twisted tree strangling the life from the air around it.
"Yes, master. I heard you summoned me?" Lalzari, the cunning vixen, leaned into her words, wrapping them in the velvet of appeal. Behind her, Mareeb stood silent, his eyes tracking the silent clash between these two titans. Like two tidal waves, they circled, hurling invisible chaos at each other, waiting for the crash.
"Ah yes, my strategist," the king purred, a serpent-like hiss slithering from his lips. "It’s time you be enlightened." He unfurled a map across the table, tapping the wood sharply as a command for her to approach.
The map, once vibrant, had decayed under the weight of time and blood. Brown stains spread across it like spilled secrets, obscuring the lines and paths that once guided war. "This... this was once my key to the world," he spat, venomous rage leaking into his words. With a sudden fury, he ripped it to shreds, the remnants falling like dead leaves.
"But those bastards—" his voice thundered, every syllable a crack of thunder, "—they’ve hidden themselves! Scattered like rats beyond the kingdom’s edge! Seven outcasts remain, seven thorns in my side! To conquer Saddaqu Kingdom, they must be eliminated. Tracked, captured, tortured... their lives snuffed out like the candles they are. Worthless! Only my kind deserves to rule!" The king’s voice crackled with sinister glee, eyes glinting like embers in the dark.
For the first time, Lalzari truly saw the depth of his madness, his eyes twitching like a dying light bulb, flickering before the final burst of electric rage. My kind, she thought, her mind grasping the words like a dagger, poised to strike. Yet, she kept her tone soft, the calm before the storm.
"Master, I'm not even of your kind. Your kinda is fair-skinned, born from the Ridals, bred to bow to the Boblas. Even your servants aren't of your kind," she said, her voice steady, eyes darting toward Mareeb, whose sun-worn skin told the tale of a desert tribe long forgotten.
"Oh, Lalzari," the king’s grin twisted further, a viper coiling around its prey, "you're an exception. Your beauty is... exotic. As for my servants, they are molded by my hand, cleansed of their filth. I tolerate their existence." His words were a slow poison, and they dripped into Lalzari’s soul, searing her with disgust. An ethnic cleansing? She bit her tongue, the words clawing at her throat, wanting to erupt. But she knew, one misstep would be fatal.
She swallowed the bile rising within her. "How do we rid ourselves of them, master?" she asked, her voice a blade cloaked in silk.
"That, my dear strategist, is why you're here." He approached, his fingers weaving through her hair, bringing it to his face as if her strands were threads of gold, brushing them against his cheek with sickening reverence. Lalzari's mind raced, a storm of conflicting thoughts. She knew the Sirs' location, but how could she reveal that without betraying them? How could she walk this tightrope, balancing truth and deception?
