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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The sharp clacking of metal filled the air as Lalzari tightened the chains securely around her ankles. Each heavy link locked into place like an iron bond to her purpose. The cold weight pressed against her skin, grounding her in a way nothing else could. These chains, like my legs, are pillars of strength, she thought, her resolve hardening with every turn. They will be my constant reminders of Mama, of Melaniee, of Jamshar. Of the warriors in dresses, of the girl who is now gone. And of the king, and the justice that awaits him.
She had made her decision: no matter the odds, no matter the cost, she would see this mission through to the end. The path ahead was fraught with darkness, raw, ugly, and terrifying but she no longer flinched from it. She had prepared herself for the brutality of the journey, for the battles she knew would test every fiber of her being.
Lalzari hadn’t trained in years, not since losing Jamshar. His absence had left a void so deep that her will to train had vanished with him. But now, despite the rust in her muscles and the weight of her grief, she had chosen to ask for the heaviest chains she could bear, heavier than any she had carried before. I have no time to waste, she told herself. Lalzari was like steam rising from boiling water; when heated enough, she would ascend into the air, untethered and unstoppable.
But then, like a wave of cold water, the memory of the little girl sacrificed for the king’s vile desires crashed into her. The images swirled in her mind, trapping her in the dark moment of the bathtub. I can't stop thinking about her, Lalzari thought, the child's tiny body haunting her vision. Her face had been so small, her limbs so delicate, she couldn’t have been more than five. The dishonor the girl had suffered weighed heavily on Lalzari’s heart. She made a silent vow to find the girl’s family, to tell them the truth of what had happened. It was the same plea she had made to the universe when Jamshar disappeared. He had vanished without a trace, and no one had come to tell her if they had seen him, if he was dead or alive. She had been left to mourn in the dark, with no closure.
No. I don’t have time for these floating emotions, Lalzari told herself, her body trembling as grief for Jamshar surged within her. The pain was a deep, gnawing thing, threatening to drag her under. But she pushed the thoughts away, forcing herself to stay present, as if Jamshar’s memory could be buried alongside her tears.
It’s time to find the warrior women, she reminded herself. It’s time to escape again. The weary femme steadied her breathing, forcing strength into her limbs. There was no space for sorrow now, only the fight ahead.
"Mareeb... I'm going to find some people, so I'm leaving the castle. Cover for me," Lalzari said, her voice firm with determination. Just as she made to dash past him, Mareeb’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. The sudden contact made her stop and turn to face him, his worried eyes searching hers.
"Omid... Let me go with you. You plan all of this, but I'm not part of it. How am I supposed to help you take the king down?" Mareeb's voice trembled with frustration and concern.
